This past Wednesday was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. Again this year I gathered with folks at the church for this somber service. When the time came, I took my place in line and moved forward so that I could have ashes placed on my forehead. The whole experience flooded me with memories. One stood out. More than 20 years ago.

ash wednesday2On that chilly Wednesday evening in Illinois, a few dozen of us stood in a circle in the sanctuary. The minister made his way around the inside of the circle holding the small pot of ashes. We put ashes on the forehead of the person next to us. When the minister got to Sandy, I held my breath. She dipped her fingers in the small pot, and then put ashes in the shape of a cross on the forehead of her husband, Tim. Tim was about my age, mid-40s at the time. Tim and Sandy were friends of ours. We had children almost identical in age. Months before, Tim had been diagnosed with cancer, had undergone surgery and radiation, had experienced several complications leaving him partially paralyzed. He and his family had gone through hell and he was now at the last Ash Wednesday service he would ever attend. And we all knew it.

I watched Sandy put ashes on his forehead, look into his eyes, and say the words,  “Remember you are dust and to dust you will return.” I couldn’t breathe. Far more of life was being played out in that moment than any of us wanted to see.

The ashes remind us of the impermanence of life. Everything is constantly evolving, changing, dying and renewing.

I can struggle against my awareness of impermanence, I can deny it and assume it only happens to others, I can forget that it is a part of the natural order.  But when I do, I lose something vital in my awareness of my life and my relationships.

When we love someone, nothing intensifies the preciousness of the relationship more than recognizing its impermanence.  The thought of losing that person reminds us how vital that person is in our lives. Without the awareness of impermanence, we tend to take each other and our own lives for granted.

Ash Wednesday is a stark reminder of some things we must hold onto and some things we must let go of. When I think of Tim and Sandy, I remember I have to hold onto the awareness of my impermanence and the impermanence of everyone in my life. I have to hold onto the importance of character and faith. Those were qualities both of them exhibited, all the way to the end. I have to hold onto the realization that even small things I do may make a difference and may change someone. Watching Sandy’s quiet courage and Tim’s powerful relinquishment of control reminds me of that.

I have to give up my naïve assumption that being good means things will work out, that righteousness and fairness are connected. They are not. Righteousness is righteousness for its own sake. Fairness is an illusion. Being good is a good thing, but it is no guarantee that things will go my way.

Remember you are dust, and to dust you will return.  In the meantime, live those impermanent moments fully.