"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."