on the Eve of Ash Wednesday

A repost with revision

"Chaplain, you have dirt on your face”! a nurse exclaimed, as I returned to the unit after a noon-day service in the chapel. Quickly, other people at the nurse’s station corrected her, "those are ashes! It’s Ash Wednesday.”

I was working as a chaplain in a large regional hospital. There were many Christian practices and other faith traditions throughout the hospital. A day could be filled with moments where these traditions were shared and/or explained. Sometimes with surprise and humor!

This story became its own tradition- in the years that followed we would not get past another Ash Wednesday without being reminded of the nurse's surprise. And that nurse would always remember why I carried ashes on my face one day of the year.

Here we are again… on the eve of Ash Wednesday.

Another year has passed and I am reminded of our reason for gathering tomorrow - a day known as Ash Wednesday.

With ash (like black soot) on our finger tips, we will look into the faces of strangers and friends, children and adults, as we draw a sign of the cross on their foreheads. Each person will be reminded of where they came and where they will return.

Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.

This is not a time for the faint of heart. We are called to face our vulnerable, and brief presence on this earth. Each time these words are spoken, I find myself moved by the reality of my own fragile nature.

With ash on our foreheads, we embark on another year's Lent. There will be work to do and choices to be made. The next 40 days can be filled with opportunity to remove some of the distractions in our daily lives to make room and space for reflection and prayer.

Prayer will be my focus during this Lent. Why do people pray? How do people pray? What are some of the different ways to pray and how can practices be more accessible to all?

As we make room for a place to reflect and pray during this Lent, may we experience the presence of God - hands reaching out, palms open, gently cradling us as beloved.

Blessings this Lent.