On May 18, 1980 Mt. St. Helens erupted, blowing the top off of the
1,314 foot tall mountain. The avalanche of rocks filled the Toutle (Toot-el)
River Valley, creating a 23-square-mile zone of barren land. Another blast
flattened the surrounding forest, and a cloud of ash reached to 80,000 feet in
15 minutes, circling the globe in 15 days. The volcano destroyed everything in
its path, killing 230 square miles of forests, lakes, meadows and streams. 57
people and countless animals and plants were killed. The Oregonian newspaper
reported, “Death is everywhere. The living are not welcome.” But if you travel
there today, you will find more than 150 species of wildflowers, shrubs and
trees. There are even Western hemlock and Pacific silver fir trees that aren’t
even supposed to be there yet. They usually require the kind of soil amended by
generations of other plant growth. The newspaper would now have to report that
“Life is everywhere. The living are thriving.” Virginia Dale, one of the first
ecologists to land at Mt. St. Helens after it erupted, is quoted as saying, “It
seems life can take hold even in the most desolate landscape, and in ways no
scientist could have foreseen.”
On Ash Wednesday, which marked the first day of Lent, we were marked
with ashes—the dust of death. To some this ashen mark seems to have nothing to
do with faith and hope, and more to do with grief and desolation. For some all
this talk of self-examination, confession, repentance, and absolution may seem
like a morbid, somber exercise. After all, why focus on the dust of death while
life is all around us? There is life all around us, but right alongside that
life exists the very real, life-smothering forces of injustice, oppression,
violence, greed, poverty, and hunger, and illness. Alongside the joys of our
lives comes the little desolations of anger, broken relationships, bitterness,
resentment, and selfishness that can threaten smother our connection to God and
one another.
When Jesus teaches his disciples to pray the Lord’s prayer, he knows
that the ashes of this life can cover some serious ground. He knows that this
world is not an easy place, and that sometimes, for so many in our world, it
can seem as though death is everywhere, as though hope is not welcome. So when
Jesus teaches them how to pray, He gives his disciples, and us, the tools to be
gardeners for hope. He calls us to go beyond the ashes, and to till of the kind
of spiritual soil in which life can take hold, survive, and thrive. For Jesus
knew something about ashes that we often forget: they are not the end. Like the
Western hemlock and Pacific silver fir trees that refused to wait for
generations to take root, we are meant to defy hopelessness and root ourselves
in God’s merciful love. In receiving we make way for God’s Kingdom of love to
blossom here and now.
But we can’t do this alone. The kind of forgiveness and reconciliation
required for God’s Kingdom to thrive in this world is not easy. It is not easy
for us to be honest about our weaknesses and pain. It is hard to find our way
out of the desolation of bitterness and anger that can consume us when we are
hurt by others. Giving up our own comfort so that others may have what they
need does not always come naturally to us. Speaking out against all kinds of
injustice can be uncomfortable and risky. And yet this is what Christ calls us
to do as gardeners for hope. When we get down on our knees and offer up our
brokenness, we are transformed by the One who knows something about ashes and desolation
that we often forget— they are not the end. When we come to the altar to ask
for forgiveness, we are invited to leave behind everything that stands in the
way of God’s healing love. We are invited to leave behind our bitterness,
anger, selfishness, greed, and resentment there at the altar, and go out into
the world as bearers of hope. We are invited to open ourselves to God and to
the needs of others, so that we can go out planting the seeds of God’s healing
in our communities. When we come to the altar we find our identity. We know we
are God’s beloved. When we come, we find our purpose—to bring God’s healing
love into this broken world. When we come we find our security, knowing that we
don’t need to acquire things or status to thrive, because we have one another.
When we come we find community. We belong to one another because we are all
God’s children, bound together by one bread and one cup. When we come to the
altar we find freedom and peace, knowing that the temptation and suffering in
this life is not the end.
So as we move into Lent, may the
ashes that mark us on this holy day
remind us, not of the end, but of God’s new beginning. We are marked by
our identity as gardeners for hope because we know something about ashes that
some may not realize—God brings life even into the most desolate places. Ashes mark
us with the earthly dust that springs forth from what Bruce Epperly calls “God’s
“multi-billion year holy adventure”.
Where the world reports, “Death is everywhere. The living are not
welcome,” we may proclaim “Love is everywhere. All are welcome”. So remember
you are dust, and to dust you shall return. You are marked for God’s new beginning!
Welcome to a Holy Lent.
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