There’s something in our clay nature that needs to continually experience the ancient, outer ease of the world. It helps us remember who we are and why we are here.
We are entering the strange church season of considering our fragility; invited to enter the wilderness of dust and ash, our Holy Lent begins in solemn tones.
We are dust and we are ash. We are also clay animated by water and Divine breath. We can return to the elements—the essence of created being. And this, my friends is Lent—returning and repenting.
It is a good thing to pause long enough to notice what we are doing with our wonderful lives, and what we are not doing. We might wonder this Lent about how we nurture our tenderness. We might practice soft eyes and soft hearts each day.
What if our preparation for Resurrection was more about abundant living and less about diminishment, and our resistance to evil a turning toward goodness rather than a sojourn in condemnation?
I imagine a Lent that is all turning and twirling, remembering my own clay nature, elastic enough for forming—strong enough to accept new shaping and new loving.
We have walked great darkness this year, and we are still journeying there. This Lent repentance looks like dancing. Not because we are forgetting grief but because we are invited to remember joy.
– Debra Donnelly-Barton