The Ashes of Lent

Last night, at the end of a wonderfully delicious Shrove Tuesday Pancake supper, with Bob Garder's light flapjacks and Hatfield sausages that folks raved about (thanks, Rick!), we burned the palms from last year's Palm Sunday so that we would have ashes for Ash Wednesday.

What! You think we use ashtrays?  Come on!

As I was sifting the ashes this morning I thought about my father-in-law's ashes as they put them in the ground on Sunday.  Our son, Gordon and his wife, Linda, were pouring the ashes into the hole dug in the Memorial Garden.  They were so light grey against the dark loam of the garden soil.

As we were going back into the Parish Hall, Linda leaned over and half whispered, "I didn't know if I was supposed to reach into the jar and take handsful of the ashes out..."  And I giggled, "And your hand would be covered with Duard.  What would you do then?"

Well, tonight my thumb will be covered with ashes.  Our foreheads will be covered with a mark that is made to say we are dust -- mortal -- headed back to that dark brown earth.  What kind of pilgrimage will you and I make as we head back to the dust?