I consider it a holy, if wholly unintentional, thing that last week’s Ash Wednesday observances coincided with the Women’s Retreat focused on awe. At first glance, those two occasions don’t really share much thematically, but by the close of our worship on Saturday night, I felt the connection so strongly. 

To my mind, one of the greatest privileges of ritual in ministry is the imposition of ashes, though it’s not limited to those who are ordained. Folks — strangers and those beloved and familiar to me — come forward to be reminded of who they are. Who we are. “Remember that you are dust.” Lent is a season of telling the truth, of stripping away the things that conceal and camouflage our natures and that of reality. We are mortals, and we share common origins with every other living thing. But we are also made of the same stuff as stars, and each of us is both a part of a whole and individually precious and beloved. 

I am grateful for the holy vulnerability of everyone who comes and offers their forehead or hand to be so marked and reminded. This is who I am; this is who we are. It can be daunting to name our own mortality, but the ritual invites us to do so together, bravely and tenderly. 

When I first began thinking about awe in preparation of my remarks and the worship service at the women’s retreat, I didn’t see any connection to that particular ritual or reality. But then I spent some time with the work of Dacher Keltner, who is a professor of psychology at UC Berkeley and studies awe as part of Berkeley’s Greater Good Science Center. He outlines the eight wonders of everyday life — occasions for awe beyond those stereotypical and singular moments we tend to think of when contemplating awe and wonder. These include “moral beauty, collective effervescence, nature, music, visual art, spirituality, mortality, and epiphanies.” Just about all of those were present in the Ash Wednesday service, though I can’t attest to everyone’s experience of any epiphanies. Perhaps most poignant for me were the experiences of moral beauty and collective effervescence in the face of naming our mortality. The former is recognized in moments of courage, integrity, empathy and truth-telling; the former in moments when we transcend ourselves, when our bodies and minds and selves sync up with those around us. We may experience that collective effervescence while dancing with others, or singing at a concert or in church, or as our footfalls on the labyrinth gradually begin to keep pace with those around us. 

As I have come to know and love the individual members of this congregation over the last few years, and as we celebrate the particular gifts of Andy’s long ministry here, I was also reminded of how wonderful and sacred it is to be part of a community that is more than the sum of its individual parts. In these days of political uncertainty, of environmental crisis, it can be deeply overwhelming to contemplate bearing the weight of our days and our worries on our own. But we’re reminded in this Lenten season that we don’t have to go it alone. We are a part of a great carbon-based web of life; a community of awe and wonder, love and possibility. And that is an awe-inspiring thing. 

Blessings to you in this Lenten season,

Bromleigh