From the ashes, a fire.

The dust is dabbed on our foreheads and we are told to shout out, to show the world their sin. This Lenten season, prepare yourself to not let your fire burn out.

You are dust, and to dust you shall return

It hits different this year. My mortality is not a theoretical concept to be contemplated—but more than that, your mortality is not something I think about in the abstract. What will take you? A fire or a flood, a bullet or a bomb? The tied hands of the doctor, the grasping hands of the ICE agent, your own hand, unable to stand living the lies the law has forced upon you?

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down

Death is so near I think I can smell it in the dirt. I need no reminder; I need no cross of ashes on my forehead this year.

As for Lent, my first thought was “fuck that noise.” 40 days of penance—not including Sundays—expressing my sorrow, my regret, for what it is I’ve done wrong. Wait. Me, repent? I can give you a list of tech billionaires and political bigwigs and megomaniacal mouthpieces claiming to speak for morality that should be far ahead of me in the line of people asking for forgiveness—from God, from humanity, from the Earth itself.

But of course I must repent. For the things I’ve done, and for the things I’ve left undone. That’s a crucial element in the Lutheran confession of sin: requesting forgiveness for what both I, the individual, and we, the sprawling mass of humanity, have failed to do.

There’s one big thing that keeps tugging on me that I’ve failed to do. And that’s speak out. Speak out as a Christian. To say no—no, you do not speak for my God, you do not speak for my faith, you do not speak for the gospel that gives life.

I have a platform, and my writing skills aren’t bad, and my network is pretty wide. But I don’t know how to make good videos and I’m ashamed of my teeth and my eyeliner is always wonky and have you seen these wrinkles? And what if I make a glaring error in a newsletter, or deeply offend someone in a post? What if people don’t like me anymore?

Yet I cannot turn away from what Isaiah demands in the reading for Ash Wednesday:

Shout out; do not hold back!

Lift up your voice like a trumpet!

Announce to my people their rebellion,

to the house of Jacob their sins.

—Isaiah 58:1

As the chapter continues, the people of Israel beg for God to save them. God then returns with a list of their sins—the things they have left undone: they have not addressed injustice or oppression, they have not fed the hungry or housed the homeless, they have not clothed the naked or cared for the sick.

We are not simply to moan to God (though we certainly can plead for help); no, we are to change the system. Uproot it. Overturn it.

And to do so we need to gather enough determined people, enough diverse voices, to generate a cacophonous, riotous, rebellious force that is capable of changing the balance of power that’s currently throwing the world off its axis.

The wings that you burn turn to ashes, my dear

And ashes just fall to the ground.

—Only Ashes, Something Corporate

The reminder of our mortality that comes along with Ash Wednesday might hit a little too close this year, and spending seven weeks dwelling on our small sins in the midst of the hellfires raging around us might make us want to scream and shout about the real horrors we’re seeing in the world. We don’t have time to hunker down and turn inward.

But as anyone who’s ever attempted to reform the system—to burn it all down, even—knows, a movement will often grow from a little spark to a brilliant, dancing flame . . . only to sputter out, a mere ember still trying to throw forward a few beams of light.

The 40 days of Lent correspond with the 40 days Jesus spent in the desert, fasting, enduring temptation, and preparing for public ministry. Jesus didn’t just walk into the flames without first steeling himself for the heat he was about to face. The mortal part of this man had to learn to discipline himself for the fight, but more than that, he had to learn what he was fighting for. He had to come face to face with the evil he was up against and find ways in which he could stand up to it.

Plan. Prepare. Pray.

Then strike a match and watch it burn.

I hope this terrifies you

A moral suicide which burns inside you

—”Ashes, Ashes,” Hidden in Plain View

The urge to speak is burning inside me. Waiting 40 days (plus those Sundays, don’t forget) to say something is unlikely; in fact, it might even be dangerous. Do what you can, with what you have, to get yourself and others through.

But all that time, be busy constructing a solid foundation. Root yourself deeply in what you believe and why you believe it. Find prayers and meditations and grounding practices and friends’ shoulders that will help you stay strong. Look for the glimmers that will get you through. Confess to how you—yes, you, and me too—have fallen short, and ask for help in how you can do better. Be intentional about discovering what will sustain you as you wade deeper into the flames. Discern what will sustain you. I’m afraid this fire’s gonna have to burn for a long, long, time.

If our mortality isn’t an abstract concept, our Lent shouldn’t be either.