Signs of Mortality
Every year on Ash Wednesday we remember three things: we are sinful; we are mortal; and God is merciful. There are a few ways in which our liturgy underscores those truths, including the readings, the hymns, the sermon (hopefully), the invitation to a holy Lent, and the Litany of Penitence. None, however, is as powerful as coming forward to receive ashes and to hear those haunting words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
In ordinary years, most of us, I suppose, receive that ashen cross as a jarring symbol of what the day is all about—a token of our mortality and our need for salvation. Those words and that smudge anticipate our own demise, and we encounter in them a glimpse of the unavoidable truth that on every other day of the year we manage to avoid: we are dust, and, when the time comes, we, too, shall return to the dust. For most of us, therefore, the imposition of ashes is a symbolic aid that helps us remember that which is otherwise so difficult to internalize in a world and in a culture that disguise death at all costs.
As we gather as the body of Christ, however, there are always a few of us who bear that truth more plainly and profoundly than others. Some are bearing the loss of spouses or parents or children. Some are struggling with physical or emotional pain. Some are wrestling with difficult prognoses or hopeless circumstances. For them, the ashen cross and the accompanying words come not as a necessary reminder but as a reiteration of a truth that has already been embodied in their lives in unmistakable ways. And, if the rest of us listen carefully enough, the words we hear as we receive our own ashen cross are magnified by the losses of those around us.
This year, none of us needs any help remembering our mortality. Every day, we watch the news to hear the ghastly numbers, desperate for any sign of relief. All of us know someone upon whom the pandemic has taken a terrible toll. Whether we have lost a loved one ourselves or have felt the sting of compassionate love for someone else’s grief, we know that life is fragile, that we are mortal, and that we need the help of a savior. This year, what we need help remembering is that God’s mercy is more powerful than our mortality.
Because the level of active cases in our community is still so high, we will not be able to gather in person for worship on Ash Wednesday. We will not be able to receive the ashen cross on our foreheads or hear those haunting words. We can, however, assemble virtually and hold one another and all the needs of the world up to God. We can gather online and come together in the Holy Spirit in order to proclaim the truth that God’s mercy will triumph and that God’s salvation is assured. Has that ever been more important than it is this year?
You might remember that, before the current Book of Common Prayer was adopted in 1979, there was no provision for the imposition of ashes included in our Ash Wednesday liturgy. Although that pious practice has ancient roots, it comes from the anointing of catechumens who were embarking on a Lenten journey in preparation for their Baptism at Easter. The rest of the congregation, inspired by their solemn witness, looked for ways to mark the beginning of their own Lenten observance, and, after centuries of varying practices, we settled on the imposition of ashes. I cannot think of a clearer symbol that encapsulates the reason for our gathering at the beginning of Lent than an ashen cross, and I will miss profoundly that part of our liturgy this year, but I expect that there will be other things that help me remember why we come together on Ash Wednesday.
I hope you will join us in one of two worship services on February 17. You can participate in a simple service at 7:30am, which will be a Zoom gathering that is also livestreamed on our YouTube channel, or watch the traditional livestream on YouTube at noon or either recording later on that day. In addition to our worship, I encourage you to find other ways and other symbols that help you remember the important truths of our Lenten observance. In particular this year, I hope you will look for things that remind you not only of our mortality, which is all too clear in the midst of a pandemic, but also the promise of mercy that sustains us in times like these.
Yours Faithfully,
Evan