I had the joy of attending the Ash Wednesday Mass in the little fishing village of Masachapa, Nicaragua.
Life in the village is simple. Not many cars – most people get around by foot, or in two-seater bicycle-rickshaws powered by the driver’s efforts at the pedals. The people came in continuing conversations no doubt started many celebrations ago. Many older women, few older men (as many had been killed in the war that plagued this nation in the not that distant past). Young families with children in tow and babes in arms.
The signing with ashes was a delight to behold – the priest with welcoming eyes and a warm smile and all the skill of a master artisan painting a large cross of wet ash on the foreheads of all who came forward (and they all did indeed come forward!) The singing was joyously discordant and wonderfully loud. The celebration was anything but subtle and one easily was immersed into the depths of the event as if gently guided by a greater hand.
A memory to be cherished.
It reminded me of a poem by Jan Richardson, called A Blessing for Ash Wednesday, which I would like to share with you ……
All those days
you felt like dust,
like dirt,
as if all you had to do
was turn your face
toward the wind
and be scattered
to the four corners
or swept away
by the smallest breath
as insubstantial—
Did you not know
what the Holy One
can do with dust?
This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.
This is the hour
we are marked
by what has made it
through the burning.
This is the moment
we ask for the blessing
that lives within
the ancient ashes,
that makes its home
inside the soil of
this sacred earth.
So let us be marked
not for sorrow.
And let us be marked
not for shame.
Let us be marked
not for false humility
or for thinking
we are less
than we are
but for claiming
what God can do
within the dust,
within the dirt,
within the stuff
of which the world
is made,
and the stars that blaze
in our bones,
and the galaxies that spiral
inside the smudge
we bear.
(C) Jan Richardson find more insights and reflections from Jan at JanRichardson.com or the Painted Prayerbook