A (Personal) Invitation to Ash Wednesday

The other day I was chatting with a few LaSallers who were unfamiliar with the tradition of Ash Wednesday. I could barely contain myself trying to persuade them that Ash Wednesday is a highlight of my year every year—a wonderful, powerful, and strange practice of our faith here at LaSalle. Let me try to tell you why. (And don't even get me started on Holy Week...)

Christians in various traditions have celebrated Ash Wednesday for many hundreds of years. And for many, many hundreds of years before that, people used ashes to represent sadness and guilt. It's why, throughout Scripture, you'll encounter people putting on "sackcloth and ashes" in moments of discernment, grief, and repentance.

At LaSalle, we impose ashes with the same words that many Christians use, inspired by Genesis: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return." It is hard for me to hear the word "dust" without thinking of Genesis 2—namely, how "the LORD God formed [a human] from the dust of the ground and breathed into [their] nostrils the breath of life, and the [human] became a living being." We are dust, yes; but we are dust that is animated by the very Spirit and breath of God, created to bless and taste and dance and sing. Dust reminds us that life is brief, and worth living to the fullest; and dust reminds us that God is the one who brings life, even new life, to those places we perceive to be stuck or broken or dead. For those of us healing from religious traditions that over-emphasized punishment or shame, it's helpful for me to remember that any movement of confession or repentance can be a turning toward the God who offers life and light and healing and mercy.

Many of us feel allergic to performative or empty acts of piety. We're in good company—the prophet Isaiah speaks on behalf of God and asks the people: "Is such the fast that I choose, a day to humble oneself? Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush and to lie in sackcloth and ashes?" No, answers the prophet. On the contrary: "Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke?" (Isaiah 58.) In other words, God is not especially interested in religious observance that isn't accompanied by the tangible work of justice, which includes sharing food with folks who are hungry and sharing housing for those who are unhoused.

With all that in mind, I think Ash Wednesday is an especially timely and meaningful practice for those of us who want to live a life of faith and to do the work of justice in our present circumstances—namely, a time when, as we lamented together on Sunday, we are witnessing attempts to scorn, erase, and mock Black history and leadership (even, maybe especially, in the midst of Black History Month); when people are detained, and families are separated, and human beings (especially Black and Brown people) are made to live in fear; and when we encounter thousands of pages of documents about violence done to women and children. Ash Wednesday offers us the possibility of restoration and recentering, right in the middle of the week, and the middle of the busyness (or emptiness) of our lives. Here's why I think this is especially true right now.

First, receiving ashes is one of many embodied practices in the church. Like so many of our practices at LaSalle—lighting candles, extending the peace of Christ, or even the sacraments of baptism and communion—the imposition of ashes captures the senses: the light scratch of the pastor's thumb on your forehead, the striking image of a black cross on one's skin. Inherent in the blessing, "Remember that you are dust..." is the reminder that we live and move and breathe in our bodies. Many of us are seeking ways to escape a too-online, too-digital way of life, and pausing for an hour to breathe and to reflect on our life in the flesh can offer a powerful, grounding experience of embodied presence. (Our Ash Wednesday service at LaSalle will also be livestreamed, for anyone who wants to pause and breathe wherever they are.)

Second, the Ash Wednesday liturgy is an expression of our expansive faith, connecting us to so many other churches and congregations in the global Christian community who will share the same practice. In elementary school, all my classmates sporting ashes were part of a Catholic parish; my own first experience of Ash Wednesday happened at an Episcopal church in Abilene, Texas. Initiating the season of Lent together on Ash Wednesday helps us locate ourselves in the huge story of God's work in the world across time and space.

Finally, the season of Lent, initiated at Ash Wednesday, invites us into a period of reflection and prayer for the six-and-a-half weeks leading up to Easter. I like to tell people that Lent is not a season for trying to make ourselves feel guilty or penalizing ourselves; rather, Lent is a period of trying to perceive things a little more clearly, including the state of our own hearts and the state of the world around us. For some people, temporarily abstaining from certain pleasures (like chocolate or alcohol) offers a gentle focus; and for some, temporarily adopting a new practice (like evening prayer or generosity) gives a little structure to faith practice. From that place of clearer focus, we may feel more emboldened to name injustice around us, to repent of personal sin or our complicity or participation in broken and oppressive systems, or to work more diligently at shaping the world God desires for us. All this leads to the celebration of Easter, when we rejoice in the resurrection of Jesus and the promise that, as Francis Spufford puts it, "Far more can be mended than you know."

At LaSalle, we have the opportunity to participate in different Formation Groups throughout the season of Lent, focused on prayer, Scripture, and creativity. I hope some of you will consider taking on a practice of serving at Breaking Bread or Senior Market, or donating groceries to our community pantry in the Cornerstone building. However we reflect and pray during Lent, it starts with Ash Wednesday—with breath, and music, and light, and ashes. Join us.