With a smearing of ashes, Lent gets underway.

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, a time when Christians prepare for Easter through acts of penitence and prayer. Lent consumes a good chunk of the church's calendar-forty days, not counting Sundays-and represents a powerful opportunity. Throughout Lent, we are invited to explore the mystery and grace of Jesus' pilgrimage to the cross.

It begins with the words of Psalm 51: "Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin."

This confession business is tricky, however.

For one thing, making a true confession of our sin to God takes a certain kind of spiritual honesty. Confessing aloud takes spiritual guts, and a candor many are afraid to seek.  In fact, many churches have dropped weekly prayers of confession from their worship because it sounds too negative. It doesn't poll well, to use the language of marketing experts. Frankly, it is a bit of a drag to air our dirty laundry--but that may be the point.  These personal parts of our lives may seem too private. But how else can we experience God's yearning for reconciliation unless we are willing to address the parts of ourselves that are less than flattering?

We also avoid speaking of sin because we lack the skills to practice forgiveness. True forgiveness is tough and demanding. As Barbara Brown Taylor observed in her book "Speaking of Sin," most of us love the image of the father in the parable of the prodigal son. It's assuring to know that God's arms are open wide, no matter what. Practicing forgiveness with each other is another matter-as the older brother in the parable would no doubt remind us.

One of the things that I have found helpful is remembering that forgiveness is not the same as forgetting. Forgiveness does not mean everything can go back to the way it was before someone injured you. We do not need to let people back into our lives as a result of forgiving them. Nor do we need to say to them, "It does not matter that you injured me." That is not forgiveness. When we forgive, we learn how to cut off the tentacles of hurt that have wrapped themselves tightly into our souls. We give up that hurt.

If we don't, sooner or later that hurt will take hold of our lives. It will keep us from living. It takes effort to learn how to forgive, but unless we do, we die bitter. As a wise funeral director once quipped to me, "I have yet to see a hearse equipped with a luggage rack."

But true forgiveness is not easy, and often should not happen quickly. When forgiveness does happen, it is a sure sign of God's grace in our midst. Forgiveness represents the deep hope of God's ultimate restoration as witnessed in the cross of Jesus Christ.

Do I find it incredibly difficult to forgive when someone hurts me deeply? Yes. Can I imagine the pain God feels when a child is injured, abandoned, or molested? Of course. Could the tears God has shed over evil fill an ocean? Definitely. And the list could go on and on. In whatever form we find evil, I believe God desires to bring healing.

Lent symbolizes that deep yearning of God breaking into our world. As the days grow warmer, visible signs of hope will begin to appear. Spring bulbs break through the cool earth, lifting their leaves like arms in prayer. Shedding the earth like an empty chrysalis, tulips and daffodils move toward the light. With the Psalmist, they will soon declare, "Open my lips, O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise."

The joy of that acclamation, the pure joy of resurrection, can only come after winter. Likewise, the practice of forgiveness guides us from the bitterness of hurt toward the hope God intends. There can be no bloom until the shoots have worked hard against the bitter crust of winter. As much as we wish to flip the calendar ahead to April's warmth, we cannot.

So we gather on Ash Wednesday to be marked with the signs of Lent. We come to learn the way of forgiveness from Jesus, remembering that we are dust, and to dust we shall return. Lent starts with the stark reminder of our mortality, a brush stroke of ashes on our foreheads, and the hope of Christ in our hearts.