Greeneville, TN
Ash Wednesday
February 18, 2026
There is something about Ash Wednesday that tugs on our hearts. Each year we notice it again... the quiet sight of people moving through their lives, going into ordinary places with dark crosses smudged on their foreheads.
In a world that usually hides faith, the ashes on our foreheads are visible. They’re Honest and Unapologetic. Over time, the practice of imposing ashes has found a home across the wider Church. Christians of many traditions, Catholic and Protestant, gather on this day to remember their mortality and receive the imposition of ashes on their forehead.
It has become something that Christians of many denominations share... a sign that transcends denominational lines and draws us together as the body of Christ.
It’s common to have Ash Wednesday services early in the day. People would give up their lunch hour, quietly standing in line, simply to hear the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Even those who had celebrated exuberantly during Mardi Gras right up until the night before Ash Wednesday would pause their festivities, come, kneel, receive, and remember. In hospitals and nursing homes, in prisons and private homes, faithful folks wait for the minister carrying a small container of ash made from last year’s palms.
For the church, it’s become a means of connection and reconnection. When I was in Maryland, we offered “ashes to go” in the church's driveway. We had an abundance of people who would walk between the municipal parking garage and the county courthouse on their way to work. I met people where they were in the context of their busy lives. This helped passersby stop, reflect, and pray for a minute before going about their day.
On this one day, this Ash Wednesday, our feasting becomes fasting. Our celebrations soften as we reflect on the words of Psalm 51, our hearts begin to stir – as we plead with the psalmist: “Wash me thoroughly from my wickedness.” We kneel and confess to God: “We have not loved you with our whole heart and mind and strength…” And in those moments, something meaningful starts to comfort our souls.
Ash Wednesday is an intentional space for us. A space of truth in the abundance of God’s love, inviting us to acknowledge our shortcomings without fear. It creates a space for us to remember that we are finite... we are mortal... created from and returning to the elements of this earth. We all need this simple honesty. This is our intentional opportunity to repent... to lay down our burdens before God, and rest in God’s mercy.
We could say this day is about many things. But, mostly, I feel this day is about belonging. “Remember that you are dust…” These words are spoken to everyone. The wealthy and the poor... the strong and the struggling... the powerful and the forgotten... the confident and the broken... the priest and the seeker.
In that context, the ashes become the great equalizer for us. They remind us that beneath all our titles and accomplishments, we each share in the same fragile humanity. We are dust. And to dust we shall return.
Sometimes our liturgy speaks more clearly through actions than it ever could through words. As we pray Psalm 51 and the litany of penitence, we pray these together... Together in the context of community. We pray with the ones preparing for baptism, with those seeking reconciliation and reconnection, and with those carrying their own private griefs.
And together, we begin this pilgrimage through Lent... the journey with Christ toward the Cross. A journey that will, by God’s grace, lead us to the great proclamation of Easter... when we rejoice that heaven and earth are joined and humanity is reconciled to God.
Ash Wednesday gathers up all of the shortcomings and frustrations of our lives. We know the world is broken, and we are broken with it… We lament that the comforts we sometimes enjoy sometimes come at the expense of others. We have remained silent when our courage was needed. We know what it feels like to be caught in impossible situations where sin seems to prevail no matter what we choose.
The liturgy of Ash Wednesday meets us where we are... Right there in the middle of our feelings and helps us with our unrest. It helps us understand that God is still with us and has not abandoned us. It assures us that God sees us and knows what we are going through and understands our pain.
And then come the ashes that are placed on our forehead.
At baptism, we were marked with the sign of the cross with chrism oil on our forehead and we are told we are “marked as Christ’s own forever.” That mark claims us as children of God and members of a holy community, the church.
Oil was used, almost invisible, yet very real. And in the case of chrism, very fragrant. But on Ash Wednesday, the sign we receive is visible... It’s Dark and Public. It is almost as if our identity as God’s beloved children became more prominent when we acknowledge our need for God’s love and grace. When we are willing to let our hands and our hearts become a little dirty with truth.
Let me offer you an image to hold onto today. This has stuck with me for years since I first heard it, and I hope it sticks with you for a while. At least through these next 40 days…
When the ashes are first placed upon our forehead, the vertical stroke looks a bit like a capital “I.” That “I” represents everything that makes you uniquely you... your gifts and your wounds, your strengths and your struggles, your virtues and your sins. Each one of us is wonderfully different. We know that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. And each one of us is called into a relationship with God that is not only corporate and communal, but also deeply personal and unique, unlike anyone else’s.
But that same “I” can also become for us that place of separation. It can be our ego that insists on standing alone. The self that says, “I can do it all by myself.” The thing that makes us cling to control. The self that nurtures pride and fear. The self that forgets its need for God and neighbor.
There is a difference between “sins” and “sin.” “Sins” are the visible actions; our shortcomings, missteps, and failures. But “sin” is deeper. It’s the condition of alienation or separation... It's the selfish, inward-turning of the heart. The thing that makes us feel distant from God. The vertical line of that “I” helps us remember and name that reality.
But the cross is not complete until the horizontal stroke is traced across it. That second motion gently crosses out the isolating “I.” It does not erase our personhood; it redeems it. It doesn’t destroy our uniqueness; it restores it within the community.
On that horizontal line, we can see Christ's outstretched arms. Arms wide enough to gather us back into communion. The “I” that separates us is crossed by love... God’s love. And in that crossing, we are set free. Not merely as individuals seeking pardon or forgiveness, but as a people restored to one another.
The ashes call us to repent of the sin that alienates us and separates us from God. But the ashes also call us back into wholeness, unity, togetherness, and service. The cross of ash marks the intersection of our personal faith and our shared humanity. It reminds us that our relationship with God is never solitary. It always touches the lives of others... Others in the world that God loves.
So may this Ash Wednesday be more than a quiet moment of solace. May it be a source of strength. May it be more than just a search for forgiveness. May it be the beginning of renewal. And may the grace of God, who is here present with us as surely as the ashes upon our heads, make us one in Christ. So that, forgiven, restored, and renewed, we may go forth to serve the world in his name.
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