Last Laugh before Lent

The Alpena News + February 17, 2007

Among the many things I was never taught in seminary was how to burn palms on Shrove Tuesday to become ashes for the next day’s penitential rites. So I bought “A Priest’s Handbook,” written by an Episcopal priest who either went to a high church seminary or took continuing education under a Catholic priest. His directions came complete with appropriate prayers to say while igniting the palms. He did not, however, state how flammable dry palm leaves are; one need not use charcoal starter for them to fire up instantly and furiously. Nor did he warn that the burning leaves would scorch the church kitchen’s colander and put the priest in disfavor with numerous ladies of the parish.

“Why a colander?” you may ask. Because the palm leaf’s remnants after burning are fibrous, and a priest doesn’t want to prick a parishioner in the forehead when making the sign of the cross there. A colander will catch most of the larger, potentially prickly palm remnants. Most, but not all. So the next step, according to “A Priest’s Handbook,” is to use a sieve and then a mortar and pestle, laboriously grinding the colandered ashes until they become almost as fine as talcum powder, though black, of course.

Have you ever noticed how talcum powder tends to drift without a breeze to places you don’t want it. My first Ash Wednesday with my own homemade ashes, I was disturbed that not all of my sign of the cross would stick on a parishioner’s forehead. In fact, quite a bit would fall on the nose. That bothered me, because it made me want to smile while saying “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” It was as if I was giving them a head start.

I’m not sure who, but some good soul of a priest advised that I add olive oil to the ashes and stir well. However, he gave me nothing like a recipe. Was I supposed to mix one cup ashes with two tablespoons oil or what? I had to eyeball it. And that’s when I learned that a good priest – or at least, a considerate one – is concerned about the “smudge factor.” If one does not get the right ratio of ashes to oil, what falls on to the nose is a glutinous glob. If you obtain the right smudge factor, the concoction of ashes and oil will not only smear, but also stick. And stick is good.

Sometimes stick is too good. Once the smudge is on, how do you get if off? Of course it’s not an immediate problem unless you’re a priest, in which case the smudge is on your thumb, and in ten minutes you are going to be handling white communion wafers. My altar guild director in Kentucky recommended that I use several slices of bread, and put some in a Ziploc bag next to the place where I would be smudging people. To my surprise, it was quite effective, but not entirely. Plus, unless you turn your back to the congregation, they wonder what you’re doing, since the procedure makes it look as though you’re making little balls of dough. (Try rubbing your thumb on a slice of bread and see what happens.) My wife suggested I try a bagel, but somehow, that seemed inappropriate.

This year, I thought I might find another means of smudge removal if I Googled “removing ashes.”  I got lots of hits, but they were all concerned with stoves and fireplaces. So I Googled on “removing smudge,” which led me to a promising book on Amazon.com: “Stain Rescue!: The A-Z Guide to Removing Smudges, Spots & Other Spills.” Reading the editorial review, however, I was discouraged that thumbs were not included in the “easy-to-follow answers for removing stains from clothes, upholstery, and carpets.” Oh, well. A little bit of ash never hurt anybody.

A little bit of ash never hurt anybody. Maybe this is the only possible pious point of this pre-Lent column. Think of all the trouble to which your clergy go, and make it worth their while by attending Ash Wednesday services. It won’t hurt you a bit, and might even help you – especially if you take it seriously, which I hope I haven’t made difficult.