For over 30 years as a pastor I have assumed my role in the imposition of ashes on Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent.  It has always been a special time for me, a worshipful encounter with the grace of God experienced in humility and solemnity.  Yet, this year it contained something more, something deeper.

The sanctuary was full, the soft glow of candlelight illumined the color purple flowing across an altar and down from the cross hung high above.  It was a new place for me and most of the people I did not know.  I took my position at the side aisle of the darkened room.  The ushers gently motioned a flow of persons in my direction.  They formed a long line of humanity waiting to receive a gift from God. One by one they came and stood before me, their bare faces ready.

(sculptor, Willy Wang, Methodist Hospital, Houston, Texas)

Each face, each rubbing of my ash-filled finger across each forehead was a treasured moment for me.  There were an array of faces…old, young, dark, pale, sad, happy, full of expression, blank hollow stares.  Ashes were anticipated gratefully, joyfully, pensively…others somberly, with a stillness like the night, a holy night.  Each one had a story.  I wanted to know, not like a nosy neighbor.  I wanted to know the story of their life…their feelings, their thoughts in that moment of the touch of the cross shaped ashes on their skin.  Each one was given the same touch, the same words, “The cross is a sign of God’s sacrificial love for you.”  Each touch of the cross held the same power of redeeming love and new life.  Still, each person received differently…

– a big strong man, bold faced yet bending to receive in grace

– a scrunched up nose , expecting the possibility of falling ashes scattered

– the child, lifting her bangs high from her forehead, awaiting the special gift with a big smile and a soft giggle

– the dark skinned man of a foreign nationality at home at this moment in this sanctuary

– the woman with wart-like bumps all over her face anticipating the beauty of transforming love.  Her eyes were peacefully closed, her head tilted back, face aglow with the light of Heaven’s touch upon her.

I could have done this all night, giving the touch of the cross through ashes.  Touch can be so powerful, a lasting  impression.  This time, this year became something more for me.  I realized that through the touch, beyond the touch, flowed something deeper than just the imposition of ashes.  I actually felt the love for each person that Jesus must feel.  At the same moment it was happening for them, it was happening inside me!

Here we all are, the community of sinners with black cross smudges on our faces, gathered together in our knowing need of a Savior.  Dust bound.  Proclaimed by ashes. Redeemed by the cross.  It’s a beautiful sight!

nk

Pondering…

Recall a memory of receiving ashes.

Remember a touch of Love.