Ash Wednesday

In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, amen.

I found out today that there is an old English word which means “the contemplation of dust.” I won’t try to pronounce it as it’s one of those long ones with an unusual combinations of letters! But how wonderful to have words about such specific things or specific goings on. Clearly some Germanic influcence there I imagine! What does it say about a culture that it has words with such precision? What does it say about a culture that it cares about the contemplation of dust? The world talks about how we have progressed and, whilst that is certainly true in lots of ways, there are some ways in which it seems to me we have gone backwards. Two examples being the loss of precision in our language and our loss of care for the seemingly unimportant.

Today is Ash Wednesday and today we come to contemplate dust. We will be marked on our foreheads with the ashes, the dust made from the burning of last year’s palm crosses. Just as a thousand years ago, worshipers may have stood here contemplating dust - that any given dust may have once been a book; a tree; a dog; may have once been a human being themselves once contemplating dust, and so on. Just so, we contemplate the ash we receive today. That, last year, this ash was once the palm crosses carried in the celebration of Easter, the celebration of new life. In carrying the ashen sign of the cross on our foreheads, we are visibly saying, “This is who I am,” one who is from dust and will return to the dust.

But more than that, as we carry that ashen cross around with us, we are giving it new life. As the branches are taken from a palm tree and woven into palm crosses, so was a living tree was cut down and used as the Cross of Christ, dead wood used as the means to drag the life of God down into death. But by placing that ash on our heads, we are raising the dust of that tree from death so that we carry it around with us. As Spring approaches, we wake from the darkness of winter to see, through bleary eyes, people like trees walking around and bringing the Easter of last year back from the lost past.

As God, in Jesus, eternally carries in himself the death of that first tree, so we share in that today with the ash of those Easter crosses. But, as Jesus brought life to what was burried in the earth, so we, today, in bearing this ash are trying to share in that work of bringing life out of death. This is a theme throughout Lent which is a mirror of Advent. This is because the death of Jesus, on Good Friday, turns out to be but a birth on Easter Sunday. Both Lent and Advent are times awaiting a birth.

How can we this Lent, try to see moments of Easter; to see those first budding moments of spring before before the full bloom is upon us? How can we try to see, try to make happen those moments where life has come out of death? What will it take to be with someone in their time of trial to make it a triumph?

The godparents at a baptism trace the sign of the cross over their godchild, as a way of saying, “In those moments in your life where you face difficulties in which it feels like you’re drowning, I will be there with you, to help try and turn those moments into moments of birth. Where you grow as a person and know that you’re loved.” Similarly, we carry around this ash to bring life to those Easter palm crosses. And before they were Easter crosses, who knows what dust they came from, the dust of animals, of people, of histories which once were. We now carry around this ash as a sign of our hope, remembering those who have been forgotten and bringing life to them out of the darkness.

In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, amen.