Both of my parents were raised on farms in the Midwest and tended an orchard in central California when they became empty nesters. Your mind may conjure bucolic images of lush fields or hear “tend” as a gentle act to prune trees, yet farming always gets you dirty. Spend any time around farmers and you develop an awareness of dirt.

While I was growing up, we moved several times to new states to follow my dad’s job in sales. But the farmer remained within him. Before my dad plowed a portion of the backyard for a new garden, he would take a handful of dirt, compress it, and release it several times over. Would it fall through his fingers or remain in a dense ball? What did it smell of?

In February we begin our Lenten journey on Ash Wednesday, a milestone to remind us of our mortal existence. Typically, we impose ashes as a visceral reminder of this by tracing a cross on someone’s head or wrist while saying “from the earth you came and to the earth you will return.” To gaze in another’s eyes and encounter them within an arm’s length creates such vulnerability, I usually add “always in the care of a loving God.”

Over the years with my parents, I recall many Shrove Tuesday pancake suppers to mark the eve of Lent and not one Ash Wednesday worship service. Honestly, most Protestants shun this practice as compared with Orthodox Christians, and our services are thinly attended. Avoiding this service grieves my heart since getting in touch with the ground of our being also invites us to be close to Christ. When we begin the 40 habit-reflecting days of Lent in such humility, the gift – truly the gift – of Easter shines more brightly. No matter our past or present, Jesus invites us to examine our hearts and minds, and then pattern our lives to his so as to receive his promised grace.

This year, under COVID constraints, we cannot gather with one another in such an intimate service. And the irony is that COVID reminds us of the frailty of our existence, with the visual reminders of masks and social distance or the daily drumbeat of new cases, hospitalizations, and deaths. Staring at the face of death, we need even more to be with one another in whatever safe gathering space possible.

Creativity abounds at Westminster as we have imagined ways for us to observe Lent as we examine our lives through common elements. We begin with dirt on Ash Wednesday.

You’ve got dirt. We all have dirt. Join us on Wednesday, February 17, online as we gather to follow Jesus to his cross and throughout our Lenten season.

In faith,
Jo