Wearing the sign of the cross

I got ashes on my forehead around noon today. Still had them across my forehead when I met with the Muslim woman I tutor in English. She saw them and was about to let me know that I had some dirt on my forehead when I realized what she was pointing to. I had to explain. This is a cross of ash. This is the beginning of Lent. This is when we remember our mortality. We are dust. To dust we shall return.

Then on my way back to my apartment, an African American man saw the cross, pointed to it and nodded at me. Then we stopped and chatted for a while. He needed some cash to feed his girls so I gave him the little cash I had in my car. But what I find incredible is the connection that the ashes gave us. (Tragically, that's the only part I know wasn't a lie.) Almost like, "Hey, you, you are a Christian. Me, too."

As I continued walking I wondered, if I had washed the cross off, what would have been different about my conversations? For the man I spoke with on the street, would I have been just a college student that might have had money to give him? Instead, with both people, I got to have conversation.

So I think my Lenten discipline will be to wear the sign of the cross each day - not in ashes but perhaps in jewelry or in clothing. What will it change about how I present myself to the world? Shame? Pride? Confidence? Humility? We'll see. I'll let you know.