| “We are treated as impostors and yet are true, as unknown and yet are well known, as dying and look—we are alive, as punished and yet not killed, as sorrowful yet always rejoicing, as poor yet making many rich, as having nothing and yet possessing everything.” – 2 Corinthians 6:8b-10 Beloved friends, colleagues, and siblings in Christ, grace and peace to you from God the wellspring of imagination, God our co-conspirator, and God the in-dwelling breath of our liberating creativity. Deciding on a theme for this year’s season of Lent has proven to be a challenge. Surely you don’t need me to tell you that the times we live in are oppressive, terrifying, challenging, uncertain, and exhausting. If you’re like me, then every day seems to bring the challenge of trying to find the delicate balance between staying informed, spiraling into despair, and shifting my habits away from what they have been to better connect with organizations and efforts towards justice in my immediate community. Right-Wing movements around the globe have gained momentum and power. The 3-month old federal administration within my home, the USA, continues to wreak havoc upon the rights of its citizens while actively trying to legislate trans, queer, disabled, truly most people of marginalized identities, out of existence. The Earth, mother of us all, screams in anguish as human and corporate greed continue to upset the balance of the climate putting lives across the world in increasing danger. And, tomorrow, I will still need to clock in to my job in order to afford my ongoing survival. Strange and challenging times to exist in, indeed. Given this surrounding context, I did not know how to approach the Lenten season. For so many years of my life I have equated the season with grief, stillness, solemnity, and solitude. A temporal and theological memento mori, as it were. But this year especially, I did not feel we needed yet another reminder of the world’s brokenness, our finitude, or simply another reason to grieve. That is, until I turned my focus towards the day that begins the season, Ash Wednesday. This year, I found the imagery of dust and ashes to be a source of inspiration as well as a reminder of my mortality. Yes, we all return to the dust, but so also are we born from the dust in God’s very image. What we might consider the moment of life’s end, as a body returns to dust, is also in fact the moment of life’s beginning. While we might see a moment of decomposition void of life, that moment is also the time where microbes start to recycle nutrients back to the soil, (or dust!) which then go on to nourish fungi which feed bugs, slugs, and other crawling things which in turn feed the birds and animals and the cycle continues. In this moment of unrest and upheaval, it seems that there is much in the world and in our lives returning to dust. To grieve those losses is certainly appropriate, and I also believe that imagining what life may spring forth next is equally appropriate. In Lent, as we turn inward and reflect, I invite you to join me in honestly accepting the realities of dust and ash: that all things come to an end, and that each end can and will generate renewed beginnings. From the ashes, let us grieve and imagine together. |
 Author Bio: Tom Gehring (He/They) is a pastor currently working as a chaplain in Metro Chicago providing spiritual care for individuals living with, or at risk for HIV. In their free time Tom loves to DJ, spend time outside, play lots of games (both video and board), read excessively thick fantasy novels, and work out with his lovely gym community. Tom has been serving as a member of ELM’s board of directors since October of ’23 and is honored to be a part of this ministry. |