The Old Man on Ash Wednesday

Tonight I attended the Ash Wednesday service at the local Episcopal church.  It was sparsely attended, and I brought the average age in the room down considerably.  Midway through the service, we were invited up to the rail to receive the ashes.  Not familiar with the process of the Episcopal church, I read the information provided in my bulletin.  One thing I noted was that servers were glad to come to your seat if you were physically unable to manage the five stairs leading up to the altar.  Two members of the congregation visibly struggled to make the assent, and I wondered why they hadn't chosen the easier option of remaining in their seats and accepting the delivery method that was offered.

After walking carefully behind an unsteady old woman, ready to catch her on the stairs, I took my place kneeling at the altar, and in the silence as the ashes were imposed down the line, I heard a noise that was quite out of place.  Having to work at deciphering what I heard, I realized it was the older gentleman who had relied on his cane crying out, "I need help!"  He had worked so hard to get down on his knees to receive the ashes, but he was unable to get up.  As someone nearby assisted, I began to think about the significance of his words.

Ash Wednesday is a time when we are all called to reflect on our humanity in the shadow of God's divinity, to tangibly remember that we were created from the dust and to the dust we will return, and to rest with confidence in knowing that there is more than what is before us.  Lent is a humbling time when we put our perspectives back in order.  And there I realized the irony of the old man's words.  "I need help!"  As the ashes were placed on my forehead, I found myself wanting to respond to him, "Me too!"  My need for help wasn't to rise from the kneeler, but rather my need is for God to help me to fully be the person God has called me to be.  As the profoundness of the old man's words settled in, I heard him speak again with a tremendous sigh of relief.  "I made it!"  He had stood.

Tears came to my eyes as I thought about how fitting his words were once again.  I recently heard on the radio that the song, "I Can Only Imagine" was celebrating its tenth anniversary.  I have always loved that song and the imagery it prompts.  When my earthly life is over, and I enter into the presence of Jesus, maybe the most fitting response will be, "I made it!"  Not because I had scored eternity in heaven but because the wrestling on earth between my sinful self and the person God intended will be over.  The struggle to live faithfully in a broken world will end, and God will make me whole.

In your Lenten journey, may the words of the old man linger in your soul.  "I need help!" because our days can be hard and heavy, but someday may we all have the privilege of saying, "I made it!"