Half-Naked on Ash Wednesday: The Surprising Result of Holy Experimenting

Rhonda Abbott Blevins, Associate

I did not grow up in a Christian tradition that observed Ash Wednesday, or Lent, or Advent for that matter. Every Sunday was Easter Sunday—there was little room for the solemnity built into the liturgical Christian calendar.

So when I experienced my first Ash Wednesday service as a post-seminarian, it held great meaning for me. The warmth of coming together, the joy of singing of special hymns (“Dust and Ashes Touch Our Face” by Brian Wren is a personal favorite), the feeling of the minister’s finger tracing the shape of the cross on my forehead, rogue ashes falling down onto my nose and cheeks. Ash Wednesday has been a special day for me since that first observance; I always try to attend an Ash Wednesday service.

Three years ago, however, I could not attend an Ash Wednesday service due to another obligation. But driving along to drop my kid off at school, I saw a UCC church advertising “Drive Thru Ashes.” At first, I laughed and thought, “How ridiculous!” Then I became curious, thinking that if nothing else, it would be entertaining. I whipped my car into the church parking lot, my nine-year-old son getting whiplash in the back seat. “What are you doing?” he cried out. “We’re getting ashes!” I exclaimed. I had never taken him to an Ash Wednesday service (he was quite squirrelly back then). “You can watch me receive ashes, and then you can decide if you want them too,” I explained.

I pulled into the church drive, greeted by the smiles of a couple of lay people and a clergywoman in her vestments. I rolled down my window as the minister approached my car. I don’t remember what she said, but I remember her sincerity and her warmth. I remember how it felt to receive the imposition of ashes from a female cleric (like me). It was surprisingly meaningful. I turned to my son in the back seat and asked, “Would you like to receive ashes too?” “I think so,” he replied. The clergywoman went to the other side of the car where he sat in the back. She offered a gentle explanation about the meaning of the ashes in a way he could understand. She asked him again if he wished to receive the ashes, and he said that he did. As the minister offered my son the imposition of ashes, she was his minister that day, too. Had I needed a church home, I would have surely worshipped at that UCC church because of the gift they gave my son and me on that busy Ash Wednesday.

Fast forward one year. When I became the pastor of the parish I now serve and discovered the church did not hold an Ash Wednesday service, I knew exactly what I would do: Drive Thru Ashes! In the beach setting where the church ministers, I thought we would be lucky to have a couple dozen participants. To my great surprise, 150 people came through. Some in cars, a handful on bikes, and many on foot (it is a highly pedestrian area). “Do you have a prayer concern you’d like to share with me today?” I asked each one, my lay assistant keeping a list. I was surprised what people, total strangers, were willing to share with me from the privacy of their own cars in the church parking lot.

Another thing that surprised me was having the opportunity to impose ashes on half-naked folks in bikinis on their way to the beach. As I reflected on that later on, recognizing the humor in the situation, I began to consider the profundity of being “Half-Naked on Ash Wednesday.” The redeeming work of Christ is not just for the fully clad, dressed in their Sunday best, but for the vulnerable and for those living their lives, going about their business at work and at play. To offer ashes in the midst of the coming and going of people doing their thing—my hope is that it is a gift—just like the gift given to a busy mother and son at that UCC church three years ago.

This year my church is expanding our “holy experiment” (phrase courtesy of my colleague, David Brown) to reach to those who are “Half-Naked on Ash Wednesday.” We’ll set up a station in the church parking lot like we’ve done for the past two years, but we’re going to add a second station right in the busiest public space by the beach. My hope is to offer a symbol of the presence of Christ where people least expect to find it.

What holy experiments are you trying these days? What great fun it can be to try new ways to administer this calling! May God bless your efforts to extend the presence of Christ in unexpected places, and may you find joy and delight in the holy experiments springing up through the Spirit’s prompting in your imagination.