CEBU CITY — Many took some time off to have ashes smeared on foreheads at the start of Lent.
The rites jerk us back to the reality we prefer to ignore: that we will die. Ashes to ashes. On this day, at least, we drop all pretenses. We’re all flawed, we admit. And we all are “journeying to the grave”.
“Death plucks my ears and says, Live, I am coming.” Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote on his 90th birthday.
Thus, ashes will be traced on the foreheads even of beggars we half see. In a society where over 4.3 million scrounge below poverty thresholds, they blend into the woodwork.
The ashes come from burnt Palm Sunday fronds. With oil of the catechumen, ashes are stirred into a paste. As the priest or lay minister traces a cross on foreheads, he then reaches, across the centuries, to echo a shattering sentence first heard in an Eden marred by disobedience: “You are dust. And unto dust you will return.”
“Presume not to promise yourself the next morning,” Thomas a’ Kempis counseled. “And in the morning, consider that you may not live till nightfall…Many die when they least think of it… A man is here today. And tomorrow, he is gone. And when he is taken out of sight, he is also quickly out of mind….”
“And what if this day were to be the last?,” asks Og Madino. “Some who greeted yesterday’s sunrise are no longer with the living today. This day is all I have. These hours are my eternity…Tomorrow lies buried with yesterday.”
Agustine “Og” Madino II (1923—1996) flew 30 World War II missions as a bombardier. He turned to writing after the war. His Ten Scrolls distilled time-tested wisdom. Excerpts from Scroll Five:
“I will live this day as if it is my last.”
“What shall I do with this last precious day? I will not waste a moment mourning yesterday’s aches of the heart. Can I take back the evil that was spoken, the blows that were struck, the pain caused?
“No. Yesterday is buried forever. And I will think of it no more. Neither will I think of tomorrow.
“Why should I throw away now after maybe? Can tomorrow’s sand flow through the glass before today? Can tomorrow’s death cast its shadow backwards and darken today’s joy? Should I torment myself with problems that may never come to pass?
“No. I will lift up mine arms with thanks for this gift of a new day. Others far better than I have departed. Today’s hours are but a bonus, undeserved.
“I have but one life. And life in naught but a measurement of time. If I waste today, I destroy the last page of my life. Therefore, each hour of this day will I cherish for it can never return. It can not be banked today to be withdrawn on the morrow, for who can trap the wind?
“Today is my last chance. The duties of today, I will fulfill today.
“Today, I shall embrace my children and my woman. Tomorrow, they will be gone. And so will I. Today, I will lift up a friend in need. Tomorrow, he will no longer cry for help. Nor will I hear his cries. Today, I shall give myself in sacrifice and work. Tomorrow, I will have nothing to give. And there will be none to receive.
“And if today is my last, I will drink every minute to its full. I will trade every minute and hour only for something of value. Each minute of today must be more fruitful than hours of yesterday.
“I will live today as if it is my last. And if it is not, I shall fall on my knees to give thanks.”
The season of Lent began with Ash Wednesday. The following 40 days are to see application of the three pillars of asceticism: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. They’re to help us get back to the basics.
“We are able to ponder our ashness with/Some confidence, only because our every Wednesday of ashes/ Anticipates your Easter victory over that dry, flaky taste of death,” Walter Brueggemann notes in his poem Marked by Ashes.
But does this re-examining, rebooting, and resetting have to come on this Ash Wednesday?, asks the Philippine Jesuit website.
“Coming in the middle of things, Lent demands we stop and break mid-stride, mid-sentence, and even mid-thought. We must take stock: Where are we now? What have we been doing with ourselves? What is truly important?
“Our lives are not blank slates anymore. We all have our histories and pasts to deal with. But coming in the middle of things, Lent also gives hope. No matter how old we are — whether we’re seven or 97 — we are always still in the middle. There is still always hope. It is never too late to change.”
In his paper, Writing in the Dust, Fr. Daniel Huang, SJ cautions about the paralyzing effect of “self-pitying powerlessness”. Ganito na talaga ako. ‘Di ko na kayang magbago, it says.
Instead, “we move on, one small, faltering, but real step at a time” — possible because of “the utter gratuity of grace, its unearned, unmerited, even inexplicable nature.”
Lent is about unyielding choices. “This day…I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses,” Moses told his rebellious people. “Choose life, so that you and your children may live.”
Lent is not the end. It is just part of the journey to Easter. “Before the sun sets, take our Wednesday and Easter us,” Brueggemann writes. “Come here and Easter our Wednesday with/mercy and justice and peace and generosity.”
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