Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

 Ashes, ashes, we all fall down 

The day begins much too early because Ash Wednesday service is scheduled at seven-for-god’s-sake.

     Yet, when I picked up Uncle Albert, he was singing. Under his breath - not words, just syllables; da-da-dadada-da-tum, da-da-dadada-da-tum, dada . . .

     “What’s that?” I said.

     He said, “‘Nancy with the Laughing Face.’” I helped him into the car. “The Bill Evans-Cannonball Adderly version,” he said and da-da-tum’d another line.

     I got in behind the wheel. “Words?” I said.

     “Must be.” A moment’s thought. Then:

’f I don't see her each day, I miss her.
Oh, what a thrill each time I kiss her.
I got a terrible case
Of Nancy with the laughing face.

     “A Lenten song,” I said. He shook his head sadly, for I am never as funny as I hope to be.

We were among the first to arrive and sat midway down, where we sit on Sunday mornings.

    “Flowers,” Uncle Albert said.

     They were, more accurately, unflowers, bare branchlets, but carefully, artfully arranged in the gold vases shining more brightly as if just polished, behind the altar.

The priest came in, Susan, our former Miss Virginia. (See here.) “Bless the Lord who forgives all our sins,” she said. “His mercy endures forever,” we replied.

     A woman I used to work with, when I was still working and hadn’t seen since I left, read the lessons: the alarm sounding from Joel to gather the weeping, a black brrrrrrr as of a swarm of electric locusts; and Paul telling the Corinthians how brave he’s been through much more thick than thin - “afflictions, hardships, calamities, imprisonments, riots, labors, hunger, and sleepless nights” - how brave and pure, how patient and kind, loving and honest he's been for their benefit.

     Then Susan read the Gospel from Matthew 6 and said a few, blessedly few, encouraging words that had nothing to do with it.

We knelt and prayed and walked forward to get our ashes, and knelt some more for the Psalm and a lengthy Litany of Penitence. Then, at the passing of the peace, we, Uncle Albert and I, left.

                         A. W. B. E.

     We had to leave, before the Eucharist because Ash Wednesday is not a proper time for religious celebration, Uncle Albert says. So, we had planned ahead to slip out after receiving our ashes, while others were shaking hands and congratulating each other for getting up so early to be penitent and sad. Only, Uncle Albert cannot slip; he can sidle with surprising speed but his cane will bang against the floor.

     Then, there was the matter of going to the men’s room to wash off our ashes. Hadn’t the unattended to gospel warned us against practicing our piety in public? “Do not look dismal when you fast, like the hypocrites that mark their faces to show them off to others.” Rather, “oil your head and wash your face.” So, if most of the congregation would walk about happily, ostentatiously disfigured throughout the day, Uncle Albert would not. Nor would his supposèd nephew.

Especially since we were going to breakfast, meeting Nils Sundstrøm - and, it turned out, Bel Monk* - at Corner Coffee for coffee with too much cream and sugar and bagels too thick with cream cheese and jam, because: “This Lenten business,” Nils said, “must be broken early and hard!”

     “Why hard?” Bel said.

02.15.18

_______________

 * See here and follow the links.