This year, as we emerge
from the catacombs,
to tentatively recover
the physical elements
of faith that Covid has interrupted,
we come masked to receive
a sign that all should see.
As the ashes are imposed,
am I more conscious of my own frailty?
My life expectancy is less than it was last time …
I hobble back to my seat.
The dust is gathering
at the edges of my being.
The old enemy has me in his sights
and is poised to attack.
All he sees is dust and ashes …
like a city, bombed and blasted,
under the weight of an aggressor …
rubble covers the foundations
and all seems lost.
But,
it is the foundations
which matter …
All he can claim is
dust and ashes
“The Lord knows who are his …”
We bear the mark
of the Crucified One:
we have already died in him
and he lives in us …
In our weakness is his strength.
In our poverty are his riches wealth.
In our fear
is his good courage.
In our loss
he is everything.
So,
in the cruelty of this fallen world,
and with this feeble body,
lead me, Lord,
to serve and worship you
in the newness
of your risen life.