A Tragic Collision

Yesterday I left my house at 5:30 to drive to my parents for dinner.

When I turned onto Bullard heading toward Temperance I saw numerous emergency vehicles in the westbound lanes. Traffic going east (my direction) had slowed to a crawl and cars were hugging the southern most lane to stay out-of-the-way of whatever was happening in the other lanes. 

My daughter and her husband live at that intersection and were also meeting me for dinner at my parents. My heart dropped as I slowly scanned the people, the cars, the scene - looking to see if any of my kids' vehicles were involved. 

I noticed a handful of cars pulled over in the midst of all the ambulances and fire trucks, thankfully none of the cars belonged to my kids. Strangely, though, no cars looked damaged. There was no glass or car parts on the road. No real sign of collision. But yet there was a younger lady sitting on the curb bent over in grief, sitting with a few other people. Between her reaction and the amount of emergency personnel I knew I was missing something.

And then I saw him.

A young man lying in the road.

Professionals were performing active CPR on him. I could tell he was young by the size and type of his shoes. I've been certified in CPR enough times to hope I never have to perform it. I could feel the heaviness and urgency of this moment.

He was not "my son," but my compassion overwhelmed me and my wailing and fervent praying began. From deep within me my mother's cry rose up and could not be quieted. Tear flowed as I interceded on behalf of this teenager.

Ten years ago I held a mother as she wept for her son who had just been lost to suicide. 

If you've ever heard a mother's cry at the death of her child it is one like no other. It is a cry that resonates the ground, stops the earth from spinning, and pierces the soul. A sound that ignites a compassionate response from any human within sound-range. It is a horrible sound. I was praying for a miracle, but my 'grieving-mom' cry overwhelmed me. 

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On my way home, two hours later, the road was still blocked. 

It was now a crime scene.

The young man, who I learned later was riding his bicycle, did not survive his injuries. Lord, in Your mercy, be tangibly near this child's family. May they experience You through the love, support and compassion of people. Hold this child's mother, his father, his siblings. As we wait to learn his name, be close to his friends and peers as they begin their journey of grief.

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And then there is the driver. I am confident she was not driving with the intent to hit a bicyclist. What kind of weight must she be feeling? Lord, in Your mercy, surround this woman with a circle of support. May she not live forever in a prison of guilt - make a way for mercy.

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Two families collided yesterday, just before 5:30. Both families and their communities have been impacted. 

I find myself still heavy with sadness today for the life that has tragically ended and the other life that has also changed her course, carrying a life-long sentence of grief, guilt, and regret. 

I pray the compassion, forgiveness, and presence of Jesus, experienced through one another, would be woven through this story as time unfolds.

Please join with me in praying for the family, friends, and community of this young man and praying also for the driver. May they feel surrounded and supported in the face of tragedy. 

Ash Wednesday Encouragement

Ash Wednesday Encouragement for 2025

I have always been fascinated by the mysteries of God uncovered by women and men who create spiritual rhythms (even seasons like Lent and Advent) to help us step into these mysteries by giving us handles to guide us along the way.

The guides I have read and experienced around Ash Wednesday emphasize this idea of dust and its connection to Genesis 3:19 speaking the words, "For you are dust and to dust you shall return." (NASB)

During most Ash Wednesday services, participants are invited to receive the imposition of ashes - a time when ashes are wiped on a person's forehead or hand in the form of a cross accompanied by the words from Genesis, "For you are dust and to dust you shall return." In a very tangible way, this sign of the cross on our foreheads is an acknowledgement of our humanity and finitude. We all will again be dust. 

I did not attend a Catholic or Orthodox church growing up. In my early 30's, as a protestant, I wanted to explore different expressions of faith so I began attending Ash Wednesday services. It was a new practice for me in a strange church filled with people I did not know. As a recipient, I would sit through songs and liturgy and then, at the end, would receive the ashes with the verbal reminder that I will again return to dust. Then my day would continue as usual and I would mostly forget about the cross-shape on my forehead. I did this for years alone, being drawn into the mystery that is Ash Wednesday and the Lenten Season.

Seven years ago I was given the gift of bestowing the ashes for the first time in my own Protestant church. 

As the giver of the ashes this time, I noticed a change in my focus.

The symbol I formed on foreheads - the shape of the cross - began to hold more weight than the words. Participating in this Ash Wednesday practice as part of a community together meant that I didn't get my ashes and walk out the door, but I hung around and talked with people who also had crosses on their foreheads. Seeing the crosses on others, instead of simply hearing the words, opened my eyes to a new depth of Ash Wednesday that I hadn't before realized.

What my Ash Wednesday journey has taught me is this: The Good News of Ash Wednesday is not in the ashes, but is in the sign of the cross.

Oftentimes, creative pastors (like myself!) enjoy guiding people into these dark spaces of reflection to best feel and identify with the strong emotions of our frailty and brokenness evoked in these places. Especially in contexts where the dark, hard, and ugly things of life are swept under the carpet, intentionally stepping into these spaces is a good practice.

But what happens when we're in a season surrounded by darkness?

What about when we are feeling hopeless and discouraged?

How do our Ash Wednesday services hold us in these raw moments of life? 

The 'words of comfort' (to dust you will return) we so readily speak over people on Ash Wednesday are dooms-dayish and might possibly leave the participant hopeless and discourage if it is separated from the work of Jesus. Our Ash Wednesday observances MUST be experienced through the cross.

Ash Wednesday is not simply a cool, spiritual experience to add to a collection of experiences. No. This is an experience to help us drop low into the dust of the earth, connecting with our humanity, acknowledging our frailty, reminding us of our desperate need of a Savior, all the while knowing Jesus holds us in the palm of his hands and will not leave us in the dust.

I'm convinced our encouragement to step into these dark places can be crippling to people already in the dark if it is not linked to Jesus who can help guide us back out.

40-days is the time Jesus spent in the wilderness fasting and praying.

40-days is the time between Ash Wednesday and Easter (not including Sabbath/Sundays).

But 40-days is a long time in the dark.

As I reflect on the tension I feel between Ash Wednesday being a melancholy tradition and our hope found in Jesus Christ, the Spirit brought my attention to Ezekiel 37 - a story of bones. In this text, the Spirit of God brings the prophet Ezekiel out into the desert and shows him a valley of dry bones. The Spirit asks Ezekiel the question, "Son of man, can these bones live?"

Being smarter than most 21st-Century theologians, the wise Ezekiel answers, "Sovereign Lord, you alone know."

Within the next verses that transpire, the Spirit of God lifts these bones and ashes up from the ground. The Spirit attaches sinews, tendons, and muscle; covers the bodies with flesh and skin before finally breathing life into this giant army.

Years later, Jesus also died. Jesus let go of His Spirit on the cross and succumbed to the curse of death that all of us will one day confront. Jesus' body was laid in a tomb to endure the slow decomposing into dust - but something tremendously different and wonderful occurred.

Just like the army of bones Ezekiel saw in the Old Testament, Jesus also experienced the breath of God breathing life back into his bones.

The Spirit of God used Jesus' material matter of this earth and recycled him into a New Creation. One that looked like a gardener with fresh dirt under his fingernails; recognizably Jesus one minute and unidentifiable the next. The tomb was empty because resurrection uses up our earthly matter to transform us into a New Creation in Jesus Christ. Resurrection uses the 'stuff of earth.'

As I reflect on identifying with my humanity and the ashes to which I will one day return, I connect the hope I have in the resurrection and New Creation found with the salvific work of Jesus as part of my narrative. The ashes are in the shape of the cross, after all. The cross is a significant part of Ash Wednesday.

Celebrating Ash Wednesday, separated from the cross, is hopeless and morbid. 

Honoring Ash Wednesday as a way to lean into our humanity, we are held by the Cross that tempers our fear of tomorrow and gives us a grounding hope that returning to ash will not be the end of our story just as it was not the end of Jesus' story. Our hope is in Jesus and we are comforted with the reminder that God will make all things new.

What's my encouragement in all this rambling?

As you receive ashes today, let us remember the hope of the resurrection we have in Christ Jesus. Let's enter into the barrenness and darkness of the desert with Jesus as our guide this Lenten season with our ears open to hear the reminder of our humanity, but also our eyes open to see the hope of the cruciform on our foreheads/hands - reminders that from dust we shall indeed return...but dust is not the end of our story anchored in Jesus. 

I hope everyone sitting in darkness today will also choose to step into celebration on April 20th (Easter) when we celebrate Jesus' resurrection when God begins a recycling program of epic proportions!

Happy Ash Wednesday!