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Not since 1945 has Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent for Christians, fallen on 14th February also celebrated as Valentine’s day. Despite being a saints day, the church has often been a bit sniffy about Valentine’s Day, turning our noses up at the shiny heart-shaped balloons and extravagant gestures. And I guess that this year, that will be even more pronounced, as Valentine, the 3rd century Roman martyr, is sharing his day with one of the most important festivals of the Christian year. Today millions of people around the world will be ashed. A sign of the cross will be made on their forehead in ash, made from the burnt palm crosses from last Easter. And each person hears the words addressed to them “remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return”. A ritual to remind us of our mortality, that our life will at some moment, come to an end. And at our church we won’t just be offering ash to people in the services; we stand outside in our busy courtyard – all day – offering this ritual of ashing to anyone passing by. The conversations are often surprising, often moving. But while at first glance Valentine’s day and Ash Wednesday don’t seem to have much in common, I think they do. Both are imaginative attempts to talk about some complicated aspects of being human. To tell someone you love them makes you vulnerable to their rejection. To use a common phrase, you “put yourself out there”. It’s brave. And so we often decide not to admit the love that we feel – even within relationships, in families, among friends. Too risky. Ash Wednesday is at its heart an attempt to express such a risky love that endures and survives even death. And like Valentine’s Day, it is a way of saying together that we are not, although we might think we are, at the centre of our world. By receiving ash, Christians remind themselves that human beings are not actually autonomous, self-directed, uninvolved individuals. We are very often caught up in the dynamics of relationships and histories that we don’t understand and can’t control. We live in buildings that we have not built, next to people we have not chosen. We are to a large extent at the mercy of one another, and for Christians, at the mercy of God. But importantly, in Valentines’ Day and Ash Wednesday, this teaching is not a charter for victimhood or an instruction to be a doormat. Far from it. It’s an invitation to let ourselves fall in love; perhaps with another person, perhaps with life itself. And to discover the dignity of love, in daring to give ourselves away.