Messy Double Scoops

Beyond the Dust

Today is the start of Lent, the liturgical season of the Christian year leading to Easter. 40 days set aside for reflection and examination, often for fasting or abstaining, or for introducing a new habit or practice.

Traditionally, it all starts on Ash Wednesday, when a minister places the ashes in the shape of a cross on your forehead and says, “remember from dust you came and to dust you will return.”

While I do understand Lent to be a time for remembering where we came from and where we are going, my understanding has expanded beyond the dust. Birth and death are surely significant moments in our lives, and there is also great significance to all the living in between.

This year, for these 40 Lenten days and nights, I want to focus on living, on the moment, on the current breath, on the present step. That doesn’t mean I forgot the past or forgo the future, but that I enjoy and experience and embrace the now.

My last year of seminary I was serving in a local church. On the morning of Ash Wednesday, the Senior Pastor popped his head into my office and said “hey, want to learn how to make the ashes?” Yes, of course, I did. I jumped up quickly and followed him to the sanctuary.

I felt like a chemistry major standing at the altar, preparing to be taught a secret skill, a magic potion. There was a clump of ashes in a brown bowl that came from burning the previous year’s palm branches out in the courtyard. Like a scientist he pulled a small vile of oil from his pocket and handed it to me.

“Just a drop,” he said. “Not too much.”

As I cautiously followed his instructions, he handed me a fork, “Stir it up. Not too thick or too thin. “

He told me to put a little on my thumb and rub it on the back of my hand. I did. And he said, “Too clumpy. Try again. Just a little more oil.”

We repeated this a few times until we agreed the consistency was just right.

The excitement quickly turned to panic. How do I do this? How do I know how to put the ashes on their foreheads? What if I put it on too heavy? Or not enough? What if I accidently get it on their clothes? And what do I say again? What if I mess it all up?

I was inconsolably anxious. That anxiety, while not obvious to everyone, kept me from being in the moment, from the present breath, the current step. Fear of making a mess kept me from fully living. Sadly, this isn’t the only time I’ve let that happen.

Life is messy. And beautiful. And amazing. And did I say, messy? Those ashes made from the leftovers of old celebrations and sorrows, mixed with oil from jars that hold our wildest hopes and dreams symbolize beginnings and endings, and invite us to dive into the now.

I do not want to miss out on any more living because I am afraid of dying, or getting it wrong, or making a mistake, or forgetting the words, or just messing it all up.

I want to name that not all Christians observe Lent and that not everyone reading these words is a Christian. And as my understanding of faith and spirituality continue to expand, I realize more deeply every day that there is something in the dust for all of us, however we connect to the holy, sacred, and divine within ourselves and in creation. Being human is messy. Sometimes we need to add more oil, or get stirred up. Sometimes we need a trusted teacher and an invitation to learn a new lesson. Sometimes we need a reminder to not take ourselves or our work too seriously. Sometimes we need someone to say, it’s okay to make a mess.

That Ash Wednesday, the first person who came up for ashes received barely enough to be visible on their forehead. The next person a layer so thick, I sighed as it stuck to their hair. And near the end of the line was a young child who said, “I want a double scoop.”

I smiled. And gave them what they requested.

So, whatever this season looks like or includes for you, wherever you are on the journey, I wish for you space and place, and courage and creativity, and all the tools and ingredients needed to make a good mess; to live fully in the messiness of each moment; to make peace with the messes of the past; to release the worry of unknown messes to come. May we all allow ourselves to experience a double scoop.

Water-fully Yours,

Rebecca & 10 Camels

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