The funeral procession was lengthy that late January day, crawling down the parkway.
I was at the intersection, stalled between errands and an afternoon of teaching; counting the minutes, wondering how many cars the cortege numbered.
I knew what was coming, just around the corner. After Groundhog Day and Valentine’s: Ashes. The crush of pitch black on my forehead, the kneeling by candlelight, the prayers.
Just as we are on the verge of emerging from winter’s darkness, stowing blankets and gloves, we are pulled back into the deep. Dust to dust.
There are first things and last things, and dust is one of those last things that never ends, it seems, either in housework or in the work of the soul.
Life gives us many passes at dust. Frustrations, humiliations, sudden loss. Ash Wednesday invites us to do more than deflect these as best we can. It asks that we take the reality of dust into ourselves with space enough — the next 40 days — to walk around in it.
To enter the time of ashes is to enter our own wilderness and to take a look around.
One of my own wilderness guides is a fellow parishioner I will call Frances. Frances is an energetic single woman, an active contributor to our church community for so long that no one could imagine life without her.
Two years ago, Frances went on her first trip to the Holy Land. It was there that she broke the news to her church companions: Just days earlier, she had been diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. The doctors told her that after seeing the places where Jesus walked and taught and performed his miracles, she would come home to die. Continue reading
- Kathleen Hirsch in Crux
Kathleen Hirsch is an adjunct professor at Boston College, spiritual director at Bethany House of Prayer in Arlington, Massachusetts, and a retreat leader.
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