Why Ashes?
By Jo Zink
Why do we wear ashes on Ash Wednesday? Not only did I not understand the answer to this question, but I didn’t even bother to ask or wonder about it for many years. It wasn’t important to know why; going through the motions was enough for me—until it wasn’t. It was at this point, my journey could begin—at first, academic in nature but finally a movement of my heart.
The use of ashes to represent mourning, repentance, and humility dates back to the Old Testament. In ancient times, the Jewish people wore ashes on their heads to indicate mourning for their sin and as an act of penance and humility. Examples of the use of ashes, often as acts of communal penitence, can be found in Joshua, Job, Esther, and Johah.
It is fitting that the Church with her Jewish roots would continue the use of ashes to mark the beginning of Lent, not only as a community, but as a personal invitation to each of us.
When we receive our ashes, we will hear either:
“Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return,”
or
“Repent and believe in the Gospel.”
Both remind us of something essential.The first reminds us of our mortality—that death has entered the world because of sin. The second calls us to repentance and belief in the Gospel—the Gospel that tells us God took on our flesh to win the final victory over sin and death. With either statement, we may be confident in the victory Jesus has won for us; and at the same time, we are reminded that our sin brought about this unfathomable sacrifice of God, Himself. It is a profound and humbling way to begin Lent if we fully embrace it.
Sadly, I can’t say that I’ve always received and worn my ashes in the way the Church has invited us to wear them. When I was in Catholic grade school, it was something we did for Lent along with making the lists of what we would give up and making sure we had our rice bowl collection boxes assembled and ready to receive our loose change through Lent. And, of course, there was the great competition to see whose ash cross was darkest and whose lasted longest.
My practice of receiving ashes on Ash Wednesday stopped when I went to public high school. It just wasn’t part of the culture there. It would be many years before I would return to the practice of receiving ashes to begin my Lenten journey. Unfortunately, my reasons—my motivation—for receiving ashes weren’t much better than when I had been in grade school. My answer to, “Why ashes?” would be a journey in itself. Initially I was doing my “Catholic thing” on Ash Wednesday and proudly sported my ash cross wherever I went. It was proof I was a “good Catholic”.
Slowly, as I grew in my faith, my reasons changed with me; although it would be a while before there was real depth to them. Ash Wednesday became like New Year’s Day for me. It was when I would make my “Lenten Resolutions” and begin a life of rigorous prayer and sacrifice—A+ for enthusiasm but sadly lacking in grace and stamina. It would be years of growth in prayer and engagement in a richer sacramental life before my “Why ashes?” had more depth, meaning, and purpose.
Jesus said, “Amen, amen, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.” (John 12:24)
This is now my “Why.” I am reminded every Lent of this invitation to die so that I might not only live but be fruitful—and not just during Lent, but every day.
I wear my death to:
My self
My pride
My ego
My need for control
My desire to be recognized
My desire to be liked and accepted by others
My desire for approval
Like the grain of wheat buried in the soil, I can’t be fruitful if I don’t die. It feels so much safer to stay where I am in the safety of the soil. But that small grain can’t become a sheaf of wheat unless it allows the new, fruitful life of that sheaf to break free of the seed coat that encases it. Being encased in my pride and my comfort zone feels deceptively safe. But it’s not God’s purpose for me. I can’t possibly hope to be who He made me to be unless I die. But it is a death that leads to true freedom and the great plan that God uniquely created me for and has invited me to be a part of.
I am hauntingly convicted as I write this. I feel the Holy Spirit working through my pen as the words seem to write themselves. I wish I could say I have mastered this invitation to life through death. I have only recently heard and recognized this invitation, and I am confident I will fail repeatedly through this season of Lent. Each failure will bring an opportunity to bear the fruit of humility. And humility will be the slow death of my pride.
I hope to continue my efforts to gladly die so that I may live in Jesus Who died for me. It is most certainly not an equal trade or adequate compensation. Even as I enter into Lent, how can I not have some sense of joy? I know and love the One I die for, and my only hope is that I may bear good fruit for Him and His kingdom.