It's Ash Wednesday today, a fact that had completely slipped my mind during my recent nomadic existence. Lately my days have been labeled Des Moines, Davenport, Iowa City, Waverly and Rochester, and I have been keeping time not with my watch but with friends: tomorrow I go to see Abby, and then I will be on my way to Jodi's, then lunch with Charlie and staying with Fred and Gloria... you get the picture. So I have been hard-pressed to remember even the date or the day of the week, much less keep up with the church calendar.
But I am so glad that I happened to come to the Wartburg Chapel today, to get my internal calendar back in sync. "Child of dust, child of ashes" the woman declared and rubbed a cross of ashes onto my forehead--a sign of my mortality and limitation. And next to her, the man spoke, "this is the body of Christ, given for you"-- a sign that my limitations are forgiven and that I am invited into the family with open arms. Dying, and rising again. Really a daily rhythm, a daily reminder of my baptism, of belonging to this community of ashes and bread.
This trip for me has been all about reconnecting with community: family, old friends, even the mentors of my past have come alive again and have greeted me with open arms, driving hours to see me, welcoming me into their homes and hearts. Friends touch such different places in me: my roommates inspire that deep sense of sisterhood chosen, not imposed. Hanging out with the guys means raucous laughter, horseplay and witty inuendo. And my niece, a new little life not yet able to take care of herself, depending on me with utter confidence and big blue eyes brings out my inner caretaker.
Ashes and bread. Dying and rising and struggling and hoping and living and reconnecting. It all belongs in this calendar, doesn't it?
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Ashes, ashes (we all fall down)
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3 comments:
Hey, neat, I'm a schedule point (somewhat ironic considering my lifelong aversion to schedules, but neat nonetheless)! It was really quite splendiforous to see you yesterday, Jess. First time I've ever had lunch with a diaconal minister. Thanks, to borrow a chestnut from Mark DeVries, for stopping by.
(you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys's you guys you guyses you guys you guys u-guise you guys you guys you guys...)
Not to monopolize the comments for this post, but I've been tossing around the sentence, "a new little life not yet able to take care of herself," for a while and I've decided I'm intrigued by the idea that eventually we reach a point where we are able to take care of ourselves. Certainly our need for support becomes less literal as we get older (up to a point, after which it becomes more literal again), but I wonder if we ever do really become any more capable of living independently than we are as infants.
Hi all! Charlie, I think you're right. This blog is ongoing evidence that we (at least I) need other people like air and chocolate. I guess there is no "independent life." Good call.
Joanne, I always like Lent too. It always seems like an invitation to consider things again, to get my life back in order.
Hi Kristin! It is amazing to me how different frineds turn me into a completely different person. Maybe the reason why I am addicted to experiencing new cultures and meeting new people is a selfish one: pure self-discovery.
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