The March Snows...

I woke up this morning at around 6:00am.  My condo apartment faces east, so when the eastern sky begins to lighten up, I wake up. I do not have shades or curtains by choice, so my sleeping patterns are governed by the natural cycle of the four seasons in the Northeast section of North America. Sun is up??? Odds are I am up as well. Today was no exception. The sky was a bit overcast, but no precipitation , but then....about an hour later, it started.

Started quietly, that is...a gentle rain hitting against the window, but enough to cause me to abandon my plans for an early morning at the gym.  The gym is only around the corner, but I have to go up and down a flight of stairs over the local train, so I just made an excuse to stay in and hunker down.  But soon the snow was flying.  At first it was a pretty sweet flurry with a gentle wind that made it swirl lightly around the roof deck clinging to the now frozen rements of the summer potted plants I neglected to remove. Soon the snow was clinging to the cold wrought iron balcony railings making its presence felt in the delicately curved circles and curves of its utilitarian design giving it a dollop of what looks like snow-inspired whipped cream topping.

But then it intensifies in strength. A pall of greyish white descends over the harbor; I can no longer see Brooklyn.  Soon the bridge disappears. The freighters and cargo ships anchored nearby are no longer visible, and the fog horns begin their solitary moaning  in a rhythmic call and response pattern. The cars on Bay Street become fewer and fewer and their headlights become muted and blurred in the uncontrolled tumble of larger and gloppier snow flakes.  The snow seem to crash into vehicles as they wind their way down to the ferry terminal. The pair of pigeons who normally perch briefly on the roof deck wall are huddled close together cooing and searching the quickly shrinking horizon for their other aviary companions, but there are none in sight.

So life here is slowing down at a winter pace forced upon us by nature and time of year. Yesterday I was thinking of what to plant in the containers I keep up here.  Today I called to make sure the cab I need to my trip to the airport will be here tomorrow  The news of yet another winter storm is floating through the airways, and contrary to most around here, it is making me smile.

And that is because I am leaving the cold for another warmer place. Leaving tomorrow for Los Angeles and then on to a cruise on the Pacific to Hawaii, something I have wanted to do for quite some time. And even though these plans were several months in the making, it seems this is the perfect time to spend in the sun.  I will come back with a better attitude, I promise.

"Remember, man that thou art dust....."

One evening five years ago, I attended a liturgy committee meeting at the Episcopal Church where I serve as deacon.  The group spent much too much time agonizing over what hymns would be played for which Lenten services.  As the meeting was winding to an end, I innocently asked if we might consider distributing ashes at the Staten Island Ferry terminal on the morning of Ash  Wednesday.  As I finished, a compete pall of dead silence fell over the group. They stared at me with mouths a-gap...silence, silence and more silence. I searched the room for a friendly face, but even the usually jovial face of my rector, Chuck Howell, was frozen into a quizzical grimace.

I then began to describe the concept or "Ashes to Go" that was emerging in various Episcopal and Lutheran congregations across the nation. With such a warm and fuzzy reception, I figured my suggestion had fallen on decidedly deaf ears.

An hour later, as I was getting ready to retire for the evening, I  got a call from Father Chuck. "That was the most exciting thing I have heard at any Liturgy Committee meeting," he said. "Get more information.  We might do that."

So I got the information, and despite Chuck's penchant for worrying, "What if we get arrested?", he asked. "So we call our attorney and the local newspaper; you  will get your picture in tomorrow's edition, and they will let you go. Bring your purple stole it brings out your eyes," was my  flippant reply.

We headed out for the terminal in Saint George at 6:45 am with Hal, our intrepid lay reader, and June, Administrative Assistant for the local Lutheran Church, for the first of what has now become an annual event. We distributed ashes to 280 people that day. Father Chuck insisted we wait for "one more boat" and "one more boat" until my feet became sore and then numb. And we were hooked on "Ashes to Go".

Today marked our fifth year; we imposed ashes on 396 foreheads before the rains hit.  June and Hal are still with me. Chuck died unexpectedly in 2015.  I like to think that he is standing next to me being the one worrying about all things that might happen, making sure that nothing does happen. Gene, a candidate for ordination to the Diaconate in the Episcopal Church, has been on board for several years. I do enjoy teasing him when the cops, sanitation guys and other city workers offer him a quick, "Thanks, Padre!"  Most of them are still not sure about me, but I often get a nod and  tip of the hat  as "Sister"....which I am, just not a nun/sister.

We met all kinds of folks: office workers, construction guys, Liberty Island Ticket hawkers, moms with kids in tow or babies in strollers, homeless street people seeking prayers for deceased family members, Buddhists enchanted by the ritual with ashes, and folks seeking a sacred moment and space in which to begin their work-a-day world. What these people, these children of the Living God, don't know, is that we, the ones charged with the imposition of ashes, a stark reminder of our common mortality, get so much more in our encounter with them. We meet the spectrum of humanity and see the face of God in everyone who anxiously waits for our reminder : "...and unto dust thou shalt return."