On this Ash Wednesday, my heart is broken and every shred of hope I once had is gone.
I’m not well. My soul is sick. I see nothing but greed, destruction, lying, inhumanity, and evil all around.
If anyone tells me that I came from ash and will return to it, I may well laugh in their face. Or cry and never stop. I just hope I don’t hit the priest. Because — read the room, people — we’re standing in ash up to our knees.
This is a brutal Ash Wednesday.
There. I said it.
I’ve prayed so much in recent months that I can’t tell you how much I’ve prayed. Literally face on the ground sobbing prayer. I’ve taken cues from Anne Lamott’s famous dictum that there are three kinds of prayer — help, thanks, and wow — by occasionally yelling (I’m not kidding) “Help, help, help!” in a loud voice when we sit down for dinner.
Shouting help is really not bad, especially when compared with prostrate wailing. I’ve become an expert at the HELP prayer. On rare occasion, I’ve made it to “thanks.” But wow? Nope. None of that. One out of three isn’t terrible, is it?
In short, the last thing I want or need right now is Lent. I’m nearly Lent-ed out already. I’ve been Lenting for months…