Day 1 of Lent : Ash Wednesday Reflections: Embracing Defiance and Autonomy"
Today, as the world marks the advent of Ash Wednesday, I find myself contemplating not just the ashes on foreheads but the deeper symbolism they carry. Ash Wednesday, for me, is not just a religious observance; it is a day of profound personal significance, a day of practicing bodily autonomy and body protest.
In my journey as a lapsed Catholic, Ash Wednesday has been a ritual of self-reflection and assertion. The annual trek to mass for the symbolic anointing of ashes used to be a tradition, with the question of "Where are my ashes?" echoing in my mind. Last year, I broke away from convention and delayed my church visit, opting instead for the soothing embrace of the beach. This year, I question the need for those ashes altogether, recognizing that my defiance against the acts of violence that were done against me does not necessitate ecclesiastical validation.
As the familiar verses of 2 Samuel 13 unfold, the story of Tamar emerges. Initially perceived as a victim, Tamar, assaulted by her half-brother Amnon, reveals herself to be a woman of strength and defiance. In verses 12–14, she resolutely refuses Amnon's advances, maintaining her stand even when violated. When faced with expulsion in verse fifteen, Tamar speaks up, asserting her right to remain. It is in verse nineteen, though, that her defiance takes a poignant form; she adorns her forehead with ashes, tears her robe, and leaves crying. A powerful act of protest against violence and oppression.
In Tamar, I once saw a reflection of my own narrative, sad and hopeless. But as time unfolds its layers, I no longer view her tale as one of despair. I no longer see weakness in her actions; instead, I recognize bravery and resilience. As Lent commences, I am reminded that my story, much like Tamar's, is a testament to the strength that emerges from asserting oneself.
Standing up for myself is seldom met with applause. Often, it invites accusations of rudeness and disrespect. In my own journey, much like Tamar, I have faced interruptions to my defiance, with my assertiveness being misconstrued. Today, as the accusations resurface, I find solace in the remembrance of Tamar standing her ground until the bitter end.
The scars of my past traumas linger, and triggers still resurface, but the difference lies in my ability to move forward instead of curling up in the corner of my room. Today, I embark on Lent with a newfound resolve to stand up for myself, irrespective of how it is received. Tamar's story, once a mirror to my perceived weakness, is now a source of inspiration, a narrative of defiance against the forces that seek to silence me.
As we collectively enter this 40-day period of Lent, I invite us all to reinterpret Tamar's story. It is not just a tale of sadness but a demonstration that, despite the atrocities committed, she dusted herself off and proclaimed that it was not okay. Let us all, during Lent, channel our inner Tamar and declare that patriarchy, violence, and all forms of oppression are not acceptable.
Perhaps today I will go for ashes, not as a plea or a mourning ritual nor as a tradition of repentance (I have finally come to the realization I do not have to repent for what was done to me), but as a deliberate act of defiance. A symbolic proclamation of my autonomy, a resistance against the systems of violence. And if I do go to mass today, I will place those ashes on my forehead, echoing Tamar's gesture, signifying my defiance of a system that perpetuates violence.
May Ash Wednesday and Lent become for us all an act of resistance, a period where we, like Tamar, defy oppression, reclaim our autonomy, and stand tall against violence.