The Monster in the Goblet with Ashes

I attended my first Ash Wednesday service tonight in over twenty-five years. Back then I was a child being brought up in the Roman Catholic faith. Never did quite understand what ashes had to do with attending church but as every dutiful and obedient Catholic is taught to do, I went to mass trailing after my grandmother to receive my mark. I stood close by behind her and imitated her actions. The long line made its way up the nave where a rosy cheeked priest in flowing garments, with a bowl in his hands, greeted the parishioners. I don't have a clue what the priest said to me when I finally made it to the front but I do remember leaving there looking like everyone else... black soot imprinted on my forehead in the shape of a cross. 

If I recall correctly, this was one of the few times when I was able to join in with the adults since receiving communion was not yet open to me due to my young age. Back then, as today I wanted so much to belong. I wanted to be a part of something that everyone around me was participating in. Who wants to ever be left out? Not me. Not ever. So if ashes on the forehead was good enough for grandma and everyone else in Saint Anthony's Cathedral on Manhattan Avenue it was good enough for me. I wore my black mark with such pride. I remember getting home and running to my parent's bedroom to get a good look of myself in the mirror. That day way back when I looked like every other Catholic in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.  I was part of something bigger and greater than myself. I walked around all day with great pride showing off my charcoal cross with beaming and exultant pride.

Well, there I stood tonight at my church, waiting patiently for Drew Hyun or Jackie Snapes, members of my church's Pastoral staff, to do the deed on my forehead. Unfortunately, tonight it was not like way back when I was a child. All the years of religious prejudice and intolerance, of being told from the fire and brimstone pentecostal pulpits of my youth how anything Catholic was of the devil and not worthy of imitating got the better part of me. I know this  will sound silly to you but as I made my way to the front I was overcome with irrational fear. I could hear the fiery preacher of yesteryear leaning forward wide-eyed and desperate grabbing the microphone with one hand as he wiped the rivers of sweat running down his maniacal face, shouting at the top of his lungs for all in the Brooklyn night to hear: " She (the Catholic Church) is the Great Whore of the Book of Revelations where every type of demonic spirit and entity dwells!!! Come out of her! Come out of her, my people, or be damned to Hell with her if you don't!!!" Such fiery demonstration of passion wasted on tearing down the beliefs and practices of others. I am ashamed to have ever wholeheartedly partaken of such narrow-minded condemnation of my brothers and sisters in the Catholic faith. But what can you expect from an impressionable fifteen year old who wanted nothing more than to belong and be on the right side of God? Tonight, as the line slowly progressed and I inched closer to the goblet with ashes, I gave in to my fears and when it was finally my turn to be "ashed" I kindly requested it be placed on my right hand instead. Jackie obliged me and lovingly drew near to my ear as she prayed and reminded me that "from dust I was created and to ashes I would one day return " and boy would I be missed!" when that day comes. We both laughed and enjoyed the moment before I moved on and took my place on the next line, on my way to be reminded of my wedding vows to Jesus, my Fiery and passionate Bridegroom.


Looking back I see my folly, my despicable judgmental spirit that marred what would have been a perfect night of contemplative worship to my Lord. I publicly repent from ever using my "ruler"tonight to bash others made in His image. For with the same measure I judge others so shall I be judged, hence my heartfelt desire is to wield my ruler with mercy and let God do the perfect work of judging His creation as he alone sees fit. How I wish tonight I would have been able to step back and overcome my long held prejudices. I am amazed how the simple act of smearing ashes on a forehead can set people off and create towering walls of division. We think we know God's mind so well. We convince ourselves that our way of doing things is the only right and acceptable way. We even throw scripture around to justify our hatred and disapproval of others and mask it with righteous reverence unto God. But God sees through our denial and bullshit. There is no mocking God...none. He sees through it all and I can just imagine Him chuckling at our self-righteousness.


In my Father's House there are many rooms, which will be full of varying degrees of holy expressions of worship. If it were not so, Jesus would have never used this analogy of Heaven. If we think otherwise then we are sadly mistaken and in for a big let down. Each room will hold a facet of God's creative and expressible nature. The contemplative, the bombastic, the liturgical, the over the top, the serene, the hilarious, as well as the deafening silence will all have a place in my Father's holy mountain. And I want to be able to go in and out from each room with great ease and see the sacredness of it all...partake and be one with God's holy household. I want to be at home in every room. I want to savor every holy expression without fear or prejudice, without looking down at anything or anyone. Not that heaven will have any fear or prejudice but I definitely do not want to have to spend any moment of eternity having to be desensitized and re-programmed in order to enjoy God's fullness. I can in my finite imagination see rooms in Heaven where old men and women who were accustomed and convinced that demure and meek expressions of worship were the only acceptable forms pf reverence and worship, being shown images of Head-banger Angelic beings thrashing and moshing for Jesus....while in another room white aryans being shown moving images of Jesus with an Afro and skin as dark as night dancing the hustle...lol! Oh Heaven, I can only wonder what surprises and heart-stopping shocking things we will finally have to witness and even worse, for some, have to finally come to terms with.


Whether we like it or not, Heaven will have every imaginable expression of worship present. Angels will be shouting while others will be prostrate as if dead in their tracks. Incense will fill the air while peals of thunder and lightning will join shooting stars as they race forth to celebrate around the rainbow of colors surrounding the spinning throne of the Almighty. Spontaneous songs will be sung as well as perfectly orchestrated anthems. And there I hope to be, overcome with such fits of laughter and hysterics that any god-fearing librarian would drop dead in encountering. 

My personal prayer is that God will set me free from my man-made traditions and biases and bring me to a place where I will be able to worship Him in Spirit and in Truth. Honestly, I do not know what that looks like yet because I am too full of my own carnal understanding and pride to see clearly beyond the veil. But this I know, I press on to know Him in all His fullness even if it causes the daughters of  Propriety to deride me and the sons of Solemnity to shun me. So be it. Not only am I looking forward to being set free from the opinion of others but I am longing for the day when I will no longer be swayed by the definitions set forth by others regarding what is acceptable in God's House. 

I've said it before and I'll say it again: "His House, His rules."

My sincere apologies to my Catholic brethren.

And for those who still can't see what ashes has to do with worshiping the Living God, well you need go no further than the House of Israel who whenever they were brought to that place of repentance would put on sackcloth and ashes as a visible symbol of their repentant hearts. This my friend is what the Season of Lent is all about, a time to reflect and seek heartfelt repentance in preparation for the day when we as Christians celebrate and commemorate the Resurrection of our Savior. In my life, He is worthy of my time and effort even if it means I will be labeled and misunderstood. 

...As my brother Anthony Astorga jokingly says: "You don't know me!"I say likewise as I go my merry way and follow the Lamb from death unto resurrection power.

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.