As a child, I was bemused at being besmirched, and a little in awe - afraid to wipe off the magic. We giggled in school about the different marks left on our foreheads, only guessing at how we looked to others. Some years the words freaked me out a bit, other times fey and half in love, always loved the solemnity mixed with the silly.
Remember man that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return.
So mythic, the beginning of a fairy tale, archaic speech even when the old King James bible emerged. Poetic and harking back to both a darker and more golden age. A memento mori as make-up. The mark of Cain. A flaming tongue of the holy spirit leaving an ashy kiss behind.
The last time I was so marked was in Boston, the hospital chapel offered the service for staff, and I went. A nun gave me the blessing, but instead of the traditional words, it was a call to reaffirm my faith in Jesus. Which I ain't got. Off putting enough that I have not done it since.
Occurred to me this week why I still feel drawn to the custom. The message expresses what I do feel is the truth - or as close as is possible to know. That I get one life, that's all and that's everything, best do it all right. No second chances, don't mess it up. And in the end, I'll be recycled. Much as that idea terrified me when I was young, for a long time I've found it completely comforting.
And I faced Death, not a bad entity - not at all frightening. Leaving people behind is sad, but being the one gone is fine. I'm good with going back to dust. Which may be why I no longer want the ceremony enough to actually go into a church for it. I don't need the reminder, the mark is on my heart. Death walks beside me. Or perhaps sits.
He turned his head... and saw a small but brightly lit folding chair on the sand. A robed figure was reclining in it, reading a book. A scythe was stuck in the sand beside it.
A white, skeletal hand turned a page. ...
DON'T MIND ME. CARRY ON WITH WHATEVER YOU WERE DOING. I HAVE A BOOK.
- Terry Pratchett, Thud.
6 comments:
The young ones were running around on Wednesday with solid jet black shiny crosses (about 3 inches long) drawn on their foreheads. As I had to walk past a group of about 2 dozen of these über-ashed beings, I at first thought it was a vampire thing or something.
always love turning up here and finding terry pratchett. good post and a heart-breaking but beautiful links.
Rou,
That's... wow, wonder what exactly was going on there.
pc,
That's what hearts are for, shattering and reforming, letting in a little more love every time.
Is it a coincidence that your two back-linked posts are both from 2005?
I got ashed and lent has begun.
My son has a terrific voice and is a strong singer in the choir; the oldest of his sisters is also in the choir and doing well. We are active members in our parish with respect to volunteering.
I disagree with my church with respect to things like gay marriage, abortion, women priests and so on, but I put that aside so that my family can feel part of a community and my kids can have some good values ingrained.
Phil,
It's good to have a community. And, I was an apologist for a very long time, I wouldn't condemn anyone for that. I just got to the far side, and had to step off.
thud is one of his best
Post a Comment