Kathy Patrick
How we spend our time says a lot about us. Often, it says a lot about our wounds. We dwell on old family hurts, we grieve broken relationships, we see those we love trapped by addiction or illness, or perhaps, we wonder why a parent didn’t love us as we hoped and deserved. Sometimes, we are mired in grief.
Job is right there. It has all been too much for him, as sometimes it is too much for us. He sits, scraping his sores, gazing out at the ashes of his life. We’ve all been there. Maybe some of us are there now. We wonder where God is. And like Job, we cling to the promise that God is faithful.
Each Ash Wednesday, we are marked with ashes. The ashes we receive, like those into which Job slumped, remind us of the frailty and impermanence of life. But today’s ashes are different: they are traced on our foreheads in the shape of a cross. We are marked again with the Cross of Christ, not with oil as in our Baptisms, but with ashes. Ashes to remind us we are not immortal; the cross to assure us of our resurrection hope.
Yes, we are dust. And to dust we shall return. But, as the song says, “God makes beautiful things out of the dust.”
