Miercoles de Ceniza // Ash Wednesday

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Acuérdate de que eres polvo y al povlo has de volver.

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We woke up early this morning, hoping to make it to 8am mass at the cathedral downtown before our respective workdays began. We weren't really sure what to expect; I had checked the day before for special Lenten or Ash Wednesday services, but there was nothing, just the usual information about hourly daily masses.

It's been one of my greatest frustrations here, not really having a church home and not really being able to figure out what is going on in the churches we visit. I bought a "misal," which is kind of sort of a little like a hymnal in that it has the basic liturgy in it. And the liturgy is quite similar to traditional Lutheran liturgies, so that's not really a great problem. But in the churches we've been to here, there isn't any congregational singing, no hymns or songs; the congregation just sits and stands and kneels and listens to other people talk and sing. I do enjoy hearing the appointed Bible texts read, and it's always exciting when I recognize the story even though it's in Spanish. But then it comes time for communion, and I always feel a bit (or a lot) forlorn. At least half of the people in the pews don't take communion anyway, so we don't look all that strange staying in our seats, but if I could, man, I'd be up there in a heartbeat. I miss the Meal.

(Some of you have asked me if I'm going to become Catholic as a result of our time in Mexico. The answer is still no, for many and deep reasons. But the only time it tempts me is when I long to receive the Sacraments. I am human - I long to belong.)

So, even though I really, really wanted to go to Ash Wednesday mass in the morning, I was starting to feel a little bitter as we approached the cathedral. At that moment I really missed St. Thomas Lutheran Church in Bloomington, Indiana, where Chris and I first started going to church together. I missed Reformation Lutheran Church in the Roseland neighborhood in Chicago, where I worked last year. I even missed Augustana Lutheran Church in Hyde Park, where we often went for the sole reason that it was a block away from our apartment. How strange to miss church in a land of churches!

(Above: Inside the Templo Expiatorio, my favorite church building in Guadalajara.)

And that, my dear friends, is why it was so earth-shakingly powerful to receive the imposition of ashes this morning. We walked into the cathedral to find a line already formed leading to the altar. The priest was marking the sign of the cross on foreheads already, much to our surprise, and so we immediately got in line with the rest of the faithful. The priest didn't ask me if I was Catholic. He didn't ask me if I spoke Spanish. He just put his thumb on my forehead and marked the sign of the cross with black ash, saying what I think were the Spanish words at the top of this post: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

Later someone noticed my ashes and asked me if I was Catholic. "No," I said, "I'm Lutheran," which always results in a puzzled look, so I explain in my limited Spanish that it's a type of Christian. "The same God," I always say. But today I added, "and the same cross."

I still miss the Meal. But somehow this morning, through a very simple act, I realized that Christ has followed me all the way to Mexico, planting his cross right into my forehead. I cannot escape that cross, no matter how far I travel, no matter how many Sundays pass without a sacrament. Forgive me Lord. I had forgotten.

For more on how Miercoles de Ceniza looks around the world, check out these pictures.