We’re re-posting this entry by Fr. Mark from our blog two years ago as we’ve grown and for a number of people in our parish Shrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday are still new concepts. Enjoy!
There is some intentional thematic parity between Shrove Tuesday, Ash Wednesday, and Palm Sunday. It is not without purpose that we save last year’s palm branches, hang them, watch them dry, and then burn them on Shrove Tuesday. It is also not without purpose that it is from those smoldering remains that we get the ashes for Ash Wednesday. The three are tied together.
Remember Palm Sunday? “Hosanna” is what we cried, joining ourselves to the memory of the crowds that welcomed Christ as the Son of David; as the triumphant fulfilment of Ps. 118. And then, we hung them on Holy Week, just as our Lord was hung on a cross. We watched them dry, wilt, wither. They turned brittle in their battle against the passing of the year. They reminded us (or, at least, were supposed to remind us) of the story in which we find ourselves.
Branches, as I discussed elsewhere, always remember the mighty victories Yahweh works on behalf of his people when we stop trusting in our own might and lean into the strength of his Spirit. Now, on Tuesday night, they are burned and pulped and rubbed into our foreheads, intensifying the meaning: “nothing in my hands I bring, simply to thy cross I cling.” These bright and living branches which we once waved so wild have withered and remind us that we are dust, and to dust we shall return.
Tomorrow (Fat Tuesday) Christians make merry in one mode of humility: not taking ourselves too seriously, of laughing at ourselves, at confessing our need of a savior, and rejoicing that he has made us glad. We burn the branches and say our last “alleluias” until the Vigil of Easter. We turn ourselves to fasting and repentance which is not a turn away from joy but rather, an intensification of our pursuit of it.
Wednesday, we will have those ashes rubbed in cross-shapes on our fore-heads. We kneel through a long litany. We kneel through an even longer chanting of the 51st Psalm. We begin the journey from Sunday’s mount of transfiguration through the valley of Lent to the opposite mountain of Golgotha. And while we do this with deep contrition (and, perhaps, penitential tears, or even sobbing confessions) we do this with the joy that comes from the Gospel for his burden is easy and his yoke is light —far lighter than maintaining the falsehood that we can save ourselves. Lent, remember, has always been about joy.
Finally, for those watching the news: on Wednesday Christians across the world will be told “Rember you are dust, and to dust you shall return”. This is a good word. It is, in fact, the very word of the Lord. This is a powerful part for us to play in the global witness of the Church. And also, it is a good and timely word for the kings of the earth in this hot hour. Let them that trust in the strength of their chariots —even if they be chariots of fire— think well upon such things.