Ashes to Ashes

A circle gathered in the semi-dark, focusing inward. Faces lit by the glow of flickering candle light, hymnals resting loosely in laps or held at awkward angels to catch the light's reflection on their white pages. Some squint to read the stanza of texts interspersed by staffs of music. Others read easily, oblivious to the privilege of their youth and unfailing eyesight.

The city outside is covered in fresh fallen snow. March has come - but in place of hope for spring it brings a continuance of winters unrelenting cold and silence. Despair continues unchecked in the lives of my clients, stories of homelessness, of hopelessness, of lost bus passes, and disappointing job searches. The world continues on its path of war - in Syria, in Ukraine. 

Together, we have gathered from our busy lives to mark a sacred, ancient season. In the darkness all surrounding, we turn towards the light. Recognizing despair, honoring mortality, together we hold out hope for a narrative of transformation. We open the season of lent - forty days of penance, of prayer, of preparation for the work of God among us: 

slowly turning, ever turning from our lovelessness like ice, 

from our unforgiving spirit, from the grip of envy's vise,

slowly turning, ever turning toward the lavish life of spring, 

toward the word of warmth and pardon, toward the mercy welcoming!

slowly turning, ever turning from our egocentered gaze,

from our self-enclosing circle, from our narrow, petty ways,

slowly turning, ever turning toward the foreigner as friend, 

toward the city without gheto, toward the greatness without end!

  slowly turning, ever turning from our fear of death and loss, 

from our terror or the darkness, from our scorning of the cross,

slowly turning, ever turning toward the true and faithful one, 

toward the light of day-break dawning, toward the phoenix risen sun!

A circle gathered in the semi-dark, sending us out into the world. Hymnals dancing for a moment in candle light as they are placed back on the shelves. Saying our goodbyes we turn towards the door with ashes on our foreheads. Bearing the mark of our mortality, I walk out into the cold - filled with hope.