When I walked into our congregation’s Ash Wednesday service last month, my first thought was, “Oh, no.”
In the middle of the room, where the small candles and kneeling rugs usually rest during Lent, were two large, shallow boxes—almost like raised planters—filled with dirt. Our pastor’s words at the beginning of worship didn’t do much to dispel my concern: she invited us to come forward throughout the service as we felt led, feel the dirt, play with it even, plant acorns, and connect with the experience of being from the dust ourselves. And sure enough, as the music started up and a friend’s small son sprinted forward with a look of delight on his face, it played out exactly as I expected. Throughout the service, adults came forward to have a moment with the dirt, but it was mostly children with their hands in the boxes, playing with the sod, sculpting it, digging in it, and scampering back and forth while the grownups were busy remembering that we are all going to die.
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