“Remember that dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return”
The cool smudge of ash on my forehead, the ancient words echoing in my ears: ‘Remember, thou art dust…’ Every year, I return to this ritual, but why?
Why did I let this happen to me again?
It’s not that I forget my mortality; a daily look in the mirror reminds me I’m perishable.
I didn’t do it because I’m expecting some sudden positive impact. In all my years of being smudged with ashes, I’ve never left the service with such a profound sense of my own mortality that I lived every subsequent moment as if it were my last.
- I received ashes because somehow acknowledging my finitude opens me to the infinite. Like those rare moments in my daily meditation practice, when I lose all sense of self and the world around me, but still know that I am.
- I received ashes because it draws me closer to the other people who received ashes with me. It’s almost like exchanging invitations to our funerals, a shared acknowledgment of our human frailty. I’ll remember you when you’re gone, please remember me.
- I received ashes because in participating in this ancient ritual I feel connected to the countless number who have done this in the past, like my parents and grandparents and other great saints who inspire me. They lived well, maybe because they recognized their mortality.
- I received ashes because it leaves me with a question – “so what is the meaning and purpose of this life?” I work best to deadlines and being smudged with ashes reminds me that there is a limited time for me to discover the answer to “what is the meaning and purpose of this limited life of mine?”
Have you ever felt the weight of those ashes? I’d love to hear your experiences and reflections. Share your thoughts in the comments below.