"Remember, O, man, that thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return." Welcome to Ash Wednesday! For much of Western Christianity, it is the beginning of the season of Lent, a forty-day period of penance and fasting imitating Christ's journey into the desert before he began his public ministry.
It is a reminder of Christ’s admonition to the Apostles when they could not cast out a devil: “There is no way of casting out such spirits as this except by prayer and fasting.” Mark 9:28. Lent is a time when we make war not on others, but on ourselves. As C.S. Lewis put it, "We are not merely imperfect creatures who must be improved; we are rebels who must lay down our arms."
Here in the land that time forgot, the 6:15 a.m. Mass was packed as several hundred people lined up to get their ashes. In the 19th and 20th centuries, thousands of French, Irish, and English missionaries poured into colonial Africa. Given the poor conditions and limited medical knowledge, a life expectancy in the bush of two or three years was not uncommon for these brave men and women. Those who didn’t die were often sent back to Europe with tropical diseases that left them disabled for life. Some even lost their minds and ended up wandering the streets like today’s homeless veterans.
So it is fitting that our old Irish priest of long ago has now been replaced by a Nigerian who is not shy about telling us we need to change for Lent, get rid of things weighing us down, and help those in need. Last Saturday, over 50 people lined up for confession, so he and his fellow priests were certainly busy. Not long ago, one of the older priests made an announcement before confessions began: “The line is long; remember you are here to confess your sins, not someone else’s!”
Guilty — who, me? Nah, she gave me that apple. No man can be a judge in his own case. Yes, of course you have to apologize immediately to God when you offend him, but I’d say the grace of confession is the difference between struggling to fix a car yourself or leaving it in the hands of a master mechanic who can quickly set things right.
In days of yore, priests used to stand in Grand Central Terminal, giving ashes to busy commuters as they rushed to work. One old eccentric pastor, if business were slow, would cry out, “Get your ashes! You don’t want to go to Hell, do you?” Needless to say, he drove the bishop crazy.
On my walk home today, about 7 a.m.. I passed by my neighboring Methodist Church. The pastor was just putting out a very well-designed placard with an arrow that read, “Ash Wednesday, Receive Ashes” and was standing at the curb, ready for commuters to drive through the drop-off area or enter the church to get their ashes.
Related: News of Christianity's Decline in the United States Is (Greatly?) Exaggerated
I was going to smile and say, "Reverend, you’ve got to get up earlier in the morning if you want to beat our parish." But then I bit my tongue, remembering that for Lent, I was giving up being a pain in the neck.
Prayer, penance, almsgiving, and works of mercy: there is nothing new under the sun. Keep smiling and keep praying — there are only forty more days of Lent to go.
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