Tomorrow marks Ash Wednesday which is a day of both remembrance and preparation. Two realities pierce our souls on this day – the mortality of all who have ever lived and loved – and then of course – the extent of our moral failure. We are marked by the dust and by the ashes. We can escape neither reality. Ash Wednesday gives us a moment to sit in those ashes and remember that we will die, and remember that outside of the saving blood of Jesus Christ we can never be what we were intended to be. Job is felled by his God when he comes to the end of himself and says: “The Job answered the LORD and said:
2 “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted. 3 ‘Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?’ Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know. 4 ‘Hear, and I will speak; I will question you, and you make it known to me.’ 5 I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; 6 therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.” (Job 42:1-6 ESV)
Job 42:1-6
Ash Wednesday does not stand alone in the life of the Christian – it’s the beginning of the story, the first page, the first chapter. All Glory to our Savior who walks with us from the desert of Ash Wednesday to the suffering of His death on the Cross – but even that it is not the end of the story. No. The story never ends – yet, its climax happens on the third day – The day – the human, bruised, bloody body of Christ defeated death once and for all. Can we truly grasp this? Can we come to that deep knowledge that death no longer has the power to sting, that sin has no more power to bruise or stain the hearts of the children of God?
But let’s start at the beginning. Ash Wednesday holds some powerful memories for me. In 2014, three weeks before my grandson Zekey died – my son brought him forward to receive the ashes we all received. Over him was spoken this phrase – “Ezekiel, from dust you came and to dust you shall return”. His forehead was marked with the ashes in the sign of the cross – and what this meant was this: “Zeke, you will die – but your Savior took those ashes and became them as He bore your death and your sin on the Cross.” We wept that night – real grief and yet tears of joy. It is only the Christian faith can make that declaration of freedom.
The very next year my dear friend and mentor, Leanne Payne, died on February 18th, Ash Wednesday. It was hard for those of us who were with her in the days leading up to her death. She wanted only one thing – to be with Jesus, and with loved ones who were already with Him. No one was more human than Leanne. She suffered at the end of her life – but she never let go of the reality that she, a soul with a body, belonged to and in Christ. She was a woman whose life counted for so much. She gave her all to the work of the kingdom and suffered mightily for it. Thousands of Christians throughout the world have been changed through her ministry of healing, mine included. She delighted in her smallness. Her life was a testimony to what God can do with and through one who has fully given their life to Him. We were relieved, sad and joyful that Ash Wednesday morning when she passed. Because Leanne was now in the presence of the One she loved more than life!
We are comforted, aren’t we, by the knowledge that death and sin have lost their power for those who know Christ as Savior and Lord? What a motivation that can be as we pray for and share our faith with loved ones who don’t know Him! May we press into that challenge as we journey through Lent.
But, before we leave this day – I think we are called to pause and sit in those ashes and dust and remember not only our own mortality but the death of others whom we’ve loved and grieved. There is enough room on this day – to grieve. We will make it to Easter – and in the meantime, let’s come to Jesus and let him be the dear refuge of our weary souls.
Dear refuge of my weary soul,
On Thee, when sorrows rise,
On Thee, when waves of trouble roll,
My fainting hope relies.
To Thee I tell each rising grief,
For Thou alone canst heal;
Thy Word can bring a sweet relief
For every pain I feel.
VERSE 2
But oh! When gloomy doubts prevail,
I fear to call Thee mine;
The springs of comfort seem to fail,
And all my hopes decline.
Yet, gracious God, where shall I flee?
Thou art my only trust;
And still my soul would cleave to Thee
Though prostrate in the dust.
VERSE 3
Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face,
And shall I seek in vain?
And can the ear of sov’reign grace
Be deaf when I complain?
No, still the ear of sov’reign grace
Attends the mourner’s prayer;
O may I ever find access
To breathe my sorrows there.
VERSE 4
Thy mercy seat is open still,
Here let my soul retreat;
With humble hope attend Thy will,
And beneath Thy feet.
Thy mercy seat is open still,
Here let my soul retreat;
With humble hope attend Thy will,
And wait beneath Thy feet.