Here we are, the day after Mardi Gras/Shrove Tuesday, the day that marks a particularly penitent time in the Christian calendar. It's Ash Wednesday, the day that reminds us of our ultimate destiny: we are dust and ash, the detritus of stars, but ultimately dust and ash, a bundle of carbon and other elements.
Last year, coming home from Ash Wednesday service, I had these thoughts on the brain, and I was stopped at a train crossing, with a particularly lengthy train. I grabbed my camera and experimented with taking pictures of myself in a rearview mirror. A cross of ash, a rearview mirror, a long train--I should think about a poem.
Earlier parts of last year's Ash Wednesday's service were more traditional.
I had forgotten how many cactus elements were part of the sanctuary last year:
Later, one of these cactus pots would hold the baby Jesus as he waited out the Advent season, waiting for his debut on Christmas Eve:
Throughout the service, I worked on this sketch:
Let us remember the promise of the ancient prophets: "Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt" (from the 58th chapter of Isaiah). Let us dream about the best way to rebuild our ruins!
Best Essay Collections of 2017 by Women Authors
7 years ago
2 comments:
And hopefully our not so "ancient" ruins.
And hopefully our not so "ancient" ruins.
Post a Comment