What Ashes & Lent Can Teach Us

The Christian calendar tells me the season of Lent is here. The next 6+ weeks are considered a sacred time of reflection, penance, and discipline, when many Christians will choose to ‘give up’ a habit or incorporate a new(er) one into their daily lives. These weeks are meant to represent the 40 days that Jesus spent in the desert, fasting and praying. Most of us know that Ash Wednesday, which signifies the beginning of Lent, reminds us of the ancient truth that we are all born from dust and to dust we’ll return.

As a kid, I never observed Lent. I didn’t know about the charcoal grey sign of the cross, brushed across foreheads. This was not a ‘thing’ we Protestants did in my Baptist church in central Florida, a ‘thing’ we did in my social circles. Words like “Lent” and “Ash Wednesday” were foreign to my young and ignorant ears.

What I did participate in was a Good Friday church service, Resurrection Sunday (complete with Cadbury eggs and a new dress), and conversations at the 4th grade lunch table, where I tried to convince eager friends that the Easter Bunny was basically Spring Santa. “Just because the carrots you put out for the Easter Bunny were gone,” I informed them, “doesn’t mean he exists.” (Father, forgive me for stealing joy from my friends.)

Years later, when my husband & I were living in the Midwest, I had my first real introduction to Lent. As a nursing school student, I connected daily with a group of diverse friends, mostly women whose religious backgrounds were quite different from my own. During that time, we celebrated high test scores, cursed the lower ones, and laughed and cried together in the midst of tough classes and pre-dawn clinicals.

Through our myriad conversations and shared stress in a rigorous program, I learned that these women were committed to their Catholic churches and communities in such tangible, intimate ways. I grew to respect their unique perspectives, grateful for their patience in answering my questions about life outside my familiar Protestant roots. They shared their experiences in Catholicism and as the snow began to melt, I discovered this ‘thing’ called Lent.

One Wednesday, two of my friends arrived late to class. These usually-early-always-on-time-never-late students quietly slipped into the room long after instruction had begun. I waited for the side-eye from our professor, bracing myself for the wrath she would most certainly unleash on these religious renegades. But her side-eye and wrath never came. Not even a reprimand. Just a brief nod to acknowledge their presence.

As I watched these two latecomers unpack their notebooks, my blonde-headed friend swept the wisps of hair from her eyes and I saw the charcoal mark of the cross on her pale forehead and I understood the reason for their tardiness. I marveled at these die-hard, straight-A students, working hard to perfect their nursing skills, yet willing to be late to a difficult, mandatory class so they could collectively mark their mortality and identify with the journey of the Jesus they loved.

Something shifted in me that day. Seeing those ashes brought a deeper sense of unity between me and my friends. Despite our varied experiences, we were held together by truth that spanned time and denominational traditions. Through the tangled web of our individual and institutional dogmas, the ashes offered enough clarity to nudge us toward the simplicity of our cherished belief: that we’re all sinners in need of the One who died to rescue, redeem, and restore us. Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent reminded me of our shared humanity. I’m grateful for those friends, for what they taught me during those months, for what I continue to learn about Lent (hey, it’s not just for Catholics!), especially as it relates to community.

These next 40 days bring a more focused time of lament (for my sin), a time to remember (Christ’s life and death), a time to pray & fast (as He did in the desert), and at the end of these 40 days, a time to celebrate (His resurrection). But it’s not a solo journey–it’s communal. Despite all the ways we saints cling to our pride and individualism, the ashes point to our shared humanity, mortality, and ongoing need for redemption through Christ, our divine Rescuer. We welcome this season of lament, prayer, and discipline as a way to identify with Jesus and the oppressed and to anticipate together the shared hope we have through His death and resurrection.

I close with this poem, written by the kind and ever wise author, professor, scholar, and theologian, Walter Brueggemann:

Marked by Ashes

Ruler of the Night, Guarantor of the day . . .

This day — a gift from you.

This day — like none other you have ever given, or we have ever received.

This Wednesday dazzles us with gift and newness and possibility.

This Wednesday burdens us with the tasks of the day, for we are already halfway home

     halfway back to committees and memos,

     halfway back to calls and appointments,

     halfway on to next Sunday,

     halfway back, half frazzled, half expectant,

     half turned toward you, half rather not.

This Wednesday is a long way from Ash Wednesday,

   but all our Wednesdays are marked by ashes —

   we begin this day with that taste of ash in our mouth:

   of failed hope and broken promises,

   of forgotten children and frightened women,

   we ourselves are ashes to ashes, dust to dust;

   we can taste our mortality as we roll the ash around on our tongues.

We are able to ponder our ashness with some confidence,

only because our every Wednesday of ashes

   anticipates your Easter victory over that dry, flaky taste of death.

On this Wednesday, we submit our ashen way to you —

   you Easter parade of newness

Before the sun sets, take our Wednesday and Easter us,

   Easter us to joy and energy and courage and freedom;

   Easter us that we may be fearless for your truth.

Come here and Easter our Wednesday with

   mercy and justice and peace and generosity.

We pray as we wait for the Risen One who comes soon.

-From Prayers for a Privileged People, pp. 27-28

Featured photo by Ahna Ziegler at Unsplash

What is your history with Lent?

What does Lent look like for you in this season?