Ash Wednesday: Staring Death Down for Lent

We need to talk about death. I know, you don’t want to, neither do I. But occasionally we need to have this talk.

We’re all going to die.

Usually, a line like that gets screamed in desperation and fear. But, thanks to the practice of Ash Wednesday, we get to say it in resolve and faith and hope.

But there are lots of deaths, not just the death that comes at the end of life, but all the deaths we die in the process of living. The losses mount, relationships falter, skills and ingenuity wane. As we go through these experiences, we know little deaths are happening. But to admit to this means that we might admit that our myth of progress, of everything getting better, isn’t quite true. The appearances we craft of having it all together just are not quite accurate.

In such a time as this, pandemic, police killings of people of color, international conflict, warfare, invasion, and powerful autocrats and dictators (as well as those who gladly carry their water), we need to have a talk. About the reality of death, and the way we seek to soften the blow of those many daily defeats and deaths.

Richard Beck, in The Slavery of Death, reflects of the power our fears have over us. Primarily our fear of death. That phrase, “slavery of death” arises in some translations of Hebrews 2.14-15, “through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death “, depicting Jesus as a destroyer of the power of death, and thereby a liberator, freeing us the fear of death that keeps in bondage to it. Beck writes,

In contemporary American culture our slavery to the fear of death produces superficial consumerism, a fetish for managing appearances, inauthentic relationships, triumphalistic religion, and the eclipse of personal and societal empathy. These are the “works of the devil” in our lives, works produced by our slavery to the fear of death (The Slavery of Death).

Beck continues to say that in the midst of this slavery, our denial of the reality of death temps us to make friends with addictions, masks and personas we live behind, and other habits to hide our brokenness from others, and ourselves.

Every American is thus ingrained with the duty to look well, to seem fine, to exclude from the fabric of his or her normal life any evidence of decay and death and helplessness. The ethic I have outlined here is often called the ethic of success. I prefer to call it the ethic of avoidance. . .. Persons are considered a success not because they attain some remarkable goal, but because their lives do not betray marks of failure or depression, helplessness or sickness. When they are asked how they are, they really can say and really do say, “Fine . . . fine.

Photo by Ben Lambert on Unsplash

Decades ago, I used to tell stories. Lots of legends, myths, and fairy tales, along with a mix of extended biblical narratives. Some of my favorite stories were The Fisher King and Without Blinking an Eye. The Fisher King tells the story of a king so frightened and broken by unfilled sense of purpose, the slavery of death is crippling. The other in its brevity depicts one who is free of that bondage.

During the civil wars in feudal Japan, an invading army would quickly sweep into a town and take control. In one particular village, everyone fled just before the army arrived - everyone except the Zen master. Curious about this old fellow, the general went to the temple to see for himself what kind of man this master was. When he wasn't treated with the deference and submissiveness to which he was accustomed, the general burst into anger. "You fool," he shouted as he reached for his sword, "don't you realize you are standing before a man who could run you through without blinking an eye!" But despite the threat, the master seemed unmoved. "And do you realize," the master replied calmly, "that you are standing before a man who can be run through without blinking an eye?”

Ash Wednesday is about death.

There’s no sugar coating that. Ashes and dust. Base reminders of our substance. Reminding us from whence we came, and to where our bodies will return. For all of us. For all life. We cannot escape it.

To receive the imposition of ashes is to stare death down without blinking an eye. And to remove from it the power is has to enslave us. The ashes one carries is an act of defiance, announcing liberation, and rests in hope.

You are welcome and invited to join us in a brief time of prayer, bible reading, and reflecting on ashes, mortality and the ever-present God who continues with us.

Photo by Ahna Ziegler on Unsplash