I’ve never considered myself quite cool enough to have a tattoo, but currently, over my left triceps, the word “bad,” a bit blurry and a little smudged, still lingers a week after surgery… as a reminder of just how quickly our lives can change. Not at all unlike the ashes we will soon receive on our foreheads.
During those first few painful nights as I recovered from a busted wrist after being rudely taken down by a slick patch of black ice, I lay wide awake in the middle of the night with so many thoughts in my head. “I am so stupid. Why me? Why now?” Cliché, I know.
At that point, I wasn't really addressing God. I was taking full responsibility for both the accident and the healing. And then, sometime around day two or maybe three, it hit me how dependent I really was as I tried to navigate the world with right arm only. That’s when the pity party got underway. And, not gonna lie, it wasn't pretty.
I’m not proud to admit this, nor do I expect any emotional response from you in making this confession. God knows, we’re all carrying something - some things, heavier than any of us can imagine. But perhaps there is something here that might resonate. Perhaps there’s a morsel of something to carry us into a holy Lent together in the hope of initiating lasting changes to our lives with Christ.
Call me crazy, but I think Ash Wednesday might just be my favorite day in our church calendar. Ash Wednesday – Ash Wednesday is when we’re called to get really real with ourselves and God. We’re called to acknowledge our most frustrating fallibility, our limitations, and our maddeningly inconvenient mortality, before God and one another. Ash Wednesday can be intense. And I humbly submit to you, with “good” arm outstretched, that it can also be a gift.
As we enter into our “holy Lent,” we are called to perennial practices like prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Perhaps you already have a Lenten intention or practice in mind as we gather this Ash Wednesday to ponder our finitude and our walk with Jesus on this perilous and potentially slippery slope that is this life. If you do, wonderful! Thanks be to God.
If not, I got you.
Thanks be to God for EarPods and YouTube videos of Father Thomas Keating, who accompanied me through several of those first painful, sleepless nights when I just couldn’t seem to get comfortable. One of the founders of the contemporary contemplative prayer movement, I love Fr. Thomas for many reasons, not least of which is that he reminds me of my dad. His humor, his kindness, and his voice all conjure memories of my earthly father, and so it wasn’t difficult to imagine our heavenly father as, perhaps, somehow responsible for this treasured transmission. As I listened to his talks during those long, pain-soaked nights, Jesus’ words from the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew came alive for me. “Go into your room and shut the door,” Jesus says to his followers.[1]
Poor, first-century hearers of these words would have been lucky to have a door, let alone a room, so we can be modestly certain Jesus was speaking symbolically. Go inside yourself. Shut down any distractions. Quiet the monkey mind, as best you can. Just be with me in the stillness.
Feels like peace to me.
Unless it doesn’t. Often, it can feel more like chaos in that room, Keating warns. What comes up can be incredibly painful to encounter. Keating calls these arisings our emotional programs for happiness, our human desire for control, esteem, and power, the very temptations Jesus faced in the wilderness after his baptism.
I’ve listened to Keating speak on this passage from the Gospel of Matthew many times before, but suddenly it became very personal. Let’s be honest, who doesn’t love to feel powerful and in control? Who doesn’t want to be admired and looked up to? These days, the problem seems so pervasive, almost intractable. And yet, Keating is optimistic that this “disease of the human condition, or the false self, which is apt to trample on the rights and needs of others, can be dismantled through contemplative practice.”[2]
Jesus was so smart. He had a way of knowing just when to step away from the outside world, to be still, and reconnect with God. As author Caroline Oakes puts it, this regular practice prepared Jesus to “respond to demanding and confrontational situations, not with reflexive flight, fight overreactions, but with intentional statements and actions of deep listening, compassion and insight…grounded in the presence and grace of God.”[3]
Thank God for Lent, which invites us to pause. Thank God, even, for seemingly inopportune opportunities to stop and reexamine our relationship with the Creator of the universe, to look squarely at that which distracts us and tempts us to conform to the stressors of this age. Thank God for the gift of contemplative practices, which Thomas Keating calls divine therapy, that can help wake us up and transform our minds and hearts. (See Romans 12:2) But wait, there’s more: According to Harvard researcher Sara Lazar, PhD, regular meditation can also help reduce stress and improve our brain health.
If you feel called to practice Contemplative Prayer this Lent, here’s a link with more information.
To practice with me daily, check out these guided meditations on Insight Timer.
I thank God for Ash Wednesday and for the temporary discomfort that reminds me of just how much I need God. And for temporary tattoos, reminders of our mortality and immortality. We can wash them off, hoping against hope to remember what they signify. But we probably won’t - not for long anyway.
Amen
[1] “- YouTube,” accessed February 14, 2026, https://www.youtube.com/watch?si=C26_5h3TmrEV5wgN&t=217&v=x_3pGUmFhVs&feature=youtu.be.
[2] Thomas Keating, Invitation to Love: The Way of Christian Contemplation (New York: Continuum, 1995), 153.
[3] Caroline Oakes, Practice the Pause: Jesus’ Contemplative Practice, New Brain Science, and What It Means to Be Fully Human, 1st ed (Minneapolis, Minnesota: Augsburg Fortress Publishers, 2023), 15.2023), 15.