Ashen Grace

I’m not ready to wash the ashes from my forehead. Two sooty smudges form the shape of a cross; the mark of a savior’s grace upon me. 

In this holy place between my living, breathing, carnal existence and my mortality;

On this sacred groubd between my iniquity, shame, grief, guilt; and merciful pardon from all of these;

At this burning bush of Sunday palms, before this altar between human and holy;

I am held…

In a wonderful savior’s love,

In a merciful God’s forgiveness,

In an ashen grace of redemtion and freedom.

A cross from fronds and dust reminds me that, though broken by sin, I am made whole by the love of Christ. 

This ashen grace is

Word to being

Dust to dust

And everything in between. 


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