The snow is beginning to leave (hurray!). And this afternoon, these flowers began to surface in my back yard.
The promise of new life emerging in spite of the weather in spite of the pandemic in spite of political upheavals in spite of it being the Season of Lent in spite of what any of us is going through personally.
Deep within the winter snow the promise of new life!
May we not let anything deter us from this reality. Deep within the winter snow is new life – hope!
ASH WEDNESDAY in a Pandemic – what is Ash Wednesday all about?
It was a Wednesday morning. Nothing unusual was happening in the classroom where I was teaching a class of high school students. Nothing unusual, except they were more attentive than usual.
Something was different. But I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then a bell rang – not the usual “time for the class to end” bell – but a different bell. Somehow the students knew what it meant. They slowly got out of their seats and headed in single file to the door, quietly. “Miss,” one of the students said, “We’ll be back once we’ve been to the chapel and had the ashes put on our foreheads.”
Just then the Principal came into the classroom and ushered the students out – apologizing that she’d not advised me about the interruption ahead of time. “The students will be back in the classroom in about half an hour” she said. And with that, she and the students left the classroom.
I has just turned twenty, three months earlier. It was my first teaching position. I was in a private school – a Roman Catholic school. At that time, my knowledge of Christianity, let alone Roman Catholicism, was limited. Very limited. Though I had been raised in a loving home, I had not been baptized nor exposed to a church that included rituals anywhere close to “Ashes on foreheads.” All of it was so new to me.
The school was quiet – no one in the corridors. The only sound I heard came from the Chapel – quiet music, muted voices. When the students returned to the classroom, their foreheads had a black substance smudged on it. They were sombre, quiet. Something about them was different. But again, I couldn’t quite figure it out.
When I asked them to tell me what had happened in the Chapel, the students seemed to take delight in being my teacher! “Today is the day when we tell God we are very sorry for the times we’ve moved away and that we want to be better people.” But, I wondered, why the public display of the cross on their foreheads? “Ah, Miss, that reminds us that we’re all human and that we began as dust and will end as dust.”
Sounded to me like an ugly threat – “You’re going to die!” Well, I knew that one day I would die, but why would anyone want to go to church to be reminded, every year, that “from dust you have come; to dust you will go”? It seemed incredibly maudlin to me.
After school that day, I encountered Harry, one of the high school students I tutored. He was one of the few non-Christians at the private Roman Catholic school he attended and so was exempt from Chapel. But there he was, with a smudged sign of the cross on his forehead. He told me that his friends said they were going to receive the imposition of ashes and invited him along. He went, not because he wanted to, but because his friends had invited him and besides, he was curious about it all.
When he received the ashes on his forehead, he said that he felt that something had changed. He shared these words which he wrote in his journal … “As I received the ashes, all at once I realized in a whole new way, that it’s really true – “we are dust and we will return to dust when we diet.” He realized at that moment that life is transitory … and that he wouldn’t live forever.
In Christian churches around the world, before the pandemic, people would gather to receive the ashes on their forehead and hear the words “Dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return.” Certainly no one’s favourite words, but they represent a truth of which we all need to be reminded from time to time. Sadly, September 11th did that. This year, tragically, January 6th, did that. People realized their own mortality.
That’s what Ash Wednesday does. It is a sober reminder that we are not immortal. We are mortal. Ash Wednesday reminds us that it is impossible to handle our problems and live our lives without help from anyone else. Paradoxically, that is precisely the point at which we can become new people. When we are weak, G_d, the Creator, the Holy One is our strength.
Acknowledging our humanity, our vulnerability, our mortality helps us to live more fully. One way to do that, is to receive the imposition of ashes on our foreheads. That ritual is simply an outward symbol of what is hoped would happen internally and a commitment to be the best we can be.
Do we need to be a Christian to do that? No. Do we need to have experienced an Ash Wednesday service before? No. Do we need to be connected to a church to do that? No. All we need to do is accept our mortality, and allow the ashes to be a sign that we recognize that our mortal life is a gift and commit ourselves, with the help of the Holy One, to use the rest of our mortal life to the very best of our ability.
This Wednesday is Ash Wednesday – the beginning of the Season of Lent, the 40-day penitential period before the celebration of Easter. The imposition of ashes, an ancient Jewish tradition, was a public sign of an individual’s repentance. By the seventh century, the Christian church adopted it as part of the Church’s Lenten preparation when people would find their way to a church and receive the imposition of ashes. But we’re in a pandemic. Churches aren’t open. How can Ash Wednesday be observed in a pandemic?
Churches are becoming wonderfully creative!
Some are supplying ashes for individuals/families so that they can sprinkle the ashes into the palm of their own or a family member’s hand and apply it themselves. Some are encouraging the use of a cotton Qtip which could be dipped into the ashes and the ashes placed on the forehead that way. Other congregations are giving members dirt, seed and water instead of ashes, acknowledging that from the dust of the world, new hope springs.
Still other churches are encouraging people to mark their hearts with the sign of a heart or the Cross as an outward and visible sign that of the intention is to turn hearts over to God and experience God’s unconditional love and forgiveness in a new way.
Whatever way each of us chooses to observe Ash Wednesday, may we enter into the ritual with reverence and humility and with gratitude. Ash Wednesday is, for me, a gift … a precious opportunity to acknowledge my humanity, my vulnerability, my mortality.
May this Ash Wednesday – a pandemic Ash Wednesday – be a moment of grace and lead to a holy Lent.
“All shall be well. All shall be well. And all manner of thing shall be well”
There are no promises in life but the words by Dame Julian of Norwich (c. 1342) can be of assistance when dealing with difficult moments difficult people difficult situations.
Used as … a prayer … a hope … a mantra … a wish the words can offer a snippet of reassurance that “everything is going to be okay.” And when we’re “in the trenches” of difficult moments, people, situations, even though Dame Julian’s words don’t say that things *are* okay, her words do say that all *shall be* well. And that’s a calming thought because when life gets to be more difficult than we think we can manage, surely a sense of calm is what is needed.
Whether or not Dame Julian’s words are whispered thought prayed shouted cried softly spoken sung let’s hold the words close to our heart this night and in the nights to come.
Who knows – they might bring a peace that is intangible … yet real a joy that is indefinable … yet palpable a hope that is unimaginable … yet possible.
“I believe,Tinker Bell and Green-Frog-peering-through-leaves. I believe” that “all *shall be* well in spite of the lies in spite of the fear in spite of the fraud. At some point in time “all *shall be* well.
An aside: tried to locate the creator of this image without success. If you know the creator, please let me know so appropriate accreditation can be provided.
It seems that my heart has been skipping a lot of beats lately. I’ve been gasping. And yes, while the air quality has been a major issue for my lungs, the ‘gasping’ is more than that. The gasping has been about the incredulity of words spoken by men in powerful positions the devastation caused by the force of Nature the unbelievable cruelty of human beings the “ism’s” causing hatred, violence, terrorism and more.
And none of it is stopping.
“Breathe, June. Just breathe” I’ve said to myself as history has continued to be made in recent days and weeks. “Breathe. Just breathe”
It’s not just me. Many seem to be having difficulty breathing deep, life-giving oxygen into their lungs especially when political situations seem overwhelming when health is compromised when fear escalates simply by watching/listening to the news when financial issues disrupt when grief overwhelms.
I remember a day long ago, when my breath was shallow and fast. I dreaded the thought of being strapped into the MRI metal tube with its loud noises and being unable to move. But, the test needed doing, so I took my own advice and focused on my breathing. As I did, I thought of my friend who, diagnosed with cystic fibrosis at the time, lungs barely functioning was in wait-mode for a double lung transplant.
It was a terrifying time for her. As I was trying to move beyond the panic that was settling in within me because of the claustrophobia I was experiencing in the MRI I intentionally breathed for, and with, my friend slow, deep, belly breaths over and over and over again trying to take the focus off of myself place it onto her and did some conscious breathing for us both.
When I find myself breathing short, shallow breaths because of the news or anything that causes stress within me, like visits to the dentist, I pray and I *belly breathe* slow, deep breaths from my belly gently expanding my belly, not raising my shoulders.
When I do that, oxygen begins to fill my body and mind, giving space for a sense of peace to enter my spirit.
I find a pattern of four breaths at a time helps … 1. As I breathe in, I am intentional about inhaling healing, wholeness, hope, peace, love. Sometimes I use the prayer of Dame Julian of Norwich and on each inhale, I think/whisper “All shall be well.” 2. As I breathe out, I am intentional about exhaling anxiety, pain, fear, grief, stress. Sometimes I use the next line of Dame Julian’s prayer “All shall be well.” 3. As I breathe in, I repeat the first breath’s focus and think/pray/whisper/say “And all manner of thing”. 4. As I breathe out, I repeat the second breath’s focus and think/pray/whisper/say “Shall be well.”
Dame Julian’s words don’t say things “are” well, but that they “shall be” well and that puts hope in my heart and mind and soul.
In – Out. In – Out. In – Out. In- Out. As I continue that pattern the results seem to be calming, healing, and soul-nourishing and surely in these days of more-than-unrest-and-fear we must do what we can to de-stress.
It’s not always easy to do especially in moments of crisis but there is a distinct difference in my stress level when I follow my own counsel.
We must remember to breathe consciously breathe gently, slowly, deeply so that our body can get the oxygen it needs.
No matter what lies ahead in our personal lives or in the world of politics we’re of no use to anyone if we aren’t able to get oxygen into our body so we can think rationalize distinguish between ‘real news’ and ‘fake news’ acknowledge the possibility of hope.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Each day regardless of what is happening in the world in the media in our personal ives we must remember to breathe and inhale goodness kindness thoughtfulness gentleness love joy peace self-control
A friend wrote “I know I am fading. I need help with fading. I will be staying at home for this part of the journey.”
A woman of gentle strength, courage, humility, wisdom, and hope, her post reminded me of this photo which for me, became symbolic of birth and death.
In it, I saw tall, strong trees standing on the edge of fresh running water that brings life. I also saw leaves from those trees falling to their demise as salmon swam upstream in the waters to their end.
Birth and death similar in a unique way.
When we are born, we change our address. We move “From Beyond” (where we grow in the care of our mother’s womb) to “This World” (where we grow through life’s lessons).
When we die, we change our address again … We move from “This World” (where we have grown through life’s lessons) to “Beyond” (where, like our time in our mother’s womb, we were oblivious about what is before us, but is a hope that we are not at our ‘end’).
Perhaps we might think of death as a beginning … another new beginning.
So many have died recently. They have changed their address.
So many are dealing with terminal illness and are dying. They are about to change their address.
When we were born, we made the transition “From Beyond” to “This World.”
When we die, we will make the transition from “This World” to “Beyond.“
And when that happens, it could be far more glorious than we can even anticipate or imagine!
I first heard the words from Sarah in a small northern Alaskan village.
The tiny, elderly, native woman spoke them slowly and carefully, all the while looking directly in my eyes. “How deeply you are connected to my soul, June.”
Deeply humbled by her words, I was thinking “this is not your common-ordinary-everyday conversation with a stranger.“ At that moment, I could feel the connectedness we shared and knew, even though we were cultures apart and our differences far outweighed our similarities, the ‘at-one-ness’ with each other was real. At that moment, our souls had connected.
One of the songs I learned in the tiny wooden building in that Alaskan bush long ago reinforced Sarah’s words: “How could anyone ever tell you that you’re anything less than beautiful? How could anyone ever tell you that you’re less than whole? How could anyone fail to notice that your loving is a miracle? How deeply you’re connected to my soul.”(Libby Roderick)
Though I was the stranger in her remote village, and our customs, language, traditions, life experiences were alien to one another, something indelibly linked us together.
And in that moment, I realized the possibility that two people who, on the surface have little in common with one another, could have a soul-connection.
It was then that the word ‘community’ took on a new meaning for me.
Yet when I watch and listen to the news, I hear the growing rhetoric expressed by politicians who don’t tell the truth, whose views and comments lead to an escalating almost-to-the-point-of-paralyzing fear. I see the growing intolerance and racism, misogyny and hatred, and can’t help but wonder and ask two questions: “Why can we not recognize the soul-connections around us? “Why can we not be community?”
I have no answers only more questions …
“When will it be time for those who speak or think ill of another – those who wound others with their words or thoughts – those who teach people to hate and fear – those who tear-down rather than build-up to recognize that we are all connected we are all part of the same community …the human community?”
