Meal From Below: A Lenten Devotionalናሙና

Ash Wednesday: A Midweek Meal

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent in the calendar of Christian faith. For followers of Jesus in liturgical traditions, we begin a time of focused spiritual companionship with our Savior leading to the cross. Lent lasts 40 days, in commemoration of Jesus’ 40 days in the desert (Matt. 4:1-2; Mark 1:12; Luke 4:1-2). In many traditions, the 40 days of Lent do not include Sundays, to continue the celebration of the resurrection—they function like mini-Easters. So each year the Christian church merges these two chapters of the life of Jesus (desert wandering and the journey to the gallows outside Jerusalem) with our own current chapter of life.

In solemn ceremonies, ashes will be gently pressed onto foreheads in the shape of a cross, with the reminder that we were formed from dust and will return to dust (Gen. 3:19). Following Ancient Near Eastern customs, where ashes on the head were a sign of distress or repentance, we reflect on our experience of desolation and alienation. The ashes typically are collected by burning the withered palms from the previous year’s Palm Sunday. Rejoicing recedes into memory; only a blackened residue remains.

The symbolism here is vivid, but few seem to be drawn to its stark sign. There always seem to be more than enough palm ashes for the few foreheads that show up for such dismal proceedings. How can any of this be helpful, never mind spiritually uplifting?

For some of us, Lent is upon us unbidden, whether we are ready or not—in ways that make giving up coffee or chocolate mockingly trite. We are already empty, the landscape is bleak, and who needs reminders? Others of us are alright personally, but our calling brings us into regular proximity with the anguish of others. Still others are in a delightful season of life. Lent seems even more jarring and unwelcome if we are welcoming babies or embarking on exciting projects or heading off on honeymoons. Why invite such dreariness—for 40 days no less?

For those of us bent on coming up with a rationale for entering into this agonizing journey, we find little at this juncture. It is particularly difficult to make sense of the Lenten journey from the context of a gluttonous society. Instead, we have a simple but compelling invitation from the One who has so clearly “taken” and lavishly “blessed” us as his beloved: “Join me now in the wilderness. Taste now only dust. Learn with me what only hunger can teach. Pay attention to the empty regions you have busied yourself to ignore.” Can we accept this invitation, entrusting ourselves to the One who delivers it? Will we enter this long journey patiently and with openness?