It’s early morning on Ash Wednesday. As I write this to you, the sun has not yet risen and a thick layer of snow covers everything I can see beyond my window. I am not quite sure how to mark this particular morning. For so many years, I have risen early every Ash Wednesday to attend a church service, ushering in Lent when the priest marks my forehead with ash and whispers, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” This particular moment in the liturgical year always marks another reminder of where I come from and where I am going: From dust, and back to it.
THE THREAD | The absence of ash on Ash Wednesday
THE THREAD | The absence of ash on Ash…
THE THREAD | The absence of ash on Ash Wednesday
It’s early morning on Ash Wednesday. As I write this to you, the sun has not yet risen and a thick layer of snow covers everything I can see beyond my window. I am not quite sure how to mark this particular morning. For so many years, I have risen early every Ash Wednesday to attend a church service, ushering in Lent when the priest marks my forehead with ash and whispers, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” This particular moment in the liturgical year always marks another reminder of where I come from and where I am going: From dust, and back to it.