This is the Wilderness We Choose

Ash Wednesday ~ our Lenten Journey, day 1

Feb 23, 2023

Heron feather in the ashes of our fire, Jacqueline Durban

Last night, after writing ‘Shrovetide and Turning the Fresh Page of Spring’, and having consumed a fresh cream strawberry meringue as a rebellion against the imagined self-imposed rigours of Lent (my Lenten self-denial will not be ‘rigorous’ I assure you; it will be luscious, life-enhancing, and affirming, or that is what I hope), I dreamed these words, “Lent, at it's best, will bring us back to earth. This is the wilderness we choose”, and so that will be my focus for the next forty days. I hope to write something every day, about resistance, the green medicine beings of spring, our wild antlered saints, and my own journey of waking from the winter dark. Today’s will not be as long a sharing as I would like as it has been incredibly busy and filled with other things, but we have time.

This has been Ash Wednesday, and so the first day of the forty day journey through Lent. I always feel blessed, and not a little relieved to come to this point, which draws a line after the long, dark nights of midwinter. Winter is my favourite season, and Christmas my favourite time of year, but even so I feel sluggish and sleepy, ‘worn to a ravelling’, and am longing for the light.

This afternoon I went along to the ashing service at the 1,000 year old church I belong to here by the sea. I find having the ashes placed on my forehead to the words, “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return” deeply moving, not because I am thinking of sin and of being forgiven but because I am letting go of anything that keeps me apart from the wild green Christ, the “ the turner over of tables, the disturber of the peace of Empire and all places where power has been unjustly and undeservedly held for millennia”, and I am thinking of stardust.

This stunning poem, 'Blessing the Dust ~ for Ash Wednesday' by Jan Richardson from her book, 'Circle of Grace' explains better than I ever could.

All those days

you felt like dust,

like dirt,

as if all you had to do

was turn your face

toward the wind

and be scattered

to the four corners

or swept away

by the smallest breath

as insubstantial -

did you not know

what the Holy One

can do with dust?

This is the day

we freely say

we are scorched.

This is the hour

we are marked

by what has made it

through the burning.

This is the moment

we ask for the blessing

that lives within

the ancient ashes,

that makes its home

inside the soil of

this sacred earth.

So let us be marked

not for sorrow.

And let us be marked

not for shame.

Let us be marked

not for false humility

or for thinking

we are less

than we are

but for claiming

what God can do

within the dust,

within the dirt

within the stuff

of which the world

is made

and the stars that blaze

in our bones

and the galaxies that spiral

inside the smudge

we bear.

Woad-dyed wool in the ashes of our fire, Jacqueline Durban

Before I took this spiritual path I used to hate the thought of Lent, finding the symbol of the ashes and of needing to be forgiven so out of keeping with the energy of the rising spring; all that darkness when the earth is so firmly turning towards the light. I felt that it was a deliberate attempt to subdue life. Now, I think of it quite differently and value this day more every year. I have found that it is so much more powerful to move towards something than away from it, and I have found much meaning and joy in moving towards Lent.

The Romans held Parentalia, a nine day festival honouring family ancestors, at this time of year. The festival ended with Feralia on 21st February, during which wreaths, salt and grain, bread soaked in wine, and a scattering of violets would be offered to the dead. It matters so much to acknowledge that new life is always grounded in death, in the recycling of matter that was birthed with the first stars. Life truly is grounded in resurrection, and that is what the journey through Lent means to me; a pause to reflect, to reset, to renew, to shake off the stagnation of winter. In church we talk about Christ's forty days in the wilderness as a trial and a test of endurance. To me, it was a vision quest, a deep medicine, a return to wild beauty. I hope to experience the same in my own small way; enlivenment, enlightenment, enlentenment.

Here, at the beginning of spring, the green people are returning & inviting us to take in their mustard-hot leaves to wake up our bodies. Lent helps me wake up my mind, my spirit, & my connection with Life; a little shot of green with ash at its roots. It's easy to sink into becoming all 'sackcloth and ashes' during Lent. I concentrate on becoming ashes & honey instead. The fire transforms, the honey is sweet. St Brigid as ashkeeper & beekeeper knows this prayer. This is the work of sweeping out the hearth, and, last year, that was what I reflected upon. How might I become a better 'hearthwoman/heartwoman? How might I tend myself more fully and so offer myself more freely in service to my community?

This year I am so deeply tired and needing to rest and heal in the arms of the wild, but there will be wonders I know. I hope too to become a better ally to my own little piece of wilderness, what American theologian Ched Myers calls ‘watershed discipleship’. I love Sophie Strand, of ‘Make Me Good Soil’s words on ‘Gathering Council’ so that we might more deeply connect with the local ecosystem that we are a part of;

“If you pray, ask yourself, does your prayer have roots? Does your god sometimes grow fur? Do your holy words grow leaves? Does your spirituality connect you into your situated ecosystem? If you want, it is a lovely thing to slowly name all those beings that make up your environment. And to seek out new relationships to further flesh out this relational prayer. Gather counsel as you would wildflowers. Pick the ones that show up brightly, insistently, and show you they notice you, just as much as you notice them. Gather counsel as you would pick up a few flat stones to skip across the river. Gather counsel as you would stars..."

Here is my own list of council so far. If I am to truly love my neighbour as myself then it matters to hold them in mind. I try to say their names often;

Blackberry. Alexanders. Herring gull. Starling. Star of Bethlehem. Sparrow. Robin. Jackdaw. Fox. Magpie. Holly. Apple. Badger. Feral pigeon/Rock Dove. Wood Pigeon. Collared Dove. Wintercress. Honeybee. Ivy bee. Buff-tailed bumblebee. Earthworm. Alder. Rowan. Scots Pine. Wood Spurge. Hairy Bittercress. Redshank. Parasol Mushroom. Leopard slug. Ladybird. Primrose. Nettle. Ragwort. Long-Tailed Tit. Ground ivy. Buckwheat. Weld. Jack by the hedge. Common frog. Hollyhock. Snowdrop. Wild Parsnip. Robin's Pincushion. Enchanter's nightshade. Greenfinch. Lemon Balm. Pied wagtail. Sweet Pea. Nipplewort. Calendula. Blackbird. Blue mussel. Barnacle. Limpet. Sea Aster. Kingfisher. Hebe. Heron. Waxwing. Hedge Mustard. Hemlock. Hart's-tongue Fern. Hornet Mimic Hoverfly. Holly Blue Butterfly. Wayfaring Tree. Corncockle. Corn Salad. Clover. Dog's Mercury. Meadow Cat's-Tail/Timothy Grass. Ichneumon Wasp. Water Lily. Lady's Bedstraw. Hedge Bedstraw. Magnolia. Fumitory. Pipistrelle Bat. Buddleia. Black Medick. Spotted Medick. Pendulous Sedge. Pencilled Geranium. Sage. Rosemary. Strawberry. Green Alkanet. Yellow Loosestrife. Speckled Wood butterfly. Comma butterfly. Mexican Fleabane. Canadian Fleabane. Common Fleabane. Common Flax. Field Mouse. Rose. Borage. Bay. Blue Tit. Great Tit. Hedge Woundwort. Wild Strawberry. Barren Strawberry. Staghorn Sumac. Columbine. Verbena. Forget-me-not. Wall Lettuce. Laurel. Himalayan Balsam. Early Pirple Orchid. Pyramidal Orchid. Cabbage White butterfly. Passionflower. English Stonecrop. White Stonecrop. Biting Stonecrop. Jenny's Stonecrop. Golden Carpet Stonecrop. Red Spider Mite. Blackcap. Lesser Celandine. Three-Cornered Leek. Fennel. Flowering Currant. Pennywort. Pellucid Fly. Green Bottle Fly. Rose Sawfly. Common Sorrel. Sheep's Sorrel. Creeping Woodsorrel/Sleeping Beauty. Sea Holly. Thistle. Flint. Teasel. Chicory. Crow Garlic. Goldfinch. Dunnock. Chicken of the Woods fungus. Ivy. Bee-fly. Honeysuckle. Thick-legged Flower Beetle. Lime Nail Gall. Rust Fungus Gall. Jelly ear fungus. Dragonfly. Glistening Inkcap fungus. King Alfred's Cakes fungus. Reindeer lichen. Red Underwing Moth. Cuckooflower. Pocket Plum Gall. Feverfew. Common Chickweed. Mouse-ear Chickweed. Yarrow. Black Nightshade. Honesty. Black Horehound. Cleavers. Hemp Agrimony. Hedge Bindweed. Marmalade Hoverfly. Elder. Mugwort. Lungwort. Large Narcissus Fly. Yellow Archangel. False widow spider. Furrow Bee. Beech. Wild carrot. Woody Nightshade. Tube Web Spider. Tutsan. Fox and Cubs. Mute Swan. Poppy. Privet. Chamomile. Gallant Soldiers. Quince. Red campion. Rosebay Willowherb. Great Willowherb. Broadleaved Willowherb. Bistort. Sulphur Tuft fungus. Nursery Web Spider. Garden Orb Web Spider. Giant Puffball fungus. Foxglove. Forsythia. Winter Flowering Jasmine. Sugarloaf Hill. The shingle shore. Ivy-leaved toadflax. Woodlouse Spider. Sea campion. Danish scurvy grass. Common hogweed. Cinquefoil. Curly Dock. Wood Avens. Greater Stitchwort. Cinnabar moth caterpillar. Dog daisy. Pineappleweed. Black Elder. Bird's-foot Trefoil. Ant. Herb Robert. Stinking iris. Yellow Flag Iris. Hummingbird Hawk Moth. Poplar Hawk Moth. Red Deadnettle. Walnut tree. Narrow-leaved plantain. Burdock. Groundsel. Sycamore. Whitebeam. Linden. Lilac. Ash. Oak. Wren. Sparrowhawk. Sea kale. Sea Mayweed. Rock samphire. Hawthorn. Hoary Cress. Field madder. Bristly ox-tongue. Yellow Dock. Mouse-ear Hawkweed. Mahonia. Mock orange. Common Mallow. White Mallow. Tree Mallow. Cat. Cherry. Cuckoopint. Crabapple. Ted Currant. Blackthorn. White deadnettle. Winter heliotrope. Slow worm. Snail. Woodlouse. Carrion crow. Castle Hill. Buttercup. Common lizard. Spangle Gall Wasp. Oak Apple. Broad-leaved plantain. Seabrook stream. Holywell fen. Horsetail. Wild Rose. Speedwell. Violet. The North Sea. Viper's bugloss. Cormorant. Hairyfooted flowerbee. House spider. Dandelion. Daisy. Comfrey. Chalk. Shepherd's purse. Common seal. Smooth Hound Shark. Thornback Stingray/Skate, Bladderwrack Seaweed. Bugle. Self-heal. Scarlet pimpernel. Lavender. Lambs Ear.

There is much to attend to. You might wish to begin your own list. I promise that it will make you feel at home.

As for forgiveness, there is so much to forgive and to be forgiven. The American Franciscan friar and writer, Richard Rohr in 'Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality' talks of how we must accept our own complicity and co-operation with what is ugly in our world and in ourselves, of how we stand frozen between our belief in goodness and the realisation of our own role in working against that goodness, and that we must learn to “forgive life for being what it is” before we can truly participate in changing anything. And so, this too is part of the Lenten journey; to forgive life and ourselves before Resistance to Empire and all that ails us is resurrected and renewed at Easter. But first, we sit with the ash, which is not a useless by-product but a precious substance that can help to make soil more habitable and assist in composting. Ash is alchemy; that is why we need to attend to sweeping out our hearth. There are precious things to be gathered in.

But there are always deeper tides at work. Last year, on my way to be ashed, I met my first horsetail of spring, so significant to me on this day of all days. Horsetails are amazing little plants; prehistoric, present on this earth before humankind and witness to the time when there was nothing to be forgiven and no one to forgive. They are wise beings to sit with during Lent.