“Regarded properly, anything can become a sacrament, by which I mean an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual connection.”
~Barbara Brown Taylor, An Altar in the World

Yesterday I spent the majority of my time preparing worship spaces for Ash Wednesday observances. It is something I love. Having time to be in a space that will welcome worshipers, laying the worship table with cloths and objects that invite people to connect with scripture, story, music, prayer, paying attention to what is seen and what might be felt and experienced in worship is one of the joys of the work I do. I like having time in be in the space alone, to really spend time placing a candle just so or taking the time to drape a piece of cloth to evoke a certain feeling.

As I prepared the spaces yesterday I was armed with various shades of purple cloth, the color assigned to this Christian seasoning Lent. It is a color that has many shades and shadows. It can express so much. I also carried terra cotta pots and placed them on the table. These pots, made of earth, fired into their red-orange form, also hold earth. When we speak the words common to this service about dust and ashes, these pots reflect that image. Also scattered around the table and coming out of the pots were shards of broken glass, many colored,from bright orange to aquamarine. Nestled in between the pots and broken glass were tall purple glass globes with candlelight flickering yellow.

These pieces of broken glass were placed there to help illuminate our theme for Lent of ‘Breaking’. As people entered the space they chose a broken piece of pottery or tile. These assorted pieces were from cracked bowls, chipped coffee cups, nicked plates and cast-off floor and wall tiles. Again, many colors and varied shapes. I watched as people chose carefully without even knowing what they were doing or why. We all settled into the quiet worship space,our bulletins and broken pottery in our hands.

As the service began I invited people to look at the piece of brokenness they had chosen. Where were the sharp edges? How did the smooth places feel against their skin? What color was their broken piece? And how did this shard speak to them of their own broken places? I shared that I had chosen a piece of pale yellow with bright green stripes, a piece of a broken bowl that had once belonged to a grandmother I had never known. Was the energy of her in this broken sliver? Did it still hold the imprint of her washing and drying, her filling it with warm food?

At the appointed time, people came forward to receive the mark of ashes on their foreheads. As they did they also placed their broken pieces, now infused with their prayers and their own energy, on the worship table. These broken pieces of pottery joined the other colorful broken glass creating a wave of brokenness that filled the table. Sharp edges dug into other sharp edges. Smooth pieces nestled against those points creating a rainbow of color and texture and form. So much brokenness. But yet so much beauty.

As my blackened finger made the sign of the cross on forehead after forehead, I was struck by the way people looked into my eyes. There was tenderness and embarrassment. There was longing and joy. There was apathy and hopefulness. There was a sense of being connected to something deeply planted within each of us. It was a moment of sacrament. An outward sign of an inward and spiritual connection. To our beauty. To our brokenness. To what it means to walk this path together.