Reflections on Ash Wednesday

King David's beautiful daughter Tamar was raped. This story from the Hebrew Scriptures is not one we teach in Sunday School. Indeed, I wonder how many adult Christians in America even know this horrible tale exits in the Bible. You can find it in 2 Samuel 13: 1-22. It goes something like this: Amnon, the eldest son of King David, lusted after his beautiful and younger half-sister, Tamar. On the advice of his evil cousin, he feigned illness in order to be alone with the girl. When he had her isolated, he forced himself on her. She begged him to stop, but he violated her anyway. Then he threw her out like a piece of garbage.

Tamar was damaged goods. No longer a virgin, a victim of incest and betrayal, she was seen as not fit for any other man in the culture of the time. She responded as one would to a death—she tore her clothes and covered her head with ashes. The Bible describes her as “desolate” forever after. The word can mean “ruined,” “lonely,” “isolated," or “destroyed.” The word can also mean “uninhabitable,” referring to a region where no human can survive. Indeed, I don't believe that anyone could enter into the pit of pain, betrayal, anger, and hopelessness where Tamar dwelt to bring her comfort. This is the first mention in the Bible of someone putting ashes on their head.

Ashes are used again in the challenging and frustrating Book of Job. Here the title character immersed himself in the dust and filth of the ash heap—an outward sign of the degradation he experienced through grief and loss. In this most painful of allegories, Job, a good, righteous, prosperous, and grateful man, suffers the loss of his fortune and the death of his trusted servants at the hands of marauders. Before the shock of this personal and financial catastrophe has even had a chance to sink in, he is informed that a windstorm has crushed the home of his oldest son, killing all of his children who were assembled there for a party. This devastating blow, a tragedy which no parent should ever have to endure, is followed by a debilitating skin ailment—possibly an attack of shingles—which sends this now crushed and broken man to the ashes. And there he sits: devoid of his property, his beloved children, his health, and his identity within the society. There he is mocked by his own wife and tormented by self-righteous friends who blame him for his own misfortunes.

The ashes of Job testify to his grief, his helplessness, his longing for the way things once were, and his boiling and unquenchable anger at the injustice of it all.

Later, at the end of this perturbing poem, Job, beaten and submissive to the will of God, will return to the ashes as a sign of his contrition and repentance.

On this day we in the Church mark ourselves with ashes. What ashes are they? Are they the ashes of Tamar? The ashes which say we are ashamed and void of our self-worth? Such ashes cry out, “If you only knew my secret, you would turn from me in disgust.” Or are they the ashes of Job? The ashes which say, “I hurt. I mourn. I feel abandoned by God and I question God's goodness—even God's existence!”

Or maybe they are just the ashes which say, “I am sorry for what I have done, and I will try to be better.”

We ALL wear these ashes. And if you don't, you will. The black stain of Ash Wednesday is our way of speaking the inner affliction which—even in the family of the Church—we do not dare to speak aloud. We fear, even in holy places of worship and amongst our fellow believers, judgment and gossip and betrayal. And we are right to fear this, for we are surrounded by our fellow sinners. Our inability to be open and vulnerable is yet another reason for the ashes.

But in the gospel our Lord tells us that our Heavenly Father “sees in secret.” We hide no secrets from God, and we can't hide them from ourselves. On this day, as we enter into the forty-day journey of increased devotion, we have the opportunity to repent and to believe in the Good News. We are wounded, and we need healing, but God, who knows our sorrows and our virtues, will make us whole through the blood of Jesus Christ. Let's use these forty days, and the spiritual disciplines which our tradition has assigned to them, to be honest with ourselves and let our God bring us to newness of life.

A blessed Lenten season to you all.