Photo courtesy of Grant Whitty
An article on Ash Wednesday and the daily grind of our 9 to 5s from Grace Team Member, Will Sorrell.
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I remember the first time I attended an Ash Wednesday service. I remember it because I remember removing the ashes from my forehead in the church bathroom a mere ten minutes later.
The ash and water muddled into a mess as I scrubbed my face. A bunch of us had fasted all day in preparation for the kickoff of a season of fasting, and we were about to feast. I didn’t want the good folks at Krispy Kreme to think I was superfluously religious—demonstrating some kind of faux holiness or pomp and circumstance—or to think I just needed to wash my face.
But this year, I plan to wear my ashes to work. And yes, I’m still somewhat concerned about my public perception. Who wants their coworkers to see them as a Pharisee, holy-roller, or a slob? But I’m wearing them anyway. Of all the places in my life, of all the places in the world, I want to remember that I am but dust in my work.
Ash Wednesday is historically the day that begins the season of Lent--forty days of fasting, with Sundays in the mix for feasting, in preparation for the day and season of Easter. There’s no promised land without the wilderness. There’s no rejoicing without repenting. There’s no feasting without fasting.
This Wednesday, we will gather early in the morning. We will pray. We will reflect. We will hear. We will confess. And, if desired, we will receive the imposition of ashes upon our heads. Just as early Christians were marked with the sign of the cross in the baptismal waters, we receive this same mark with the sooty dust of palm trees.
And then, all of us, in one way or another, will go to work. Some will drive home to care for a sick toddler. Some will rush to beat the bell and begin a lecture. Some will navigate Excel sheets, prepare litigations, walk door to door, transform the ordinary into art, and minister to sick patients (and yes, those of you in healthcare should probably wash up before walking into the clinic!).
But for some of you, you may want to keep the sweaty, dirty sign of the cross on your forehead from 9:00 to 5:00. You may want the reflective reminder during a bathroom break that you are a saint still very prone to sin. You may want to remember whose seal you bear before you send that email, ignore that request, or shortcut that assignment. You may want the outward sign of the inward reality you keep trying to tell your coworker about--that Christ Jesus found you in the muck and the mud and brought you into the fold. You may want to remember that your work is but dust, too.
For the longest time, I ‘found my identity in my work.’ This cliche phrase is almost too trite to put into writing, but it was true for me. It still is a lot of the time. I wonder if it is true for you. Does your ability to be yourself at home rise and fall based on your feedback at work? Does busy season have you only looking to the days ahead? Do your thoughts linger on growing the business, selling the product, making the grade, improving the model, or counseling the patient to the point where you cannot rejoice in the messiness of Wednesday night at 6:30? Your work is dust. It is not ultimate. It is not final. It is not defining. And this should bring great, true comfort and joy. But if work is your idol, like it was and still tends to be mine, this brings great, true despair.
Your work is like grains of sand on an expanse of seaside. It’s impossible to grasp, always slipping through your fingers. You can form it into whatever you like, into something in your own image, but the wind and waves will always come. We are told we operate in a free economy, but we lost a truly free economy with the first crunching bite of rebellion in Eden.
Your work is but dust, and you are but dust. And to dust you shall return. And the dust from the ground shall cloud your eyes every day you are alive. The thorns from the ground shall prick and needle your fingertips as you plant, water, nurture, and harvest the fruit of your work. Your labors of love will feel more like toil than rest, more like futility than fulfillment, more like sorrow than success.
But Lent does not last forever, and neither does your toilsome labor. You are but dust--but you are dust with the breath, the Spirit, of the living God inside of you. To dust you shall return--but one day, you will be raised into an everlasting body. You will be raised into a just, thornless economy with a righteous King upon the throne. You will be raised to work in the context of everlasting, final rest.
That means that every mundane interview, every gruesome paper, every numbing audit, every heartbreaking case, every dirty diaper, every lost patient is preparing you for an eternal weight of glory. Your suffering, your slaving away is not in vain. It’s not in vain because Lent ends with Easter. Without fail, every year, we get to remember that Christ holds the keys to death itself.
This is the kind of freedom that sets you free to labor with a Lenten mindset. Because Christ rose from the dead, you can sacrifice profit for integrity. You can be truly sorry and humbly repent for being short with your teammate. You can carry your cross and empty yourself into servitude because your Lord and Savior did the same thing, and he will never abandon you.
So Wednesday morning, if you can, walk into work with your ashes. Remind yourself that your coworkers also see the futility in their jobs. They also suffer from overwork and underpay. They also want something to just work out for once. Visible sorrow and somber sobriety over sin, evil, and injustice is actually an act of love to those around you. And as you embrace the one who bids you come and die in Lent, you may find those in your place of work celebrating with you in the hope of Easter.