Mortal thoughts: An Ash Wednesday meditation

“Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Tonight for the very first time I received the imposition of ashes upon my forehead as a part of the Ash Wednesday gathering Linda and I attended at Chetek United Methodist. I was raised in Lutheranism and in those days I used to give up – or try to give up – things for Lent. We attended the Wednesday night Lenten gatherings religiously primarily because they were literally high drama – both our pastors had a flair for the dramatic and shared dramatic monologues that were so well presented I didn't want to miss a one. Most vividly I remember the night I was feverish and nauseous and scheduled to serve as an acolyte. I didn't want to stay home and in bed (where I probably should have been) because when you were an acolyte you had a front row seat to pastor's performance as he acted out the Word. But in all those years we never “did” ashes or if we did I don't recall ever participating in the act. Maybe it was an adult-only thing.

But tonight we decided to walk a block away to the Methodist fellowship and join them for worship. Chetek Lutheran had met at 5 p.m. at their sister congregation outside of town, Dovre Lutheran, and St. Boni's mass had been at 12 noon. So the choice was more or less made for us. We love Pastor Carrie anyway. We were a congregation of perhaps 20 people (in a sanctuary that easily seats 200) and all of us Methodist except, of course, for us. It was a simple liturgy: a few hymns out of the hymnal, a reading of Scripture, some written prayers that we prayed in unison, a message from 2 Corinthians 5, special music by Pastor Carrie and then “the imposition of ashes” (a phrase until tonight I was not familiar with). According to tradition the ashes come from the palms used in last year's Palm Sunday service (another little factoid I did not know about – I thought you just ordered them from a distributing house.)

There was first silence, then a prayer of contrition led by Pastor Carrie and then if you chose (and we all did) to come forward to receive the mark. For me, it was a normal, liturgical service. Nothing out of the ordinary going on, all the landmarks recognizable to me. Until that prayer and then quietly as I stood in line images silently moved across my mind's eye – images of the dead: my brother, Jim; my roommate in Bible college, Bob; my friend, Jill, from Lake Edge Lutheran days in high school; Denise, a young woman from Refuge; grandparents and aunts and uncles. My brother was 36 when he died suddenly. Bob was 27, Denise 21 and Jill 48 when they each in turn lost their battle to cancer. In that same moment, as Pastor Carrie placed the ashes upon my forehead and intoned, “Jeff, you are dust and to dust you shall return” I was reminded that sooner or later I will join them. That one day instead of presiding at the funeral for the dead someone else will be presiding at my funeral, committing me unto the Lord in sure and certain hope of the resurrection and of the life to come. Apart from the return of the Lord Jesus, this will certainly happen in due time.

The service concluded by praying the Lord's Prayer together. We said our good-byes and began our walk home. And as I walked the faces of the dead lingered there for a bit longer not in a morbid or haunting way but as a reminder that life is a vapor, that it swiftly passes and then it is over. Wisdom lies in making the most of the time we have been given. Psalm 90 came immediately to mind, admittedly not all of it just verse 12, but it's worth posting the entire prayer here:

1 Lord, you have been our dwelling place
    throughout all generations.
2 Before the mountains were born
    or you brought forth the whole world,
    from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

3 You turn people back to dust,
    saying, “Return to dust, you mortals.”
4 A thousand years in your sight
    are like a day that has just gone by,
    or like a watch in the night.
5 Yet you sweep people away in the sleep of death—
    they are like the new grass of the morning:
6 In the morning it springs up new,
    but by evening it is dry and withered.

7 We are consumed by your anger
    and terrified by your indignation.
8 You have set our iniquities before you,
    our secret sins in the light of your presence.
9 All our days pass away under your wrath;
    we finish our years with a moan.
10 Our days may come to seventy years,
    or eighty, if our strength endures;
yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow,
    for they quickly pass, and we fly away.
11 If only we knew the power of your anger!
    Your wrath is as great as the fear that is your due.
12 Teach us to number our days,
    that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

13 Relent, Lord! How long will it be?
    Have compassion on your servants.
14 Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,
    that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
15 Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
    for as many years as we have seen trouble.
16 May your deeds be shown to your servants,
    your splendor to their children.

17 May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us;
    establish the work of our hands for us—
    yes, establish the work of our hands. (NIV)

It is good to be reminded that “God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them” (2 Cor 5:19) and equally important to recall that “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (v. 21). But the thought that everything has an end, even me, invoked a sense of humility and contrition to treat life, specifically my life, as the gift it really is and to live whatever time I have left, with his help, to the glory of God.

I knew them all