I wrote this post on Ash Wednesday but never published it. I’m putting it out there now because even though we stand in the glory of the resurrection, He still calls us to His cross every day. And I can’t shake the feeling that I should be living Lent every day of the year.
The floor of the old church on the beach creaks beneath my feet; the kneelers, I notice, are aged and nearly threadbare from the century of saints humbling themselves before Him in this place. I have come here today to do the same, to begin my journey to the cross, and I know that the only way to make it to Calvary is on bended knee. So here I am bowing low, knees pressing in to the frayed kneelers, waiting for the ashes to leave their mark on my skin, praying they’ll leave their mark on my heart.
They read scripture from the pulpit. “‘Yet even now’ declares the Lord, ‘return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; and rend your hearts and not your garments’. Return to the Lord your God for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love; and he relents over disaster.” Joel 2: 12-13
The minister, he talks about sacrificing and pressing in to God during Lent, and this year I know what it means to fast. I grew up Catholic. We ate fish on Fridays and sacrificed sweets and gave up T.V., but I always thought it was about doing something for God, as if He needed me to give up chocolate. But this year, I get it. This year of struggling and sanctification has taught me that fasting isn’t about the giving up, it’s about the filling up. The hunger pangs, they remind me that I need the nourishment of the Word to fully satisfy,that He offers me this feast of grace and yet I’ve spent most of my life picking up the crumbs. So I’ll skip meals during Lent and spend the time feasting on His presence, drinking up the living water, satiating myself with the bread of life, and maybe when Resurrection Sunday comes I’ll know that the feast is meant to last forever.
I make my way to the front of the church and he puts the ashes on my head, and he tells me that I was made from dust and to dust I will return, and I think of what that means. That earthly life is fleeting and that we are to hope for what is eternal. Yes…yes…our bodies are bound for the grave and it is to the eternal that I look, but I’m thinking of this mark on my head and a different scripture comes to me. The one from the great love letter of the Bible, the one about setting a seal of ownership upon my heart. I know from experience that at the end of the day, this cross made of ashes will smudge and will look more like a big black thumbprint on my forehead. And I’m thinking that this is how it should be for me always, that I should bear His print, His seal of ownership, and live like it means something, live like I’ve been loved by someone so fiercely that He would pay His blood to have me. If these ashes are to mean anything at all, I have to let His holy fire brand that seal right into my heart. I have let the enemy brand me with so many other names, but God has called me His own, His daughter, and this is the one name that’s eternal. I bear His seal because of the cross.
So when I make it to Calvary’s hill near the end of these forty days, I’ll see the One who was without sin take the blame for all of mine, and I’ll mourn and I’ll weep and I’ll rend my heart unto Him. And then I’ll turn from that empty tomb and there He’ll be, shining the glory of His resurrection into the darkness of death, illuminating my spirit with the unquenchable flame of His love.
