We all wear the veil of sin, but forgiveness is near

Growing up in New Orleans and attending Catholic schools and universities my entire life, I never gave much thought to the sign of ashes 

on the forehead. It seemed commonplace, normal. Then I saw a Facebook post by a colleague who had moved to a different state and was teaching at a public university. She mentioned how odd it was that while walking around campus she hardly saw anyone with ashes.
 
For a moment, I was confused. My social media feeds had been taken over by memes of what your ashes tell you about the priest or parish based on the size of the cross, the darkness of the ash, etc. The church I had gone to was packed. There were signs on my way to campus for “drive through ashes,” which I found a bit strange. If this was my sense of normalcy, what would it look like to not see the familiar black smudges?
 
Certainly, I’ve heard some non-Catholics mention that they find the practice pretentious. To them, it seems that it’s like a sign of Catholic assertion: the ashes signify Catholicism, despite the fact that other Christian denominations also receive ashes. Even more than a religious signifier, the ashes visualize our identification with the Catholic Church. But what these protesting individuals fail to realize is the understanding behind the ashes: a visible reminder to the wearer of our own sense of mortality.
 
Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent are not the only means of visible signs of mortality and sin. During this Ash Wednesday service, I was reminded by something that was said of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s short story, “The Minister’s Black Veil.” Suddenly, the minister appears to his church wearing a piece of black cloth on his face. His parish is concerned: is he in mourning?

As the parish grows more agitated by the sudden appearance of the veil, readers realize that the veil is something that can never be removed. Even the minister’s betrothed attempts to remove the veil, but is admonished, and when the horror of the veil sets in, the minister asks her: “And do you feel it then, at last?”

His beloved makes no response, but deserts him.

I’d never connected the story with Ash Wednesday until recently. Like the ashes, the veil is always questioned by the unknowing public. Why does the minister, Mr. Hooper, suddenly wear it, and what does it signify? Even he is terrified by the veil and goes out of his way to avoid his reflection.

At first, it may seem that this is in opposition to our ashes – we aren’t horrified by them. But maybe we should be: it is, after all, a sign that we never know the day or hour of our end.

Perhaps we ought to feel a sense of terror as we atone for our lives during this Lenten season and make amends to again live righteously. We may fall away from the path, but we are always given a means of forgiveness and return.

Scholars and students will continue questioning the meaning of the black veil, but ultimately, we realize that everyone wears a black veil, but only a few make that sign visible.

We are all marked by sin, and while some may choose to ignore it, others may acknowledge and atone, while reminding themselves and others of the universality of sin and mortality.

While Hawthorne focuses on the terrors of the veil, during this season, we are called to be mindful of our ashes, the weakness of humanity, and the importance of sacrifice for redemption.

Heather Bozant Witcher can be reached at [email protected].