My black thumb

Last Wednesday night I had a black thumb. Not a green thumb, not a brown thumb, mind you. It was black. I get it every year about the same time. It's usually pretty well gone by the next day, but I do have to be careful with it. Actually, it's one of my highlights each year. There are some deep emotions and meanings tied to the black thumb.

As a pastor, I have the high priviledge every Ash Wednesday to make the sign of the cross on the foreheads of worshippers and say to them, "Repent, and believe the Good News!" Or, to a child I say, "God loves you very much!" There's a visible, tangible transformation that takes place. Prior to that part of the service, I'm looking into the faces of the congregation like I do any Sunday. While people are coming forward for the imposition ashes I really only see the person right in front of me. When completed, I turn toward the altar to put the remaining ashes down and to take a paper towel and wipe my hands. When I turn around it's the same congregation, but different people. Now they all have a visible sign on their forehead signifying more than can be written in a blog. Staring right back at me are 150 or so black crosses stamped on heads that are so precious to God that the very hairs are all accounted for.

And my thumb is really black. Even after vigorously wiping it off there are still black clumps and tiny thin lines of black that are the creases in my skin. It's not just on me -- it's IN me. The ashes of the burnt palm branches from last year's Palm Sunday made pasty by a bit of olive oil pressed over and over onto my thumb and people's foreheads leaves a mark. And I'm glad for it. It's an inspiration to me. Inspiration that God has chosen to work in our world through very, well, worldly things like dust and ash and oil and animals and water. Inspiration that people take their faith so darned seriously that they would walk around with a smudge of black on their head for all to see. Inspiration because I have the priviledge to be in the middle of all of it.

The black is gone from my thumb now. But the ashes are still there.

Pastor Jeff