As I gathered up some papers and put on my coat after our Ash Wednesday service last evening, I found myself wondering if the ashes still staining my thumb would rub off on the things I was touching. I smiled to myself and headed home, thinking:
One of the gifts of ministry is to have a thumb stained with ash.
When I was serving Women at the Well UMC inside the Iowa women’s prison, we would be available all day for drop-by “ashing.” Residents would come by, in groups or alone; we’d ash officers and other staff members who weren’t going to able to receive ashes at their own churches. We’d make arrangements to stop by the dining hall for the offender workers who couldn’t come to us because of their schedules. I would smudge dozens, hundreds of women’s foreheads, saying, each time, those heavy and true words that many of you heard last evening: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
I could see ash on my thumb for days afterward. I’ve come to love that.
Nearly every year, somewhere in the weeks of Lent, I find myself in a situation where I wonder what’s going on? why is this happening? it feels like something is strange right now. And nearly every year, I’ll have a conversation with my clergy friend Cindy in which she’ll say, “It’s Lent!” Lent will do this to us. During these forty days (not counting Sundays) that lead us from Ash Wednesday to Easter, we dive deep into our mortality, into the practices of our faith, into the questions of what it means to walk the path to the cross.
So, yes, Lent will mess with us.
It’s one of the blessings of faith: letting Lent shake us up, push us to see differently, wonder about things we hadn’t even thought about. Here we are, entering that kind of season.
Yay, us!
In these opening hours of Lent I’ve seen some words (mostly via Facebook) that have made me pause and think. I got permission to share them here, because—what did we say?—Lent is going to mess with us so why not begin sooner rather than later?! I offer these reflections by fellow clergy as gifts to you, to jumpstart that process. You’re welcome.
The first is a poem by my friend Rev. Dr. Mary Lautzenhiser Bellon, whom most of you know as your former lead pastor here at Collegiate/Wesley. She writes with such beauty—a whole book of poetry already—and yesterday she posted these words with the title “Ash Wednesday.” Worth a read.
These ashes belong to some generation
that inherited the fire we lit this morning.
Last Easter’s palms, wrinkled and darkened
light easily with a wooden match,
until we sift the remains
into bowls with oil
to rub upon our memories,
our losses, our regrets.
You might kneel today and someone smudges your forehead
while the ash bends into your mind,
so you can see again the brevity of your thoughts,
how they come and go, linger and slip away.
This ash upon you welcomes
those who stand guard
in spiritual assurance;
perhaps, your mother and father,
your grandfather, the first poem by your grandmother.
They are supporting your intentions,
your need to kneel.
There is a time to kneel,
whether to give thanks or weep:
close to the earth you can hear
the water and heat below;
the ground upon which you rest
is held deep in liquid,
and your body too,
rivers held by skin and bone.
Someday the water in us will be free,
and our minds, too, will flow
into the great galaxy of love and hope,
where we might bless
our children and grandchildren as they kneel,
remembering and knowing
they are fire, water and ash.
There is a power, a healing, in that:
to know the mind of love
is the string of the universe
to which we are attached.
From a whole different perspective, here’s an image and reflection from another clergy friend, Rev. Paul Witmer, who followed me as pastor at Women at the Well. Paul is a musician and artist, and during Lent he is sharing on the Women at the Well Facebook page a mandala every day. I hope you’ll follow him there.
Scroll down to see the mandala he posted today. Paul describes it this way:
This…Mandala…[was] created in 2025 as part of a celebration of 20 years of Contemplative Outreach of Central Iowa. It incorporates many phrases that were shared from centering prayers practitioners during our day-long event. It also references the Contemplative Outreach logo with and Alpha and Omega on the top end of the cross, and the two lilies of the valley at the lower end of the cross.
I love the words that signify what it means to be spending time with God—something we all might do well to pursue in this season of Lent. Words like “Let go.” “Surrender.” “Yes.” “Consent to God’s presence and actions.”
See what I mean about Lent messing with us?
