Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

It's Ash Wednesday, the day that marks the beginning of the 40 day season that brings those of us in the Christian tradition to Easter. Lent is a time of reflection, of repentance, and - dare I say - penitence, as we realign ourselves with God and God's purposes in the world.

On this rainy morning I perform my own small penitential act. We had planned on moving our compost pile anyway, but not until later in the season. Getting an additional heat pump necessitates this immediate relocation. The bottom third of the pile was frozen just about solid, partially because our pile was small, partially because I err on the side of lackadaisical composting (neglecting to get enough browns into the mix). I pay the price, chipping away at the sides of our black plastic bin with a pitchfork and scraping the sides down until it's loose enough for me to move. I use old feed bags and a wheelbarrow to store partially decomposed banana and avocado peels, eggshells, and chicken shit - all mixed in with some pretty decent compost that managed to develop despite my best efforts. There must be mercy somewhere, as this whole task only took 75 minutes.

Yesterday, I spent some time reflecting on Matthew 6, where Jesus tells the crowd to not worry about what they will eat or drink or wear and to consider the lilies and the birds of the air. I did this with a few others from one of the churches I belong to - and there was a general consensus that this year, this passage just hits differently. I thought about the birds and the wildflowers and where this passage usually gives comfort - God provides in the midst of the business of our everyday living - it left me feeling heavy. After all, some years the wildflowers don't bloom. The birds sometimes don't make it if there isn't enough to eat. What are we to do then? The answer? Trust in the community of God's Kingdom. The birds and flowers continue their work, regardless of the external circumstances. They are here today and gone tomorrow yet are lovely nonetheless.

I see today the birds starting to come out. Bluebirds and cardinals make a stunning display amidst the drab gray. A pop of color calling my attention back to the present moment of moving compost, shovelful by shovelful, instead of drawing my attention to the myriad anxieties that await with a tap and a swipe on any app. The world is crumbling. Nothing to do but move dirt, bit by bit. Today's troubles are enough.

I don't have anywhere to go for ashes today. I might grab some out of the ash bucket next to the stove and impose some on my head - my own dash of color marking the season, a return to the present and to the ultimate future that awaits us all. No sense in worrying about the grand scheme of things - we all return to the dirt. 

In the meantime, I'm learning to trust in the provision of the present moment - in the fact that the work of God's Kingdom continues and persists and grows in ways beyond my knowing. The call is to pay attention there. Sometimes that work involves raising the alarm and helping people pay attention to what's happening, but mostly that work is digging in for the long haul. Tending the land, convening potlucks, checking in with neighbors, and watching the birds. Trusting in the provision that comes in community - God's economy in full swing. Repenting of letting distractions capture my attention and returning once again to the earth, to the reality of ashes and dust, and to the Source that sustains us all.