We've been doing a spot of digging just outside the Cathedral.
The Knife Angel is due to arrive in town on Thursday and needs a good firm foundation for the 100,000 blunted knives that make up the 27 foot high sculpture...so a mini digger has been at work.
Of course, because the Spence Cathedral was built on land that included the churchyard of the medieval St Michael's, digging in these parts often means that some bones come to light...and last week was no exception.
Tools were downed and the police summoned, to confirm that these were definitely ancient bones - no possibility of a suspicious death so all we needed to do was to gather them carefully and restore them to the ground reverently.
Old bones seeing the light unexpectedly...A dirt encrusted iron handle, perhaps from a coffin, made me decide these were not medieval remains - so when we reburied them, I used the Prayer Book, rather than a Latin Requiem. I held those fragile remnants - a broken adult skull, a much smaller one, - a child, perhaps, - and some assorted other bones. I wondered about their stories...when had they lived, and died...I thought about the premature deaths, the culture of knife crime into which the Knife Angel speaks...and reflected that the same words would be used in a Christian committal, regardless of the circumstance, words that have spanned the centuries because they are true.
"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."
On Ash Wednesday, at the lunchtime Eucharist, I ashed a toddler.
She might have been as old as 3, but certainly no more.
Full of joyous energy, she had squiggled and wriggled and explored through much of the service - but in a way that I found quietly enthralling, rather than distracting.
When her mum came up for ashing, she carried her in her arms.
I wasn't sure how she might feel about a strange woman drawing on her face - even without my speaking of our shared mortality - but she turned out to be very keen, brushing her fringe out the way so that I had a clear run at it.
When it came to it, though, my nerve failed me.
I told her that she was made to reflect God's light and love and asked to follow Jesus all her days.
Always, when I ash, I'm remembering those whose foreheads I marked a year ago, for whom the truth of my words has hit home...those gone from us, sometimes full of years, sometimes suddenly, unexpectedly...
Humankind cannot bear too much reality - and I couldn't cope with bringing the reality of death and the warmth and life of that little one together.
But "golden lads and girls all must, as chimney sweepers, come to dust" - and beyond the dust is the sure and certain hope of resurrection - so I'm rather cross with myself for ducking the issue. Made in God's image, she deserved to hear the truth - and the hope that lies behind it.
Rejoice, O dust and ashes, the Lord shall be your part.
His only, his forever, thou shallt be and thou art.
The Knife Angel is due to arrive in town on Thursday and needs a good firm foundation for the 100,000 blunted knives that make up the 27 foot high sculpture...so a mini digger has been at work.
Of course, because the Spence Cathedral was built on land that included the churchyard of the medieval St Michael's, digging in these parts often means that some bones come to light...and last week was no exception.
Tools were downed and the police summoned, to confirm that these were definitely ancient bones - no possibility of a suspicious death so all we needed to do was to gather them carefully and restore them to the ground reverently.
Old bones seeing the light unexpectedly...A dirt encrusted iron handle, perhaps from a coffin, made me decide these were not medieval remains - so when we reburied them, I used the Prayer Book, rather than a Latin Requiem. I held those fragile remnants - a broken adult skull, a much smaller one, - a child, perhaps, - and some assorted other bones. I wondered about their stories...when had they lived, and died...I thought about the premature deaths, the culture of knife crime into which the Knife Angel speaks...and reflected that the same words would be used in a Christian committal, regardless of the circumstance, words that have spanned the centuries because they are true.
"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."
On Ash Wednesday, at the lunchtime Eucharist, I ashed a toddler.
She might have been as old as 3, but certainly no more.
Full of joyous energy, she had squiggled and wriggled and explored through much of the service - but in a way that I found quietly enthralling, rather than distracting.
When her mum came up for ashing, she carried her in her arms.
I wasn't sure how she might feel about a strange woman drawing on her face - even without my speaking of our shared mortality - but she turned out to be very keen, brushing her fringe out the way so that I had a clear run at it.
When it came to it, though, my nerve failed me.
I told her that she was made to reflect God's light and love and asked to follow Jesus all her days.
Always, when I ash, I'm remembering those whose foreheads I marked a year ago, for whom the truth of my words has hit home...those gone from us, sometimes full of years, sometimes suddenly, unexpectedly...
Humankind cannot bear too much reality - and I couldn't cope with bringing the reality of death and the warmth and life of that little one together.
But "golden lads and girls all must, as chimney sweepers, come to dust" - and beyond the dust is the sure and certain hope of resurrection - so I'm rather cross with myself for ducking the issue. Made in God's image, she deserved to hear the truth - and the hope that lies behind it.
Rejoice, O dust and ashes, the Lord shall be your part.
His only, his forever, thou shallt be and thou art.
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