Ashes--to go?

I hold the damp head of the little baby, whose silky forehead is still free from worry-lines, and I trace with my thumb the sign of the cross right there in the center, in slippery, fragrant oil: “You are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever,” I announce at the end of the baptism. My heart always swells on the word, “forever,” knowing that no matter what will befall this treasured child, no matter what sufferings or joys will be her lot in life, no matter how far she will go astray, she is the beloved child of God, joined to Christ and to all of us in Christ’s Body, with an unbreakable bond.

I lean over the young child at the altar rail as he crosses his arms obediently across his chest and waits expectantly for the blessing. With my thumb, this time without oil, I trace the same cross on that same spot on his forehead, asking that God’s blessing be with him and “remain with him always.” It might be my imagination, but it feels like the word “always” brings out a smile or the twinkle of an eye in even the youngest and shyest children.

I look down at the lifeless body in the hospital bed and touch a tired and weathered forehead, and my thumb makes the familiar cross right in the center as I say the difficult farewell: “Depart, O Christian soul, out of this world; in the Name of the Father Almighty who created you; in the name of Jesus Christ who redeemed you; in the Name of the Holy Spirit who sanctifies you.”

And then today, on Ash Wednesday, I look in your eyes as you come forward with awkward courage, and my thumb makes the familiar gesture in the sign of the cross: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Ash Wednesday is indeed about sin and penitence, dust and death, but not entirely. I don’t pour ashes over your heads, as observant Jews did in the time of Jesus and of the prophets, and you don’t rub them into your body like soap, trying to scrub yourself clean. We receive our ashes in the form of a cross, a cross right in that place of blessing, in that place where we are marked as Christ’s own forever in baptism. Ash Wednesday is a time to remember the brevity of our lives, the fragility of our flesh, the weakness of our will … but it is also a time to remember the patient love of the God who created us and who holds us still, the God who is waiting for us to turn around and acknowledge the One to whom we truly belong.

 “The imposition of ashes at St. Comfy by the Chocolate Sundae,” one blogger wrote about our adventure to give out ashes in front of the Comfy Cow ice cream shop in a nearby shopping center today.  “Has it really come to this -- that we can't pause, even briefly, to consider the meaning of the day and the season. This is not a pop culture event.”[1]

Another blogger writes: “Can you imagine anything more consumeristic and individualistic than Ashes to Go? There is no need to repent, or be a part of something bigger than yourself, or give to anything or to anyone; just receive ashes on your forehead so you can proudly declare you are spiritual but not religious.”[2]

And an Associated Press headline calls out in a mocking tone: “If pondering penance and mortality with ashes crossed on your forehead seems a daunting event this Ash Wednesday, try it with a bowl of ice cream.”[3]

These biting critiques are addressed to us, little St. Thomas Episcopal Church, this Ash Wednesday. They should give us food for thought, and for me, our experiment at venturing out with our liturgy has brought the blessing of urging me to reflect more deeply than in previous years on what our ashes really mean. There is no greater encouragement to think through the reasons for one’s actions than the prospect of a reporter’s microphone in front of one’s face. As I have examined my own heart, what surprises me about the criticisms is that they all seem addressed not directly to us, the Christians who are offering the ashes, but they come at us indirectly, by doubting the motives of the people who would receive the ashes. Those who receive ashes outside of church are accused in these comments of “getting off easy,” of not having to do penance, of not spending enough time on their faith, of doing something half-way. And we, by going outside of the worship service with our ashes, are accused of aiding and abetting their laziness.

It’s funny, but the critiques that I would have expected would have been more in line with the words of Jesus that we hear in today’s Gospel: Are we practicing our piety on the street corners in order to get attention, in order to be on the news, in order gain church members, in order to receive praise for being inclusive and “cool?” Jesus’ warning is one that I take seriously, and one that we should take into account, as we examine our motives and the reactions of our hearts this Lent.

After some reflection, however, the accusations of aiding and abetting spiritual laziness don’t bother me. In fact, they sound a bit to me like the protestations of the older brother in Jesus’ story of the Prodigal Son, indignant that his Father welcomes his good-for-nothing younger brother with open arms and a feast. I look at myself, my friends and my neighbors, going about our busy lives, with God often much too far from our minds and hearts. We are rushing into Kroger for something to throw on the table for dinner; we are rushing into the Comfy Cow for some ice cream for a child with strep throat; we are trudging to work too early and coming home too late. We are trying to fit Christian service and time for prayer into days and hours in which we really just want to rest. Lent is not about more obligation, more rushing around, more things to do at church. We need something to break into the oblivion of our daily busyness, something to remind us that God is in charge. We need something to touch us, right in the middle of our foreheads, to remind us of the “always” that was pronounced at our baptism. If a cross of ashes can do that, then aren’t we called to offer it as widely as possible—to ourselves and to the strangers whom we have never met? The prophet Joel calls out: “Sanctify the congregation; assemble the aged; gather the children, even infants at the breast. Let the bridegroom leave his room, and the bride her canopy… Why should it be said among the peoples, ‘Where is their God?’ Why, indeed, when God is waiting, waiting to welcome us all home.

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[1] Drexel Rankin, comment to article in the Courier Journal, found at http://www.courier-journal.com/comments/article/20130211/ZONE04/302110043/thomas-ashes-comfy

[2] Found at the8thday’s Space, http://the8thday.posterous.com/ashes-to-where53805

[3] Found at http://www.whas11.com/news/national/190766261.html