In position for imposition

We three huddled in a cramped room.

Men sweating in well-worn albs.

Our off-white contrast with the colors of those in casual clothes.

Such clothes are vestment enough for some.

Men in albs serve those in casual clothes;

Combined we barely exceed the “where two or more are gathered” minimum

There are no lines.

There are never lines.

Because those in albs and those in casual clothes are not eager for ashes.

We are most definitely Wednesday’s children and so full of woe.

Now is the healing time decreed

For sins of heart and word and deed,

when we in humble fear record

The wrong that we have done the Lord.

I am Wednesday’s child though now full-grown.

I am a man of sackcloth aquainted with ash.

Life was not always ashes.

Life will not always be palms.

My ashes are sign enough of the time I suffered.

But palms precede ashes.

Ashes remind me there were once palms.

Ashes remind me of days filled with celebration.

Life will not always be ashes.

Sundays branches makes Wednesday’s ashes.

Ashes are reminders of the joy we once had

And that we will have again.