Tag Archives: dust

On Ashes and Dust…

05 Wednesday Mar 2025

Posted by in reflection

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Phot credit: https://www.yamaha.com/en/musical_instrument_guide/pipeorgan/maintenance/

Last year our parish was donated a new pipe organ.  We have been eagerly waiting for the deconstruction of our current organ and the installation of the new one.  The time has finally come, we said a prayer of blessing on the current organ, and we have been waiting and watching as the process begins.  Ideally this wouldn’t be staring just days before Ash Wednesday, but I suppose there is no “perfect” time to deconstruct your worship space.

Knowing we are in a liminal time of deconstruction and reconstruction, I had not thoroughly thought through the impact this time would have on our experience of Ash Wednesday.  But walking into the Chapel this morning, seeing the pipes mostly gone, and the guts of our current organ exposed, I was hit by a sadness I couldn’t quite place.  Almost 20 years of music from that organ has filled our worship space, countless talented individuals have made the organ sing, and even more moments of sacred encounters with God have happened through that instrument.  Seeing the organ exposed today did something that left me unsettled. 

Photo credit: https://annkroeker.com/2011/03/09/there-back-again-my-first-ash-wednesday/

When I necessarily turned my attention to preparing for tonight’s Ashes to Go and Ash Wednesday service, I realized what was so unsettling.  Ash Wednesday is all about reminding us of our mortality, our finitude, and our vulnerability before God.  When those gritty ashes are scraped across my forehead and I am told that I will return to dust, that texture and those words linger with me.  So too, as that organ case sits gaping and open, with dust motes floating in the air, our worship space has suddenly become the perfect metaphor for entering a Holy Lent.

I wonder what gaping holes Ash Wednesday is exposing for you.  I wonder where your spiritual life is feeling dusty and in need of some care.  As always, you are most welcome to engage at Hickory Neck Episcopal Church for some tending – to find a connection with God that might be missing, to heal some holes that have been exposed for too long, and to find a place of belonging, because, believe me, you are not alone.  Welcome to Lent.

Photo credit: Stephen Trumbull; reuse with permission only

On Letting the Dust Settle…

21 Wednesday Feb 2024

Posted by in reflection

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Photo credit: https://ymi.today/2015/04/when-dust-settles-in-the-sunlight/

Oftentimes, I think are two version of church:  the version that is consumed and the version that is fully knowledgeable of all the details and intricacies that it takes to create the consumable experience.  In the former, one comes to church, prays prayers, sings beautifully written songs, hears scripture, engages with a sermon, consumes communion, and is commissioned to go out and live the Gospel.  Of course, there may also be the juggling of children, the scramble to get there on time, and the focus needed to fully engage all that is “church,” and not be distracted by life whispering in the background. 

For the latter – the version of church that is fully knowledgeable, the experience of church happens through a filter.  In that experience, you are juggling the personnel details (did the lector show up, how the procession should line up based on who is serving, whether a choir member is late and didn’t get to rehearse fully), you are painfully aware of the hours of planning that went into the bulletin (the liturgical and musical decisions that were made to create a seamless experience), and you are mindful of all the administrative details (did the altar book get marked, which cruet has wine and which has water, do we have enough wafers for the number of people in church, did we remember all the announcements, and on and on).  People in both categories consume church in equal amounts, but the buzz behind the experiences may be different.

As someone who falls in that latter category, I have been especially grateful for Lent this year.  Our staff worked really hard to have all the liturgy planning completed early this year.  That is a fantastic feat, but it also means this winter has been extremely busy and detail-filled.  Even the start of Lent was chaotic.  On Shrove Tuesday, you are eating and merrymaking, and less than 24 hours later, you are spreading ash on people’s foreheads and making sure they have a meaningful Ash Wednesday.  By that Sunday, you are chanting or saying the very long Great Litany on the first Sunday of Lent, and by that Monday, you take a gulp of air once you realize you have done it – Lent has begun.

What all that preplanning has meant for me this year is that gulp of air is an invitation to trust the planning and to now live into Lent.  Instead of my head being abuzz with details, now I can sit down and clear out space to be with God – to do a meaningful assessment of my relationships with God, self, and neighbor, and see what invitations arise about what in those relationships needs repentance, repair, or rejoicing.  In essence, I suppose I shift now to being a consumer of church for a time.  I get to do the prayer, fasting, and alms giving that Lent invites without all the intricacies that began the season.

I wonder where you are finding yourself at the beginning of this second week in Lent.  How are you creating spaces where the buzz of life, the swirl of life’s details, and the burdens of the everyday can be set aside to connect with God, self, and neighbor?  How are you finding meaningful ways to repent, repair, and rejoice?  I cannot wait to hear how this Lent is reigniting your faith journey!

On Keeping Rituals Anyway…

17 Wednesday Feb 2021

Posted by in reflection

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

Photo credit: https://www.cincinnati.com/story/news/2019/03/06/ash-wednesday-2019-wearing-ashes-marks-beginning-lent/3064920002/

Today is Ash Wednesday.  It is the day we gather to kick off the beginning of Lent.  The main marker of this day are the ashes rubbed on our foreheads in the shape of a cross.  This ritual action is so powerful that churches typically offer multiple services in their buildings and they hang out in train stations, street corners, or parking lots so that people can grab their ashes on the go. 

But this year Ash Wednesday is happening in a surreal setting.  Reminding us we are dust and to dust we shall return seems a little superfluous when death is all around us from this pandemic.  Beginning a season of fasting seems like overkill when we have been doing nothing but fasting for eleven months – fasting from a way of life we once knew.  Asking us to give us something for Lent seems tone deaf when we have been giving up things for almost a year.  And with large communities having lost power for several days, churches still on lock down, and best practices prohibiting us from actually touching ashes to others’ foreheads, the whole idea of this day seems like too much.

So why are we even bothering with Ash Wednesday this year?  A couple of reasons.  One of the base reasons is we need to keep the rituals of life to help us feel some semblance of normalcy – some reminder of the things that have been meaning-giving in our lives.  Two, we need reminders that God is present in the midst of all this mayhem.  Some of us have never felt God’s absence, some of us have felt the abandonment of God in this time, and some of us have just felt so depleted that God feels distant – not absent, but also not vividly present. 

I don’t know how you are holding up this Ash Wednesday.  I don’t know where you are on your journey with God these days.  But what I do know is that the church is here to walk with you, comfort you, and create space for wherever you are on the journey – whether driving through,  watching online, or catching up by email, phone, or text.  We are in this together.    

An invitation…

25 Wednesday Feb 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

In my line of work, I deal with death a lot.  The first two calls a family usually makes when a loved one dies are to the funeral home and to the priest.  I have done funerals for people I have known and loved, and for people who I have never met.  I have done funerals for people who were deeply involved with and committed to the Church, and for people who actively avoided the church.  I have done funerals for grandmothers, husbands, sisters, and children.  I have held the hand of a shallow-breathing senior who had lived a long life but was approaching the last hours, and have touched the tiny hand of a stillborn.  Death is ever present in my life, always a phone call away.

So you would think that Ash Wednesday would not be that jarring to me.  A day meant to remind us of the fragility of life, that we are dust and to dust we shall return, really should not be that extraordinary.  But every year it gets me.  Though I deal with death when it comes my way, Ash Wednesday is a little different.  Ash Wednesday involves reminding people who may be nowhere near death to ponder the shortness of life.  Each time I spread gritty ashes on a forehead, my whole being shutters.  I think of the many laughs I have shared with the person my age; I think of the illness someone in their 50s overcame and the fullness of life they have enjoyed since then; I think of the bounding energy of the six-year old and how much joy they bring; and I think of the quiet confidence and wisdom of the grandmother figure.  Every time I say, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” I feel like I am whispering a dark truth into each person’s ears.  There is nothing more sobering than those words, than those grainy ashes, than those shared moments of eye contact.  And no matter how well I clean up afterwards, a little black residue remains on my thumb, reminding me how close death lingers.

Though the reality of Ash Wednesday is sobering, and perhaps something one might want to avoid, I find that most people who come for ashes are relieved.  They are relieved for the gift of a church that will remind them of things of ultimate importance.  They are relieved for some perspective and levity in a world that tells them if they push more, do more, achieve more, they will somehow be happier.  They are relieved to be shaken out of the distractions or the fog of life and to be invited into a sense of clarity and purpose.  I certainly am relieved in that same way.  Because I am the solo priest at my parish, I usually have a parishioner also spread ashes on my forehead.  No matter who I end up asking, there is always a moment of shared humility and connection.  I am grateful to the church for the gift of Ash Wednesday and the invitation for a holy Lent.

On being dust…

06 Thursday Mar 2014

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , ,

One of the gifts of being a clergy person is the moments of insight, intimacy, and holiness.  That gift is probably one of the primary things that keep me going, especially in the midst of weeks when the vocation feels more full of challenge than full of blessing.  The cool thing about the gift is that it often catches me unawares – I am busy just doing my job when all of sudden, wham!, God brings me to my knees with the enormity and privilege that this vocation is.

It happened yesterday as our church celebrated Ash Wednesday.  As my mind was distracted with my sermon, the choreography of the liturgy, and the elements of the altar, I suddenly found myself at the part of the liturgy where I spread ashes on each person’s forehead.  I had forgotten how incredible that moment is.  There I am, rubbing dirty, gritty ash on person’s forehead, reminding them of their mortality.  The experience is a visceral, fleshy one.  Some foreheads are covered with hair, some are oily after a day of work or activity, and some are polished and made up.  Some foreheads are smooth and non-anxious and others are lined with the wrinkles of age or stress.

But even more profound than the tangible piece is the emotional piece of the experience.  There is the woman who just celebrated 91 years of life.  I find myself wondering how many more years we will share moments like this.  There is the parishioner with whom I have shared laughs and tears, who is the prime of their lives, and whose death I cannot fathom.  And of course there are the children.  There is something profound about reminding a five-year old that they will someday die, whether they fully understand what is happening in the liturgy or not.

After everyone had received ashes, I turned to our acolyte and asked her to give me ashes as well.  In this time of growing life inside of me – as I have frequently fretted about the viability of my child outside the womb – I was reminded that neither my coming child nor I are spared from returning to dust someday.  Though that sounds like a grim thought, where it ultimately left me was convinced that no matter what happens, God is the firm foundation that I stand firmly upon, grounding me, keeping me humble, and reminding me of what really matters.

That is the other beauty of being a clergy person.  As much as I hope liturgies are meaningful to others, I find them equally meaningful to me.  Sometimes it is harder than others to worship while leading worship.  But this Ash Wednesday, the power and wonder of the liturgy and our God did not escape me.  I am grateful today for the powerful reminder of my humanity, the collective recognition of the fragility and preciousness of this life, and the blessing of a community who always gives me a healthy dose of perspective.