The fact that Ash Wednesday fell on Valentine’s Day this year has made for some clever jokes and memes. My favorite is a driver asking his backseat passenger what she’s doing on Valentine’s Day. She replies, “Rubbing dirt on peoples’ faces and telling them they are going to die.” (If you are not familiar with the Scripture used when imposing ashes on another’s forehead on Ash Wednesday that joke won’t make any sense. The words from Genesis 3:19 say, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”)
Ash Wednesday seems a bit more real at age 77 than it did at 37 or even 57. I told a clergy friend that we were asked to ponder how much time we might have left during our worship service tonight, and he said, “That just went from preaching to meddling!”
I am also more aware of my clock ticking this year because I had what felt like a big brush with my own mortality last week. It started when a grape-sized lump mysteriously appeared on top of my shoulder. Since I’ve been having trouble with that shoulder I made an appointment to get it checked out with my orthopedic shoulder doc. But I also made the mistake of getting on the internet where I convinced myself it was a swollen lymph node. I even called my oncologist and talked to his nurse who asked several good questions. When I told her I was seeing my shoulder guy that afternoon about it she asked me to call her back after that appointment and let her know what he said before she talked to her doctor.
I was feeling some real fear of dying and wondering how I would handle a serious cancer diagnosis because I do have a so far dormant lymphoma and feared it was finally becoming symptomatic. When I got to the orthopedic office I first saw a resident, and he immediately said “I know what that is,” which seemed comforting even before he explained. His tone of voice was not ominous at all and I began to relax. He called it a “geyser something” which didn’t ring any bells, but he explained it was an eruption of fluid caused by my weakened rotator cuff. He went out to confer with the doctor who immediately came in and said it was nothing to worry about. He called it a cyst, which was a term I understand and said there was nothing we needed to do about it
I was very relieved and felt a little foolish that I had catastrophized the situation, but I’m also glad that for those few hours I had an Ash Wednesday experience of at least for a little while feeling quite dusty. What changes that semi-close encounter with mortality will make in my life remains to be seen. I hope it will help me keep things in perspective; actually work on my end of life planning and simply put things in better order physically and spiritually. Remembering February 6, 2024 will help me do that, and the harmless lump on my shoulder will be there as a visible reminder that I am indeed dust and to dust I will return.