Because I do not hope to turn
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn again
TS Eliot, Ash Wednesday
The one day of the year that I go to church without fail is Ash Wednesday. My attachment to religion comes and goes-at times I find a grasping semblance of the faith of my younger years, occasionally I find myself in fervent disbelief, mostly I settle for not thinking very hard about it and following the basics of Jesus's life: love everyone, as hard as you can, even your enemies, especially those who need it. I rarely go to church anymore-in part due to being a busy graduate student, in part because of lack of interest. I find rituals to be important, and am glad I grew up in the church (this is helped by the fact that it was a boring midwestern lutheran church-not a holy roller praise Jesus Jesuscamp church). But I haven't felt much behind them in a while, and so I've drifted away.
As a kid, I hated Ash Wednesday. I liked very little about church, and that was by far my least favorite service. I hated the darkness, the somberness, the quiet admonition to remember that we dust. I had an allergic reaction to whatever ashes they used and would be left with a bright red smudged cross on my head. Somewhere along the line of growing up, though, I got attached to the service. Every year, I go and get a cross of ashes on my forehead, a celebration and reminder of mortality. Everyone dies. Maybe we live again, in some way. Probably we don't. On any given day I have serious doubts about the existence of God or a higher power, but I have faith in the carbon cycle. From dust we are made, to dust we shall return. That gives me some semblance of comfort, something true, something solid.
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