In this post Ash Wednesday haze, I remember the story recorded by Edward Hays in the book The Ethiopian Tattoo Shop. A pilgrim finds his way into the Jerusalem shop after seeing many holy people with rich tattoos covering their bodies. In the late afternoon the pilgrim enters the shop, curious and desirous, but not completely certain he will go in for an actual tattoo. The pilgrim is worried about the pain. The shop keeper assures him that the tattoos he gives are painless. Painless? How can that be?
The shop keeper offers to show him just how that is, and after a few minutes the pilgrim relents and sits down, ready to receive this ancient art form. As the Shop Keeper begins, he starts to tell the pilgrim a story. . .a story to calm him down. . .a story to relax him.
The next thing the pilgrim knows, the sun is beginning to stream in through the window, and the birds are chirping. The Pilgrim, hearing the artist finish his last story, professes that he now knows that indeed he wants a tattoo from this Shop Keeper. The Artist tells him that it is impossible -- first, because there are no more stories, and second, that there is no more room -- the pilgrim is covered in tattoos already!
"With an electric shock of alarm I quickly looked at my hands and arms, but they were clean of any sign or mark. I opened my shirt and looked at my chest, but it was also without any tattoo or inscription."
"Be assured that you are tattooed, my friend," said the Ethiopian. "Your entire body is covered with the invisible images of the stories which you have just heard, of the parables I have told you. They are indelibly tattooed on your inner self. They will be a part of you as long as you exist. . ."
Yesterday we donned ashes, remembered our mortality, and began an exceedingly important journey to Jerusalem. We were marked by the ashes. . .we were "tattooed,” so to speak. Today we remember that we bear the story of faith deep within, even after the ashes are washed away. We are marked.
