On a snowy, windy February morning while I was in seminary, my mentor Sallie prepared me to assist her in The Imposition of the Ashes. It was a time of transition for me as I was stepping forward from my identity as a layperson onto the path to become a clergyperson in the United Methodist Church. We were set up for the Ash Wednesday service in The Chapel at the First UMC in my hometown. The Chapel holds a special place in my memory for so many reasons! People were invited to come and go that morning, to receive the ashes and to go from that time of solemn prayer back into their busy lives as we began the Lenten season. This morning was all about remembering. Our heads were marked with the sign of the cross in ash, a reminder of our own mortality and great dependence on God.
Following the service, Sallie and I left the church and headed to visit one of the elderly members of the church who was now in the memory unit at a local healthcare facility. This visit was especially difficult for me as the woman we were visiting was one who had played a significant role in my journey to answer the call to ministry, a dear friend, and part of my close spiritual community. As we approached our friend there in the healthcare facility, I wondered if our dark clothing and the ash on our foreheads would frighten her. Would she remember what the ashes were about?
I approached gently and knelt down near where she was sitting in a wheelchair. Her vulnerable state was such a contrast to the formidable woman who I remember struggling to keep up with on a trip to Europe just a few years earlier! Kneeling next to our friend, I reminded her that today was Ash Wednesday and the beginning of the season of Lent. When she opened her mouth to reply, her words came out weak and jumbled. We had several interchanges that repeated this pattern. I was taken off guard. I had not really known what to expect and I was stunned that this brilliant woman that I had known and bantered back and forth with through the years was now not able to converse with me.
What happened next was truly a work of the Holy Spirit. I opened the service bulletin that we had brought to leave with her and I said, "Hear this reading from the Gospel of John, the first chapter, first verse..." As I began to read the scripture, "In the beginning...", this dear saint joined in, "was the Word." Those moments were such a gift! I continued to recite scriptures with her and then we prayed The Lord's Prayer together. Even though her memory and ability to communicate were impaired, within her she held a deeper memory that she was able to draw from as we remembered the scripture together and joined in prayer.
Scripture memory and rote prayer seem to be seen by many these days as irrelevant and out of date. We give more value to current cultural trends than ancient traditions. We forget who we are and where we have come from. What I witnessed in this Ash Wednesday encounter was the deep connection that was possible for my precious friend. She was still able to connect with her faith through the words that she had committed to memory early in life.
This experience has informed my understanding of the great value of liturgy and reinforced my view that children will benefit from participation in worship services. I am so grateful for the presence of children in the traditional worship services of the churches I serve. As we minister together to God alongside the children, we are also ministering to the young adults, middle-aged adults, and vulnerable senior adults they will become in the future. What are we helping them to deposit in the depth of their memory?
