Ashes, Lament & Lent :: Beginning a 40 Day Journey of Stories that Dare to Hope
My daughter and I have been having conversations about the story of Esther recently. She got to be a part of a Purim play at my sister’s church, which was beautifully, if not divinely, timed because with Esther’s many-layered message we’ve had much material to draw from for life application in light of current events. What do I mean by that? Allow me to welcome you to my breakfast table over the last couple of days:
NB: “Mommy, what does it mean to be in sackcloth and ashes?”
Me: :: sips coffee :: “Where did that come from?”
NB: “Mordecai. When he hears about Haman’s mean plan, it says he covered himself in sackcloth and ashes.”
Me: “Oh! Well. In ancient days, when people were incredibly upset either because they realized they had done something really wrong, or because they received really bad news, they would strip off their good clothes, and put on a burlap bag, and then, they cover themselves in ashes like what is left after a fire.
NB: :: Chews cereal slowly with a thoughtful expression on her face :: “Why?”
Me: ::sips coffee for reinforcements :: “Um. Honestly? I’m not sure! I just have read about it in scripture in other places before, but I honestly am not sure where it comes from.”
NB :: “OK, Mommy” (whew)
However, I’m not good with unresolved situations and unanswered questions. Therefore, I began to look into where this tradition comes from. In light of it being Ash Wednesday, the day on the Church calendar which traditionally begins the season of Lent (the 40 days leading to Easter), let’s start with a quick glance at the ashes. (We’ll do the sackcloth another day J)
It’s hard to say where the ancient practice of associating ashes with grief originated. I pursued some of my best research savvy friends about it, and the best summation of cultural practice was the potential connection to ancient-eastern cities being burned down. Then, as my friend Kevin says, “And as God often does, it gets re-appropriated into different imagery and use.” But what are ashes? Ashes are the remains of what once was, like those cities that were destroyed, ashes are the remnant of what has been burned. Grief is the mourning of what once was, what never came to be, or what hasn’t happened as we hoped. It can also be the realization of what has happened as the result of sin and the destruction that was left in our wake. Grief in that case carries the burden of knowing we’ve caused pain or loss, and a longing for restoration, renewal, or deliverance.
No wonder ashes cover the head and the hands of the ancients.
Job when he lost everything, Jacob when he thought his beloved son Joseph was dead, and Mordecai feared the extinction of his people, ashes. (Job 16:15, Genesis 37:34, Esther 3:8-15, 4:1) In just these few Biblical examples, the death of dreams, of loved ones, the potential future without hope, the confusion of the activity of God in our loss, we see the pouring out of broken hearts. It also speaks to the frailty of life. We were made from dust. God is the expert in making something out of nothing, even the ashes of what seems empty, formless, lifeless, and unredeemable, God sees the possibility of life and resurrection. We’ll talk about this more, but since Lent begins with ashes, so will we, it’s our original skin from Adam anyway, is it not?
On a different morning this week, my daughter asked me about what was happening in Ukraine. I tried to give her some high points of the situation: a man who thinks he needs to be in charge of more countries and peoples than what he already has charge over is sending troops and bombs and all kinds of things to try and gain control over them no matter the cost to anyone else in their country and his. There is much fire and ash.
Her reply? “Mommy, Putin is such a Haman.”
That’ll preach, sister. Even in a story where it seems like God is not mentioned anywhere and evil has the upper hand, in a story full of wailing, fear, longing, sackcloth, and ashes while men sit in palaces clueless or perhaps careless to the devastation they’ve caused, God was still on His throne. God was working in the chaos, behind the scenes, meeting the brokenhearted in their grief, their questions, their fear. The same is still true today. Hamans never get the final victory. Evil men can never conquer hope, no matter how it may appear. In God’s hands, ashes never remain ashes.
That is the gift of Lent. It’s a time of looking and longing for someone to take the pain and redeem it. It’s a time of working out our losses, our fears and seeing that in the gift of Christ, He cares about it all. He hears and welcomes our lament about the state of things. He is not ruffled by our questions. He is not surprised by our feelings and our struggle with lives looking like we never imagined they could.
These next 40 days, that’s what we’ll be doing around here in the Simply Stories world. We’ll be looking at stories of people who encountered situations in their lives that they never saw coming, broke their hearts, pushed their faith, and led them to postures where they dared to hope that this wasn’t how their story would end. They are stories of renewal, of beauty from their ashes, and longing for clothes of righteousness instead of bags of burlap. (Isaiah 61:3, 10) This doesn’t mean everything is now wrapped perfectly in a bow, but they have seen dry bones and ash come back to life, and it has fed their faith to keep running their race with perseverance. (Ezekiel 37, Hebrews 12:1-3). We also will look at what it means to Biblically lament and the gift it can be in the lives of every follower of Christ. Lastly, I’ll be sharing ways to pray. Whether it’s a specific guided prayer written by myself, by others, or scripture that’s come to mind, I feel more strongly than ever, that sharing our hearts with the Lord is a holy endeavor of cultivating our trust in Him and his fueling of our hope. I hope you’ll join us, friend. Dare to hope, there will be fire, there will be ashes, but there will also be beauty and resurrection.
