You never know

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. (John 3: 16 NRSV)

The words of Ash Wednesday are still echoing in my head.

I know, I know, it has been almost three weeks since Ash Wednesday, but the words linger. The imposition of ashes onto the foreheads of the faithful is such a powerful symbol that its message lasts throughout the solemn season of Lent.

“You are dust, and to dust you shall return. Repent and believe the Gospel.” The heavy words are repeated over and over again, like a tolling bell, and the eyes, young and old, that look directly into the eyes of the minister are wide and somber, as the sign of the cross is made on their foreheads.

The cross is a hinge-point in history, but also in theology. The cross stands in stark judgment of our own sinfulness, and the sins of our forefathers and of our descendents. But it also bespeaks grace and mercy and forgiveness and love.

After the Ash Wednesday service is over, we are marked as dying, sinful creatures. But the fact that the mark is in the shape of a cross also declares straight from the heart of God: “Yes, you are dying, sinful creatures; but you are My dying, sinful creatures, and I love you.”

I am embarrassed to admit this, but there was a time when I did not end every phone conversation with my daughters with “I love you.” It was simply not a habit I had formed.

Then Sept. 11, 2001, dawned bright and sunny, and ended with clouds of smoke and debris and death. Apparently I needed a reminder of the fragility of life. From that day forward, I have never ended a phone conversation with either of my girls without saying, “I love you.”

I was talking to Eden about that one day recently and she told me about a grade school friend who overheard Eden’s end of a phone conversation with me (pre-9/11). When Eden hung up the phone, her friend said, “You didn’t say ‘I love you’ ”! Call her back and tell her you love her!” When Eden asked “Why?” her friend explained, “Because you never know.” Eden obeyed.

Oddly enough, that friend’s mother died of cancer while our daughters were in high school.

Not too long ago, I had occasion to overhear the first cries of shock and grief when an acquaintance was told that her husband had been killed in an automobile accident. It was primal, raw, disbelieving, and it shook me to my core. Later, I kept wondering how they had parted, the last time they saw each other, and I hoped it had been sweet and loving, a moment that someday she will be able to remember with fondness.

During Lent, we move toward the cross. The Scriptures we read in worship become harder to hear, or to appropriate into our own lives. Shadows fall across our way, and the cries of humanity grow louder and louder, from earthquake ravaged cities to the very personal tragedies of friends and neighbors.

Through it all, through it all, there stands the cross: God’s great “I love you.”