Ash Wednesday: Is There an App for That?

by James Lamkin

As far as I know, there is no Ash Wednesday App. Perhaps, it’s only a matter of time. Turns out, there are eleven, yes eleven, Forehead Game Apps.  Ever played, Heads Up! or Charades! or Headbang! or Who Am I? That’s right, hold an I-Phone to your head and a word or picture pops up. Everybody else sees it, except you. Then, YOU have to guess what it is.

In the ole’ days, we made do with index cards, licked and stuck on our foreheads. Then we evolved to Post-It Notes. What a hoot! Ever tried to pantomime Ben Hur or Watermelon; and what would be a one-word clue for John 3:16?   

Will it be evolution or regression, if one day we just hold an I-Phone to our forehead and say, “Siri, you know what day it is. Impose ashes.” A digital ritual. No lingering residue. How convenient. 

Yet, it is not about convenience, is it? 

On this day each year, we go out of our way to kneel at the altar or stand in line or maybe just drop by. Regardless of the space or place, we show up and receive a ritual; and a cruciform smudge on our forehead follows us out. Plus, there’s an eerie echo in our ears. “From dust you’ve come; and to dust you will return.” It is an inconvenient truth. 

Welcome to Ash Wednesday.

The day is not for the squeamish. Truly, it is an imposition (don’t you love that word) and comes with a reminder: our dusty human journey is an all-too-brief round trip.  

It is a messy ritual. We’ve all been imposed by amateur ash-wranglers. One finger-full can go a long way—all the way down your forehead, then onto your nose and eyeglasses.    

Wouldn’t it be a lot neater if there were an app for that? 

Ready or not, the cross is about death. Mortality. Dust ‘r us. One day a year, we wear our future on our forehead. The truth-telling symbol practically shouts: “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” (Thank you Mary Oliver.) Or, to borrow an idea from Nadia Bolz Weber: if our lives were a long ribbon—baptism at one end and funeral at the other—and you pulled the ends together—the meeting place is Ash Wednesday.   

Ready or not, the cross is about death. Mortality. Dust ‘r us. One day a year, we wear our future on our forehead. The truth-telling symbol practically shouts: “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” (Thank you Mary Oliver.) Or, to borrow an idea from Nadia Bolz Weber: if our lives were a long ribbon—baptism at one end and funeral at the other—and you pulled the ends together—the meeting place is Ash Wednesday.   

However, there’s something else. Cross-bearing implies an ethic: following Jesus. There’s no App or easy hack for that, either. Matthew 25 comes to mind: Feed the hungry. Visit prisoners. Take in strangers. Also, The Sermon on the Mount: Consider the lilies. Watch birds. Give away. Make peace. Be light. Love enemies. Forgive. Pray. Go the extra mile; and don’t be anxious.

It’s easy to stray from the Jesus Way. Ash Wednesday is a STOP sign. We might need to turn around or change directions or return home another way or just stop. Might even need to, “lay aside the sin which doth so easily beset us.” (Hebrews 12:1, KJV-ish)

Also, let’s not hyper-individualize repentance. Our churches, denominations, and religions all have some corporate and community confessing to do. Even while trying to do good, our fingerprints are all over centuries of injustice and inequity. 

Remember the story of Nineveh? After God finally got Jonah’s attention (much to the relief of the Great Fish), Jonah came out preaching. The king repented. All the people repented—the wealthy and the woebegone, even the cows and the sheep (?). All wore dusty ashes and rough sackcloth. Per the text, even God changed God’s mind.   

So, “frail children of dust,” as the hymn puts it, go big this Ash Wednesday. Wear the ashes. Look in the mirror. Love one another. Lament and laugh. Remember, repent, rejoice.   From dust we’ve come and to dust we will return. There’s no app for that. Hallelujah.