As the hour passed, I became more and more aware of the transparency of which all ministry is capable. Though I had various duties at my home parish, my personality was almost always part of my work, adding color and particularity to what I was doing. At St. Paul’s that day, it did not matter to any of those people who I was in my particularity. What mattered to them is that I was the man in the cassock with the ashes in the church awaiting their approach with calm openness, making contact with them in this stylized, ritual gesture and leaving a mark.

Go read the whole thing.

One of the great things about it is that the imposition of ashes is a very tactile experience. However, it also raises something of a quandary, as the Gospel assigned for the day (Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21) seems to directly contradict our liturgical practice:

“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

Which leads to sometimes surprisingly vigorous discussion of what you should do about the ashes on your forehead when the service is over–wash them off, or leave them on for the rest of the day. And if you leave them on, how do you reconcile this with the Gospel text?

There are of course a range of approaches to this question in terms of personal piety, but my concern here is liturgical. Internal contradiction does not make good liturgy. Given the Gospel text, the apparent contradiction needs to be addressed in liturgical action, and probably also in preaching. This is true whether you resolve the contradiction in favor of washing the ashes off or keeping them on. It is bad liturgy to have people hear that they should wash their faces and not provide them either with an opportunity to do so, or an explanation of why that doesn’t apply in this case.

The solution we came to at my previous church was to add additional ministers who followed behind the bread and wine at communion with bowls of water and washcloths to wash the ashes away. I’m not entirely satisfied with this solution. For one thing, there was much discussion over what, if anything, the washers should say-or if it was better to just wash without comment. The action of washing ashes off of someone’s face also felt to me somewhat awkward–I think in part because the action of washing off someone else’s forehead with a washcloth is too small and fussy to be very graceful, and in part because it’s too much to have that kind of face-to-face symbolic interaction four times in a single service (imposition, bread, wine, washing).

I’m not entirely certain that we got the theology right, either. The symbolism became that of being cleansed by participation in the Eucharist–which is perhaps fine in the right context, but rather undermines the point of this service and this day as the beginning of a season of repentance. We don’t have to highlight all of salvation history in every liturgy. The contradiction I’ve been concerned about had nothing to do with being reminded of sinfulness and mortality, but with the appropriateness of making public display of penitence and piety.

So how to do it better, while still reconciling the ashes we wear with the gospel text?

One approach is to modify the way that ashes are imposed so as to avoid the issue altogether. I have never seen or experienced anything but a smudged cross on the forehead (sometimes more cross, sometimes more smudge), but this is not the only way it can be done. A comment on this post suggests that the Roman practice (as in what they do in Rome) is to sprinkle the ashes over the head, rather than make a cross, and the picture at the top of this post shows the Pope receiving ashes in just this way. (Via Even the Devils Believe, via Velveteen Rabbi.)

I don’t know any of the history of either the forehead smudge or the sprinkling, but I don’t really see any clear reason why the imposition of ashes should have to resemble the action we use for anointing with chrism; in my view the sprinkling is a potent reminder of mortality, mirroring the sprinkling of dirt over a grave, or the scattering of cremated remains.

Finally, as I reread the Gospel text, the instruction to wash our faces comes in the context of our public appearance. So the proper liturgical placement of washing is not with communion, but with the dismissal, as we are about to reenter the public sphere. To avoid some of the other issues mentioned above, perhaps people should wash their own faces, and if possible, invite bigger action–not just a little dab with a washcloth, but a fuller washing with water, like you might wash your face at a sink. I think this could be done with or without an actual smudge to wash off.

Of course, now it’s at least a year before I can try this. But this is the perfect time to share experiences from this year: How were your Ash Wednesdays? What have you seen and tried? What worked? What didn’t?