Dust and brokenness: the gift of seeing stars

Finding Home in Anglicanism (Part 1)

"O woman, remember that thou art dust, and to dust you shall return."

Those words were spoken over me early this past Wednesday morning as I participated in my first Ash Wednesday service at our little local Anglican church. This will be the first Lent I've truly observed, and as intended, the Ash Wednesday service helped to put it all in perspective.

To give some backstory: contrary to what my overly-confident twenty-year-old self thought, I don’t believe that there’s only one right way to “do church”. I still see great benefits in the house church model, provided there is a division of labor and accountability within the group. However, in order to have a functioning house church, you have to have at least a handful of others committed to it, and that’s the thing that we’ve found to be the biggest challenge. We tried so hard to make our little house church survive, but it wasn’t to be. And we were left wondering what to do for church. Again.

Despite being raised in a Christian home, being a part of a YWAM DTS, and attending two years of a non-denominational Bible college, throughout my life, I’ve often felt on the outside of most evangelical churches. It’s been a long, long road full of much pain (shared in more detail here), but this past year or so, all of that disenchantment led me to realize that I don’t even identify as an evangelical anymore, and I started looking into Anglicanism.

The book The Anglican Way by Thomas McKenzie and many books, writings, and talks by Sarah Clarkson have provided a wonderful introduction to a way of following Jesus that has resonated with me deeply. The richness of the symbolism, the focus on and appreciation of beauty in worship and life, and the long history behind the Anglican church are some of what has stood out to me so far, and I'm excited to learn more.

Over the years I’ve been to literally dozens of different evangelical churches, and in most of them, you stand to sing at the beginning and then sit for the rest of the time. If communion happens at all, you either pass the plate so you can stay sitting, or make your way to a random station set up around the church at your own discretion. One thing that I’m discovering is that Anglican worship is much more of a full body experience than most evangelical churches I’ve been to, and I really appreciate that.

So this past Wednesday, walking forward to be ashed by the priest was a sobering moment. Standing in line, I had time to contemplate the symbolism of what was about to happen, and then to be looked in the eye by a kindly, father-like face, and told, "O woman, remember that thou art dust, and to dust you shall return." underscored that this is personal to me as an individual. Growing up hearing the Bible and the truth of the Gospel, I know that I can oftentimes get lost in the collectiveness of our sin against God, and this was a stark reminder that it is also particular to me as well.

Later on in the service, we went forward to receive the Eucharist, and the individuality of that gift was emphasized again. Not a general reminder to the congregation at large, but specifically to me: “This is the body of Christ, broken for you. This is the blood of Christ, shed for you.”

The juxtaposition of the reminder that I am dust, but Christ’s body was broken and His blood shed for me, could not be ignored. That, right there, is everything. The entire Gospel in a smattering of simple words.

In all my recent reading about Anglicanism (and adjacently referenced in one of my favorite books, Reclaiming Quiet: Cultivating a Life of Holy Attention by Sarah Clarkson), one idea that became like a beacon to me, was that of the Eucharist being a gift given to us. I feel like Anglicans hit a special tension here because communion isn’t just symbolic like it is for Evangelicals, and it doesn’t transubstantiate into Jesus’s actual body and blood like for Catholics. As I understand it, Anglicans recognize that there are spiritual mysteries we can’t comprehend, and communion is one of those. Jesus said those who eat His flesh and drink His blood will have eternal life (John 6:53-54). We don’t have to know all the details of what that looks in order to believe what He says. We can trust Him and make space for the mystery and just receive the gift. I find this attitude of grateful receiving to be such a welcome relief after the constant “do more for God” mantra of so many evangelical churches I’ve been to.

As someone who often marks time by books read, I have found much richness this year in some of the specific ones I’m reading for Lent. Bread and Wine: Readings for Lent and Easter has been both sharp and beautiful, and The Heart's Time: A Poem a Day for Lent and Easter by Janet Morley has added a depth to this time that only poetry can bring. Yesterday’s poetry reading in the latter stopped me in my tracks as it brought to light what this journey into Anglicanism, especially during Lent, has felt like for me.

Lent by Jean M. Watt.

Lent is a tree without blossom, without leaf,
Barer than blackthorn in its winter sleep,
All unadorned. Unlike Christmas which decrees
The setting-up, the dressing-up of trees,
Lent is a taking down, a stripping bare,
A starkness after all has been withdrawn
Of surplus and superfluous,
Leaving no hiding-place, only an emptiness
Between black branches, a most precious space
Before the leaf, before the time of flowers;
Lest we should see only the leaf, the flower,
Lest we should miss the stars.

I’m so thankful that I can see the stars.