Ashes to Ashes
A mix of the ordinary and tragic
Yesterday, Wednesday, Feb. 14, 2024, began as a normal day: making multiple attempts to rouse drowsy kids (and their parents) from a nighttime of slumber, packing lunches, filling water bottles, making coffee (round one), grabbing laptops and instruments, backpacks and jackets, poms and shoes, packing the car and waving goodbye to the four of our five who spend their days separately, but in the same building.
I closed the door and set about getting myself ready to head to my mid-morning shift at the library: coffee, breakfast, a little HGTV, then preparing myself for a day in public view. I put on my new “book love” themed t-shirt I purchased specifically to wear for the first time to the library on Valentine’s Day, where my shirt’s heart coordinated well with most of the kids at Storytime.
But here things began to deviate from regular programming, as I left early to attend my community’s Lenten service and luncheon. I sat there, in a sanctuary I find beautiful, singing songs and listening to a Lenten sermon that used Psalm 511 as its text. As it should be, a theme of penitence — of repentance — emerged. I remembered the grace and mercy I’ve received. I remembered the time I fell to my knees after reading the book of Job, tears streaming down my face in repentance after years of pridefully thinking I could somehow “do better” than God and avoid so much of the pain I felt in my life. I got chills as the smattering of people from various congregations sang “How Great Thou Art” before the benediction.
At the luncheon I had the privilege of sitting with a group of women 20+ years my senior. I enjoyed it immensely, and to my surprise, when I got up to leave I had a mere 10 minutes before picking my children up from a 1:30 pm early release. I snapped a photo of the sanctuary (because I think it’s pretty and I thought I might want to use it online at some point) then I headed to the school. I met my kids and we loaded up in the van. I heard about some highs and some lows, including a stolen box of candy I had put in lunch boxes that morning for a special Valentine’s lunchtime treat.
Tired, I decided to spend time reading my Bible outside with the sun on my face. I read Psalms 145 and 146. I journaled and prayed, wishing I could come up with something to do for Lent — or at the very least — write for Lent. Some years I give something up. Some years I add a practice to help me prepare for Easter. Some years I put something on my social media or blogging platforms and invite others to join. But this year? This year all I felt was quiet. And tired. Fresh out of ideas. I sat a bit longer with the sunshine, soaking up its warmth before returning inside to my computer.
I opened X (formally known as Twitter) and at the top of my feed was news about a shooting at the Kansas City Super Bowl parade for the Chiefs. Numbness — the type that happens to me to help me cope with bad news — fell over me. My breaths shortened, tightening my lungs in shock. Not the kind of shock that is surprised that something like this happened (again), but the shock of feeling such a tragedy. Shock of imagining the violence. Shock of knowing people’s lives have changed, some with death, some with injury, many with trauma. The kind of trauma that comes where you’re going about your daily business — where you’re celebrating your team’s Super Bowl victory with other fans — and something so severe happens that the aftershocks run into every part of your life. With my own experience of being plunged into the depths of sudden loss and trauma, events like these fall full onto my heart and heavy on my shoulders. I can’t breathe well. I can’t shake the knowledge of loss — the remembering of loss — that devastates entire families. Entire communities.
The numbness that began with X, something akin to stumbling around in a fog of swirling thoughts and feelings, continued. I wanted to say something, but what? I wanted to write something, but what? So I kept being quiet, except for a few texts to check on a KC friend and her family I thought might have been at the parade (they weren’t and were fine), and a few other texts to loved ones expressing the angst, grief and anger I couldn’t fully feel, as well as sharing a couple news links from a reporter in KC on X with sobbing and brokenhearted emojis.
Then, still in the fog, I went about all the rest of my day — dropping off and picking up from practice, piano lessons, making supper (this time our fancy Valentine’s meal with candlelight and nice plates and me not quite all there), dropping off and picking up from Wednesday night church activities. And all the while I held onto a scream deep in my belly…one of sadness, frustration and anger. One that would rip a robe in grief, if given the opportunity.
About 8 p.m. I realized what I desperately wanted — needed even — was to go somewhere and get ashes on my forehead. After the long day of the ordinary mixed with the tragic, I just wanted someone to take a thumb of ash and move it across my forehead and mark me with Christ’s cross.
I knew if I could just have someone do that, I would finally cry. In the symbolism I would find relief. And it would have been some beauty in the ashes of Feb. 14, 2024. But my need came too late. I didn’t have a place to go for this, so I drove instead to the picking up, all the while aching in heart, tears behind the eyes, Psalm 51 on my mind:
“Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
blot out my transgressions.
Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
and cleanse me from my sin!
“For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is ever before me.
Against you, you only, have I sinned
and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you may be justified in your words
and blameless in your judgment.
Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity,
and in sin did my mother conceive me.
Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being,
and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.
“Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Let me hear joy and gladness;
let the bones that you have broken rejoice.
Hide your face from my sins,
and blot out all my iniquities.
Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me.
Cast me not away from your presence,
and take not your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and uphold me with a willing spirit.
“Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
and sinners will return to you.
Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God,
O God of my salvation,
and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness.
O Lord, open my lips,
and my mouth will declare your praise.
For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it;
you will not be pleased with a burnt offering.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
“Do good to Zion in your good pleasure;
build up the walls of Jerusalem;
then will you delight in right sacrifices,
in burnt offerings and whole burnt offerings;
then bulls will be offered on your altar.”
Lord have mercy as ashes keep passing away to dust.
Amen.
To this day, I can’t hear Psalm 51:10-12 being read without singing words from my childhood Lutheran Book of Worship. Here’s the version I most remember, if you’re interested: Create in Me a Clean Heart | another song I enjoy based on Psalm 51 is Psalm 51: Wisdom in the Secret Heart by Shane and Shane.