ashes to ashes
From dust you came; to dust you shall return.
Ash Wednesday has a double poignance this year: firstly because I buried my own father’s ashes only a few weeks ago and still can’t hear the words without my head melting. Secondly because for the first time in 12 years I will not be taking a service today.
Ash Wednesday is just one day, but it has brought into sharp focus the fact that my life feels curiously suspended at the moment. There are some momentous decisions to be made, some of which are not in my own hands, and there is a lot of uncertainty. It’s a daily discipline to go on living as normal, planning and working as if everything will be the same in 12 months’ time, while clearly knowing that I don’t know what life will look like at all in 12 months.
I remind myself of the words of Julian of Norwich: “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” I give thanks for health and strength, for my beautiful son, and for my fine friends. I stare down the threat of uncertainty and insist, instead, that it is an adventure. But at the end of every day there is an acute sense that we are but dust; that life is short and is running through our fingers.
It matters to do more than survive. Life needs to be lived, not just endured. So this Lent I shall not be giving up chocolate, but instead I shall be actively, daily, giving up the dark tunnels of worry and fear, giving up an over-burdening sense of responsibility, giving up working overtime, giving up the bruising anger and resentment that I am entitled to. Instead I shall be living – for forty-six days – deliberately one day at a time, finding every day something to enjoy, someone to celebrate, and something to laugh about. It feels like Friday already. But Sunday is coming. I know it is.




Dear Maggi
What a great piece of writing. Thanks for putting this so honestly and clearly.
with best wishes
Anthony Wilson
as someone who is currently coming out of his own wilderness period (for very different reasons) let me encourage you to keep on keeping on. I hope that you find the supportive brothers and sisters around you that I did, remembering that Lent was never meant to be a solitary experience…, and that in them and in other ways you will find God’s grace at work in unimagined ways… I believe that God has worked through my experiences and honesty in these dark days, more powerfully and profoundly in the lives of others than in all my days of ultra-busy creativity… I would rather have not gone through these last few months… But God has used even this to his glory and to extend his kingdom of grace…
‘I stare down the threat of uncertainty and insist, instead, that it is an adventure. But at the end of every day there is an acute sense that we are but dust; that life is short and is running through our fingers.’
But Maggie, life is everlasting – it’s only the flesh that isn’t.
WE are NOT dust – unless you are willing to count stardust – we were millions of years in the planning and making and saving from such thoughts.
I am come, says Christ, that you might have life – life in all its fullness.
The dust that remains when the body dies is no measure of life or love or joy – these things are everlasting and nothing – and no one can change that.
Scattered ashes are not lost memories or empty embraces, they are a sign of confidence in resurrection, they make the land fertile and rich for new life.
I write as one who shares the uncertainty. (as does everyone else – they just don’t know it!)
This could be my last opportunity to debunk ash Wednesday and proclaim the Good news that no man made ritual can destroy the joy of the Lord.
So
Chin up
Dancing Shoes on..
Sunday is HERE
Lets have a feast of life together.
Very sensible. Although the liturgical year is helpful it should be a guide and not a ruler. Life is a pilgramage that sometimes takes us through dark valleys but God is with us there as much, if not more, than when we walk out into the bright sunshine of the plains.
Best of luck. Thinking of you.
I’m in a wilderness period right now – so I get this in a very profound way. Today I am taking Ash Wednesday at a service with people who are unhoused outdoors in Boston, MA. Then going to an evening service at a very trans friendly congregation. These folks welcome me in ways that remind me of what it means to be Christian at a time when I’ve seen one too many examples of faith fakers – these days I have more solidarity with my atheist buds than so-called Christian leaders.
Maggi, you are such an encouragement to so many people. I am reading your Lent book, and found day one today so inspiring. Thank you.
praying for you as you face all that comes your way.
Absolutely, oh absolutely such an encouragement to so many people!
Thank you Maggi. All shall be well. And in the meantime – rootin’ for you, and praying
Great post – I too am in an uncertain time. You’re not alone.
Blessings on what may be the most holy Lent in your life.
Thanks for posting this, Maggi. So many of our friends seem to be in this “suspension” at the minute, as are we, and it’s helpful to be reminded of the need to give up worrying!
Blessings–and prayers.
Thanks for this. 2011 has been hellish thus far. Hoping by Easter that’ll be flipped upside down.
A wonderful post – thank you so much! I find this such a helpful approach to Ash Wednesday – just sad that it is born out of a period of difficulty for you.
Praying that indeed “All shall be well”
Really moving stuff Maggi,….. Keep on holding onto the adventure and trust in this valley of uncertainty. God will see you through…… Prayers and very best wishes,…..
” I shall be actively, daily, giving up the dark tunnels of worry and fear, giving up an over-burdening sense of responsibility, giving up working overtime, giving up the bruising anger and resentment that I am entitled to. Instead I shall be living – for forty-six days – deliberately one day at a time, finding every day something to enjoy, someone to celebrate, and something to laugh about.”
Maggi, the latter 3 sound like a fantastic blog project. Thank you for this interesting, personal and vulnerable post.
God bless,
Anita