Ashes to Ashes

Today is Ash Wednesday. We went to the noon Mass, which begins with the distribution of the ashes. "Remember you are ashes and to ashes you shall return." the priest says as he traces a black cross on my forehead. The readings and psalms are about sorrow for sin, repentance, and forgiveness.

Every year I, ever filled with my mother’s heart, am struck by the stark image of sweet, rosy-cheeked, roly-poly babies and toddlers with the black smudge. Really? Will the tender, rotund baby flesh become ashes? Hard for me to believe, and yet there it is. We are all ashes, even those babies that I love.

I think the meta-sin that we are repenting for on Ash Wednesday is that of forgetting that we are mortal. Both in our easy sense of independence from the need for God, and in our forgetting how miraculous it is that we are here at all. When I am most aware of the possibility of death, I am also keenly sensitive to the beauty of my family, friends, and the world around me.

So I gave my babies extra kisses tonight, on the rosy cheeks that will someday turn to dust. Dark meditations--but hey--it is Ash Wednesday after all.