A Smudge of Hope.

The Lenten Journey:
Ash Wednesday
 
A compelling news image caught my eye yesterday: a woman, hugging a young girl after the school shooting in Parkland, Florida.  At first, you only see the pathos, but as the TV camera zooms into the image, a cross-shaped smudge of ash on the woman’s forehead becomes visible, applied at an Ash Wednesday service only hours before.

The fear in that picture seems like it’s been snatched out of the very air we breathe and distilled into a single image.  There is so much darkness these days, even apart from events like this latest school tragedy.  Our nation acts more and more like two sharply polarized, verbally armed camps than one country with myriad experiences, outlooks and aspirations but a single heart.   

The hope of Easter seems so far away.
 
Ash Wednesday was born in the early church at a time of great hope.  Jesus, the long-awaited Christ and Savior of the Jews, was about to enter Jerusalem.  The waiting crowd was buoyed by expectations of a triumphant, conquering King, a hope that would soon fade into hopelessness, like the smudge of ash that stays on the forehead until it, too, fades away.  

All can seem dark and desperate as Lent stretches out in the distance and we grapple with the fearful, unfinished parts of our lives that never seem to get resolved -- no matter how much we worry over them.  Too often, we close off or compartmentalize these hurts, hold them away from God.  We fool ourselves into thinking that he either doesn't care about us (and our issues) or can't see through our heart’s locked doors.  But here comes Lent, a season of humility and self-sacrifice when we are asked to open ourselves to the Lord, make room at our table for hope and present him with an inestimable gift: nothing less than ourselves -- whole, complete, unfinished and unconditional.  Dreams, warts and all.  Our gift is leavening from which Holy Bread is made.  And the light glimmering in the far distance is Easter. 
 
One intriguing way of traveling the Lenten road that a friend suggested several years ago involves writing all the things that make you weep in the night on a scrap of paper and then burning them.  Are you haunted by lost love or dashed opportunity?  By an illness that digs deeper instead of getting better?  Does loneliness consume you?  Do you mourn the death of a loved one, like those lost so tragically yesterday?  Write them down, light a match and watch the smoke take your worries toward heaven.  You will not be lifting your concerns to God thinking they will vanish overnight.  You are placing them on Christ’s shoulders … just as he asks … to carry along with him as he undertakes his journey to the cross, where hope first will be dashed and then be reborn when Easter’s glorious light at last spills into the morning and warms our hearts. 

In the meantime, please pray for the families who are hurting today in Florida and for people experiencing the sudden loss of loved ones all over the world.  
 
Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your soul.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.    Mt. 11: 28-30

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