Ash Wednesday

My wandering second son flew to Bogotà all through yesterday, though it was still the early afternoon when he landed. One thing he texted, apart from the relief that he would soon be flying on to his ultimate destination, was that everyone - staff, passengers, cleaners - everyone had an ash cross on their foreheads. In my nominally Presbyterian childhood, I don't think I ever saw this - our schools in Glasgow were strictly segregated - and it wasn't till my emergence as an Episcopalian that I became familiar with the practice. 

Not that most of the day was populated by practising Catholics - a trip to the pharmacy for more painkillers, a walk along the wave-battered West Bay in the late afternoon - but we had our Ash Wednesday Liturgy in the evening. We also had a visiting celebrant in the form of "our" bishop, revisiting his old parish in a way that made it feel like old times, and a decent congregation for this unfamiliar time. The collage gives an idea of the different parts of the service, with the purple vestments and altar frontal that mark the beginning of Lent, and the Lenten processional cross which long ago when I first came to this church was the only one we had, and I love it. An almost-as-long-ago Prior of the Servers decided we needed a more exuberant one for non-penitential seasons, a large wooden one with gold bits, but I love the pared-down symbolism of this iron cross. 

For those unfamiliar with the practice of marking foreheads with ash - a traditional sign of repentance - the ash is created by burning the palm crosses from last year and then mixing the pale ash with a little olive oil to make it more adhesive. (I'm sure I can remember a time when this wasn't done, and the grey powder went in one's eyes ...)  This year it seemed impressively dark ...

On a lighthearted note, as he prepared to process out of the church at the end of the service, Bishop David announced that he'd just realised he dare not put on his white mitre - as the bishop would traditionally do at the end of the service - because he'd get it all black and oily and that would never do... The learning curve for a new bishop takes many strange forms!

We didn't stay for the tea and buns, as we'd not had dinner and it was already past 8pm. We ate appropriate fish - we always do, on a Wednesday - and the whole evening turned ... late.

Which is why, along with my painkiller-fuddled brain that only wanted to sleep, I didn't feel up to writing this entry until now. The greater part of the day was spent in a blur anyway - nothing to write about. Hence the lecture on Episcopalian practices. Hope to do better ...