There Are Ashes on My Face

I'm almost surprised to see that I haven't posted in over a year.  ALMOST surprised, but then I remember that I have very little discipline and not a lot of patience for translating the mental chaos into useful words.  But today seems like a good day to start again! 

It's also a good day to participate in a religious ritual steeped in centuries' worth of meaning and identity.  My denomination (Community of Christ/RLDS/progressive Mormon) doesn't practice this ritual, but that's one of the many beautiful things about being a hospital chaplain - slipping into the chapel for new religious experiences.  

Ash Wednesday.

Or: I have a smudge on my face, and I'm still not sure what it means.

As an avidly pro-death-awareness kinda gal, I dug right into the, "From dust you come, and to dust you will return."  I learned from context clues that's not so exciting a prospect for a lot of the other folks getting smudged (if the ashes were sage rather than palm, we'd have some intriguing interfaith potential here).

All snark aside, the significance of bearing this mark so far, for me, is that I genuinely felt something when the priest, a colleague whom I like very much, made the sign of the cross on my brow.  And when I, as a non-Catholic, brought up the rear for the communion line and received a blessing instead - something like, "May God bless you and protect you" - I felt that, too.  In my own religious context, these experiences are absolutely sacramental.  The fact that I feel a connection with the clergyperson enacting the sacramental encounter, and believe that he meant what he said, adds another layer of oomph.

Additionally, bearing the mark of the ashes today will be significant because, a year and a half after my baptism and confirmation, I still don't claim the Christian identity very easily or very often.  That's largely because I serve a diverse community and need to be pastorally accessible.  But I figure, since I found myself moved to say, "Merry Christmas" to more strangers in this one last holiday season in this hospital than in all the years previous, I want to be intentional about wearing ashes today.

Finally, I've decided to be very intentional about trying to do Lent for realsies this year.  Today, I'm giving up comfort snacking.  I'm sure you can appreciate that hospital chaplains are as likely as nurses or social workers to get emotionally exhausted midday and head to the gift shop for cheap candy (seriously, why is it across the hall from my office and why are Lemonheads $0.20?!), or to the cafeteria for fried food (seriously, WHY do they serve chicken strips and onion rings every single day at a hospital with a dedicated diabetes department?).  So, for 40 days I'm going to resist soda, candy, fried things, and everything else that makes me feel like I have cotton candy-brain.

That starts tomorrow, right?

P.S. Here's an ash selfie I'm too ashamed to post on Facebook after reading Patheos' thoughtful #AshTag article - which really got me thinking about participating this year.