Celebrating Ash Wednesday during a global pandemic has a sort of poetic ring to it. The pomp and circumstance and debauchery of Mardi Gras were stripped away; the French Quarter was emptied out and only ashes remain. It’s as though the world around us is creating the illustration and drawing attention to the magnitude of the Holy Day we observe. While it’s more acute this year, that’s always the case when it comes to Ash Wednesday, because we’re surrounded by death. We are sojourners in the country of death.

We live in a cultural moment where it's the norm to outsource death and the dying. We have entire professions built around caring for the dying. Palliative care, hospice, and most prominently nursing homes are a way for us to give specialized out-of-the-home care for the elderly. Nursing homes haven’t always existed, in fact, there was no such thing before the 19th century. That’s not an indictment on that industry, merely an observation - it’s relatively new and it signifies not solely a shift in our practice, but also in our thinking.

Imagine for a moment how different things would have been only 100 years ago. Generations lived together under the same roof. Many would have seen a grandparent pass away in their home. People would have seen loved ones getting sick, held the dying, and cared for the body after death. The reality of death was more a part of everyday life than it is now. 

Something has happened to our collective psyches as we have distanced ourselves from death. We’re also distanced from the reminder that we will one day die - and we like that blissful ignorance. We want to live under the guise that “forever young” is a genuine possibility. Denial is often our strategy when it comes to the truth that we are in the process of dying. The manufacturers marketing teams know this and give us what we want. Age defying skin cream, treatments to regrow hair, diet plans that will help us become more healthy and live longer. Sure, some of it is helping improve quality of life now, but often those products are helping to viscerally distance us from the inevitable. Death.

It may appear morbid or even callous, but the truth is one day you will die. I will die. We will all die. However, that reality is not morbidity, but rather a portal to vitality. The scriptures claim that there is a wisdom in coming to terms with our death. Psalm 90:12 captures this truth when it says, 

So teach us to number our days
that we may get a heart of wisdom.

Wisdom is found in the recognition that we are dying - because it's only when we know that we're dying that we're spurred on to really start living. That is why for centuries the church has celebrated Ash Wednesday through the imposition of ashes accompanied by the statement, "ashes to ashes, dust to dust." That statement comes from Genesis 3:19. God was speaking to Adam and Eve and said,

for you are dust,
and to dust you shall return.”

God was explaining the curse and gravity of sin. Sin had devastatingly released death into the world. Adam and Eve were designed to live eternally with God and in communion with God, but sin created a new reality; separation from God, the Author of Life, which resulted in death. They were created from dust and to dust they were going to return.

When the ashes are placed on our forehead, they are intended to jar us. They call us to awaken from our sleep, from our zombie-like existence. They call us to name and wrestle with our own mortality and in so doing, step into life. See, when we know and name that we are dying, we start to view the life we're living through a different lens. We begin to question the time we're spending scrolling and swiping through our social media feeds. The time arguing and stewing over the political mess that is our nation. The time spent entertaining and distracting ourselves. The time. That’s what this day calls to attention. Ash Wednesday beckons us to more fully open our eyes to receive the gift of life that echoes in our children's laughter, the birds chirping, and the vocation we've been called to embody. In some way, the shout from the ashes is three fold: life is fleeting, life is beautiful, and don't let it pass you by. 

I had a poignant reminder of the fragility of life this week when I went to visit a member of our church who is dying from cancer. We talked about life. We laughed and cried together. I read Psalm 23. We prayed. And I anointed her with oil. As I anointed her with oil, I was reminded that all over the world in less than a day people were going to be anointed with ashes. She didn't and doesn't need to be anointed with ash, she knows that she's dying barring a miracle from the Lord. She is staring the reality of death in the face. No, what she needed to be reminded of is that even though she dies, she will live (John 11:25). 

Ash Wednesday eventually leads to Resurrection Sunday. The imposition of ashes eventually gives way to the empty grave. However, when we skip Ash Wednesday, we forget what Jesus is actually saving us from. He's saving us from death. After all, "the wages of sin is death" (Romans 6:23). He's saving us from a lifeless eternity. He's taking the punishment that our sin earned (death) on his shoulders, burying it in the ground, and walking out with new life in his hands. Friends, this is the good news, but we must first sit with the bad news. 

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

We are going to die. 

I'm convinced Ash Wednesday is a Sacred Day the church needs. It's not one observed by many Evangelical churches, and I think that's a mistake. Ash Wednesday serves as an entrance into the Lenten season, the trailhead as we walk to the cross and the empty tomb. But it also serves as an entrance into life - because in remembering that we're dying, we’re reawakened to the life we’re invited to live.