“Dust thou art, and unto dust, thou shalt return.” I don’t remember exactly when we Lutherans in the small speck of northwest Ohio made the transition to the trendy/modern, “Remember you are dust, and unto dust, you shall return,” but even me who may not have been the biggest fan of the thee’s and thou’s and shalt’s and the like from the King James Version Bibles that stubbornly hung around the church building; I still had this unexplainable appreciation of the seemingly ancient Ash Wednesday proclamation. There was something so formal about it. Something perhaps even regal. It was a precious connection to the generations past who heard the same words on the first night of their Lenten journey. Or maybe it was the poetic-ness of it, possibly making mortality not quite as intimidating or frightening; as if it was just the natural order of things that God didn’t mind getting down and dirty in with shaping mortal and everlasting life.
Nevertheless, we Lutherans in the small speck of northwest Ohio and beyond: the same Lutherans who will bitterly fight with every fiber of our being to avoid Bible translation changes and hymnal switches, not to mention sanctuary carpet alterations, and on and on and on we could go; nevertheless, we Lutherans gradually caved into being a little more plain-spoken and modern-day reaching: “Remember you are dust, and unto dust, you shall return.” And it’s quite possible that that Ash Wednesday modification emerged about the same time as another subtle, but really not so much, revision.
When our current red/cranberry (whatever color you want to call it) Evangelical Lutheran Worship hymnals somehow invaded the stubborn Lutherans’ pews, after caving into giving up on their tried-and-true green Lutheran Book of Worship hymnals, the hip/modern ELW included a general outline on the Ash Wednesday worship proceedings. The wording to the ash imposition and other confessions and prayers may have been slightly different from its ancestral LBW, but it still encouraged a separate time in the worship for the imposition of ashes from the distribution of Communion. Granted, there’s something to be said for each…holy instance to have its own sacred moment, in a sense, but I’ve come to appreciate the subtle, but really not so much, revision.
Granted, it could simply be out of courtesy for those who would prefer not making the trek up front to the sanctuary altar area, that many Lutheran faith communities strategically place the imposition of ashes coinciding with the distribution of Communion. Maybe it’s more so about ensuring the worship doesn’t take up too much of worshipers’ Wednesday evenings (although we would never admit that possible reasoning out loud). Perhaps it just makes things easier for worship leaders (again, may not say that out loud either).
But, there’s a part of me that thoroughly appreciates the theological…irony of it. It’s as if we can walk down the center aisle of our mortal reality check and face the ash dusting with death-defying boldness. It’s as if we can recognize the formality of the life proceedings, remember the matter-of-factness of our precious ancestors’ earthly ends, and all other rather-not-admit-out-loud complicated feelings over death, and face it head-on with a Holy Spirit relentless force. Because, right behind that mortality is all the hope we need. Right behind that death is a celebration of life. Right behind the end is a new beginning.
I treasure Communion, to be sure, but there’s an extra special Gospel proclamation to it on Ash Wednesday: the night where the church calls and invites us to consider our…not ever being meant to last on this terrain forever. And yet, still on this night, the Resurrection stubbornly insists on being involved with the worship proceedings. It’s as if death is allowed to have its say, but it will not have the final one. Tonight may not be the most joyous occasion, especially in comparison to what will happen several weeks from now, but yet, somehow, someway, Resurrection joy will still appear. Thanks be to God, indeed!
In Christ,
Pastor Brad