When I served as pastor, I always looked forward to celebrating Eucharist on Ash Wednesday. Parishioners and strangers streamed to the church to begin the Lenten season with purposeful prayer. One of the profound moments of my own prayer was to welcome people down the church aisle to receive a cross of ash on their foreheads. That gesture, that image of people longing to be identified for our Savior, has been emblazoned on my heart for many years.
In that parish, I knew and carried in my heart many of the stories of why people came down the aisle to receive the cross of ashes, longing for a new start in their prayer. I felt the hopelessness of a young mother experiencing postpartum depression. My eyes watered as I peered into the eyes of an elderly woman grieving the loss of her husband. I felt the pain of a recent college graduate as I claimed his forehead in faith, aware of a small part of his story of schizophrenia and losing employment. I knew the backstory of a middle-aged man who had served time in prison. I knew the angry young mother at one Mass, and at a later Mass, I accompanied a distraught older man as he was losing his memory. These stories and all the anonymous stories take my breath away every year on Ash Wednesday. Dipping my thumb into blessed ashes and reaching to touch the foreheads of the faithful is still a moment of profound grace. The cross speaks loudly on various skins, colors, and textures, smooth or oily or blemished.
After all these years of pastoral ministry, I have absorbed so many spiritual lessons from this ritual that begins the Lenten Season. I learn from the ashes that life is fleeting and that we will all return to the earth. I realize that even with faith, facing death is not easy. I understand that people show me the many reasons to be claimed by the Cross of Christ, even when the mark is washed away or fades on dry skin. I learn about inner pain that cannot be washed away or even calmed on Ash Wednesday. I discover humility not only by the Cross of Christ, but by the struggles of everyday life, of what it means to be a believer in our very complicated world.
The people in line on Ash Wednesday teach me that the mark on their foreheads is more than skin deep. I know firsthand that the cross only grows deeper in the hearts of people in the Lenten Season. The cross taken into our hearts to sort through our sin, our divisions, our addictions, our negative intentions, is the real work of the liturgical gesture on Ash Wednesday. The Cross of Christ resting on the human heart will be the place of real change, of lasting humility as a believer. The Cross of Christ does not remain static on Ash Wednesday, for it is a reminder of our baptism, when a cross was fashioned on our bodies with sacred oil and the joy of our parents and godparents.
As Ash Wednesday, on February 18th this year, approaches, I pray for all of us who claim our lives in Christ Jesus. There will be other processions down church aisles, as on Good Friday when we kiss or touch or bend our knees to the Cross of Christ. I pray for us all that day that we will have the courage to acknowledge Christ’s passion and death as our way of life. On Easter, we will profess our faith again in public and be given a chance to be blessed with holy water and to sing of Christ’s victory over the grave. I am confident that ashes will turn to joy on Easter Day, and I will be filled with love for the opportunity to be part of the Christian story that simple crosses on our foreheads become a vital memory of our faith-filled lives.
For people burdened by the weight of many crosses, sins, misfortunes, and obstacles in life. May all who face such complexities of life know the healing love of Christ Jesus. May the cross we bear become hope for our human hearts. We pray to the Lord.
For people who struggle to accept the love God has for them. Even when pain overwhelms us, may we finally surrender to the Cross of Christ. May we find our home in the heart of God. We pray to the Lord.
For the prisoner, the abandoned, the unsheltered, the hungry, and the shamed. May the heart of every human being find hope in this life on earth. May we all learn to reach out to those who most need us. We pray to the Lord.
For people preparing for initiation in the Catholic Church. May the Cross of Christ find a true home in the lives of those preparing for baptism. May the Easter sacraments restore us to new life and hope in our world. We pray to the Lord.
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About:
Rev. Ronald Patrick Raab, C.S.C., serves as religious superior of Holy Cross House, our retirement and medical facility at Notre Dame, Indiana. He is an award-winning author, blogger, and visual artist. Learn more: ronaldraab.com
Artwork:
Fr. Ron created this finger painting of Ash Wednesday a few months ago. Fr. Ron’s artwork has been published in parishes, dioceses, and ecumenical settings around the world.
Provided by Rev. Ronald P. Raab, C.S.C., January 2026
