Ash Wednesday

Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth.

John 17:9-19

Bits of burnt palm frond brandished across my forehead burned my eyes and sullied my tucked-in button-up when I tripped over untied shoes halfway collapsed into now drab-white bedsheets stained with the vanishing ashes of this annual return-to-dust declaration of faith. For some reason, the last thing I want to do is dig up fossils of sentiment for this holy season; so, my ghost wanes with the shadow of Christ that so recently marred my brow. But disturbed am I by the Lord as I reread words that won’t smudge or wash away, for they are ink-stained into my skin: “I need you, be near me, come shield me.” This futile prayer sloppily falls off my wanton lips as I imbibe on everything but the blood that pleaded for me.

And yet, consecrated are we by the Truth that became incarnate for our sake; beloved are we by he whose cross we may want not to bear; shielded are we by the Word made flesh who divinely knew of—and humanly dreaded—his imminent crucifixion. Sheer terror could not keep Christ from sanctifying us, and numbness cannot keep us from him. Descend into death. Let the ashes burn.

Lord, save me from myself; let not my dustiness impede the sanctifying joy that you lived and died and rose to provide.