February 22, 2023 – Ash Wednesday
We live in a culture that tells us we are blessed when we are independent, perfectable, and have it all together. But on Ash Wednesday, we practice the opposite. Today, we proclaim that the fragile are the blessed.
Humans in their very nature are dependent and imperfect with broken bodies and sometimes broken spirits. We might have made more mistakes than we care to count (or have anyone remember). We might be weighed down by utter despair for ourselves or someone we love.
Ash Wednesday should offer us all a sigh of relief. For today, we practice counter-cultural truth-telling when we lay down our illusions of durability at the altar. And we are reminded of what we are made of—from dust, to dust—as the reality is smeared across our forehead. This simple act is how we begin the season of Lent, which is fitting because the first step in any recovery plan is admitting our “stuff.”
The Psalmist in Psalm 51 has a difficult time admitting their stuff as well, so they decide to soften the blow by starting with the nature of God (loving, compassionate, forgiving) instead of the nature of being human (careless, fragile, sin-laden). It isn’t until verse 3 that the Psalmist is ready to come clean with the reality of what they have done and who they have become in the wake of their actions.
The beautiful thing about admitting that you are plagued by your humanity is that we are called to remember that the God who made us in our mother’s womb (out of dust) is the one who also blesses and cherishes that dust (Psalm 51:6). For, “did you not know what the Holy One can do with dust?” (Rev. Jan Richardson).
In those lonely moments, when we find ourselves wallowing about our helpless condition, God renews our spirits and restores our joy. But we all must realize that it takes so much courage to share and trust God with our brokenness, let alone sharing it with other people. Admitting that reality means we don’t have full control. No one can save themselves from suffering, pain, or death—or save our loved ones from shame, depression, or death either. As the Psalmist proclaims, we rely on the steadiness of God’s unending love and compassion that knows no bounds (51:1).
Our need for a loving and compassionate savior is evident. A savior who does not despise our frailty but who blesses our dust and breathes life upon it. It is God and only God who can once again be the giver of life to restore our spirits. And it starts here.
In this moment we practice together this Lenten season, to take the first step of admitting we are fragile, and we need a Savior (Psalm 51:17). Remembering we are made of dust and to dust we will return. Thanks be to God.