In the darkness of the quiet stone church on Ash Wednesday, I went forward to the front at the end of a long line and, when my turn came, knelt before the pastor. He prayed, "Almighty God, you have created us out of the dust of the earth: Grant that these ashes may be to us a sign of our mortality and penitence, that we may remember that it is only by your gracious gift that we are given everlasting life; through Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen." Then he dipped his thumb in a small dish of ashes and, with the words "Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return," marked the sign of the cross on my forehead.
When the service was over—having heard a reading from Joel 2, recited Psalm 51, prayed for forgiveness, and received Communion—I went out into the bright noon sunshine and got on the bus that would take me across campus to my next class. A young woman looked at me quizzically. "I’ve seen a lot of people with those marks on their forehead today," she asked. "Is it some kind of sorority hazing thing?"