It’s Ash Wednesday, and these days, people are so busy that they may not take time to attend worship where the impostition of ashes is done.  Or, they may just rush to a noontime community service where there are so many participants leading worship that it’s difficult to pay attention to getting ashes smeared on their faces, which they will immediately wash off in the restroom before dashing back to work, or shopping, or whatever the afternoon holds. Or, they’ll forget altogether it’s Lent until Sunday, when they see a bulletin or hear a mention of it in worship.

Personally, I will be heading for my church’s evening service, where although the crowd will be sparser than Sunday morning, the folks there will lean forward a little more urgently and intentionally to receive the ashes on our foreheads at the appointed time. We’ll be kind of somber as we return to the altar for holy communion. And since it’s the end of the day, there won’t be the need to hide our religiosity with water splashed on our faces or paper towels scrubbing our foreheads quite so quickly after worship.

No, this doesn’t make us holier than anyone else. There’s nothing worse than the false piety that pervades Christian spirituality in some circles in which we show off our ashes. We purposely head for the grocery store or restaurant and hope someone will give us a chance to “witness” about our love for Jesus because they have seen the smeared cross on our face, which we left there to elicit just such a response!

No, humility is the order of the day. It’s hard to be humble when you are busy being holy and Christ-like (but as one of my friends says who doesn’t particularly like Lent, “Jesus never had ashes put on his face, so I’m not, either!” And this guy is one of those silent saints – the best kind – who is deeply kind and faithful but hates to show it off); the more we point to ourselves, the less we follow Christ. And it’s true that there’s nothing particularly Christ-like about ashes: Jesus really didn’t observe Ash Wednesday. It’s for us who seek to follow him, a gift, really.

Humility is tough. We’re supposed to go through Lent without showing off what we are giving up or taking on. On years that I fast once a week, I feel that I have to warn Renae so she won’t cook some elaborate meal and then have me tell her I can’t eat it that night. That can make her feel bad as well as make me seem more pious – something we are also supposed to give up for Lent, a false sense of a holy self.

The stories of the desert saints of early Christianity are full of stories of abbas and ammas departing from their fasting and other observances when guests showed up. The fake holiness of some shows them being critical of an abba who served his guests during the fast – and ate himself rather than show off for his guests – and being reminded that the one who taught self-denial also taught love of neighbor.

One monk told me this: we are always to drop our holy observances if guests (read “anyone”) are around so as not to have our “holiness” or “piety” pointed out in any way. Why Lent is so difficult for modern Christians may be this very thing: our wanting to have people point out how holy we are being.

And that, my Christian friend, is just how to ruin a good Lenten observance: let it be known you’re doing it.

I don’t have to worry too much about anyone thinking I’m holy: I last about two weeks into Lent and my observances go to hell. But I’m praying you’ll do better than me.

But we’ll never know, will we?