Ashes

Yesterday evening (Ash Wednesday), as the children of God came to the altar of His church to receive the mark of ashes on their foreheads, my heart was breaking for them.  I know that the Lenten season is a time of repentance, but for whatever reason the Imposition of the Ashes of past years seemed rather formulaic last night. 

The rite is relatively simple:  after the consecration of the ashes and oil, the people come to the altar one by one where I, their pastor, make the sign of the cross on each forehead with my finger dipped in the ashes.  This experience is to remind them that, as God told Adam, "you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

But last evening as I made the sign of the cross on each forehead, my heart felt as if it would break.  I sensed that the eyes of their loving and gentle Father were overflowing with tears for them as I echoed His words.  So often we hear them as words of punishing reminder; but last night I heard them as words of grief and sadness.  Grief and sadness that the children on whom He lavishes His love will end this life as dust.  That these children need no one to mark them with ashes, because they do such a thorough job of marking themselves.

What I really wanted to do last night was to have them mark themselves with ashes, then come to the altar where I would imitate the Prodigal Father, wrapping them in the embrace of His love and washing the stain of ashes away from them.  I wanted them to know His welcome and His love and His goodness for them, for us all.  I wanted them to know that His children are not merely dust, that after this life ends in dust His children still go on in glory, in His arms, at His banquet.

And then we shared in the Lord's Supper.  Grace at last!  The celebration of the Father's welcoming love for His children! 

My eyes well up with tears again - some of them are tears of joy for those who have melted into His embrace, and some are tears of heartbreak for those who are still outside in the ashes. 

If Lent is a time for anything, couldn't it be a time for coming home to the Father?