There was a lot of ash in Canada last Spring and Summer. A record eighteen and a half million hectares went up in flames—an area twice the size of Portugal—shattering the previous annual record almost three times over. That’s lots of trees that went up in smoke. And lots of ash.

The sheer intensity of some of those blazes means it is not clear whether the dominant fir and spruce trees in the boreal forest will come back as before.[1]

There’s lots of ashes to go around. There is no shortage. Some would argue Christians spend way too much effort, a disproportionate amount of time and energy, focusing on the ash, the sinfulness—hashtag “humanity fail”. At very least we can say that the smoke in the air last summer is a sign of humanity’s failed and failing efforts with regards to our relationship with the earth.

Putting all our energy just focusing on sin can be very heavy, weigh us down to a standstill or stand-off, when all we see through the ash is death.

Your pastor, Joel, and I were ordained in the same year, 1997. And on Ash Wednesday twenty-seven years ago our class gathered in the chapel at Martin Luther University College for worship. Our professor of systematic theology, the Rev. Bob Kelly, instructed the class to sprinkle ash—not in the sign of the cross on our foreheads, but—over the top of our heads. The ash would then land onto whatever was atop our scalp.

If you have great hair—and an abundance of hair—like Pastor Joel, then that meant real trouble: The ash would be so difficult to remove once it would get lodged down deep at the hair roots. It would be itchy and get all over the place. And if you tried to ruffle your hair you’d just get your hands all blackened and sooty.

Of course, the less hair you have the better, the easier it is. 🙂

I like the connection, in that way of doing it, with baptism. Because tonight, at the beginning of Lent, we are at the start of a holy pilgrimage. We begin a journey of self-reflection, of penitence, of contemplation, of acts of kindness and discipline. We start something tonight.

And the connection with baptism is important because baptism reminds us that all our spiritual journeys begin here, at the font, at the place of God’s grace and initiative. God starts it all, with God’s love for us, equipping us with what we need for the wilderness journey ahead.

Today’s also Valentine’s Day. At first blending those two events may feel not right, like two clashing energies. But perhaps there is value in letting each inform the other, letting Valentine’s Day bring a deeper meaning and significance to Ash Wednesday, and vice versa, at least this year.

Because Valentine’s Day is, of course, about the fire of love. And what better way to start our Lenten fast reminded of love? And fire!

Ashes, after all, are produced from fire. Often when the word fire is used in the bible, we need to recall it’s not a torturing fire, it’s a purifying fire that gets us directly to the purpose, reason and centre of all our lives – the passionate love of God for us and the world.[2] For the ancient Greeks and Egyptians, healing came from light and fire. It is the fire of God’s heart of love that brings renewal and new life to the world.[3]

Because it all starts with God’s love and grace for us, can we therefore accept those messy, painful places—in our lives, and the lives of others?

That’s why we need ritual. That’s why we need to get our hands dirty, so to speak. That’s why Martin Luther valued sacramental theology—the water, the wine, the bread—not just as representations of some abstract notion of God’s love. Our faith, our Lutheran faith, is not just some mental game. Not just theory or doctrine or adherence to words on a page our minds must grasp. Rather, consider that these earthy elements truly convey for us, experientially, the real love of God.

Jesus embraced the fullness of our humanity. The Divine embodied our humanity. His journey to the cross was real, and dirty. Jesus knows our suffering because he, too, got his hands in the muck, literally to heal people who couldn’t see.[4]

I read that even pine stumps, small and charred by ravaging fires, still excrete sap.[5] Apparently it is the way they heal themselves, the way they rescue themselves from the ash, the way they transform themselves and the forest around them, making way for the new thing. God created trees to endure and be transformed through even the worst of their suffering.

God created us to endure and be transformed through difficult, challenging times. Maybe as the ashes float down onto our heads or marked tonight on our foreheads in the sign of the cross, our Lenten journey could be one of learning to trust more. It may be uncomfortable for a while.

But maybe the ash can remind us of God’s power to make all things new. Maybe by wearing the ash we learn to appreciate what God has already given to us to usher in the new. And maybe, just maybe, the new is already happening.

Our humble efforts at cooperating in ministry, sharing our resources and experiencing worship together as Ottawa Lutherans this Lent could be sign posts leading us forward on the journey.

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[1] Milman, O. (2023, November 9) After a record year of wildfires, will Canada ever be the same again? The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/nov/09/canada-wildfire-record-climate-crisis – :~:text=Fire ravaged Canada in 2023,record nearly three times over

[2] Rohr, R. (2023, February 12). A Single Flame: Mystics on Fire with Love. Richard Rohr’s Daily Meditations. Center for Action and Contemplation. www.cac.org

[3] Richo, D. (2007). The Sacred Heart of the World: Restoring Mystical Devotion to Our Spiritual Life. Paulist Press, 86-87.

[4] John 9

[5] Tygrett, C. (2023) The Gift of Restlessness: A Spirituality for Unsettled Seasons. Broadleaf Books.  p. 120