Preparations for our noon worship service were well underway on that 2001 Ash Wednesday morning in Seattle. The bulletins were folded. The ashes were mixed with a little oil and set up on a credenza table, just where they should be. Soon a line of the faithful would come forward to be marked with a cross on their foreheads. But for now we were busy in our church offices, getting other morning tasks completed.

Suddenly we felt that motion. The one you never want to feel and you recognize immediately. Deep beneath our church on a hill, the earth began to rearrange itself. Tectonic plates shifted. An earthquake rocked us. This one was larger than most. In fact, it was the Nisqually Quake, measuring 6.8 and strong enough to take down brick buildings in Seattle’s historic district.

When the quaking began, into doorways headed those with earthquake or earthquake drill experience. Under desks or into suspended animation headed others. We all headed into a prayer of willing it to end.

And when it did end, our words came back. Inadequate, relieved words – uttered with widened eyes and pounding hearts, spoken while holding on to one another. After family check-ins and news check-ins and building check-ins, the day continued. Within an hour the Ash Wednesday noon service began.

But the text and message had already been delivered: “… you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19).

 

Dust was the not the thing I was contemplating later in my office. I distinctly remember looking out my window at the street and houses and thinking – everything we think is solid is really liquid. That thought still unnerves me, as it did then. In Seattle we perpetually await “the big one” and berate ourselves for not completing all the earthquake readiness steps recommended by city planners.

Yet the thought that we are all “living on liquid” provides an apt entrée into Lent, doesn’t it? This is the season when we are invited, once again, to contemplate Christ, the solid rock on which we stand. It’s a time when we are called to remember that resurrection morning began with an earthquake as well. Lent is a season when we are challenged to live as baptized people, grounded in a Holy Spirit, following the One who walked on water.

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Preparations for our noon worship service were well underway on that 2001 Ash Wednesday morning in Seattle. The bulletins were folded. The ashes were mixed with a little oil and set up on a credenza, just where they should be. Soon a line of the faithful would come forward to be marked with a cross on their foreheads. But for now we were busy in our church offices, getting other morning tasks completed.

Suddenly we felt that motion. It’s the one you never want to feel but recognize immediately. Deep beneath our church on a hill, the earth began to rearrange itself. Tectonic plates shifted. An earthquake rocked us. This one was larger than most. In fact, it was the Nisqually Quake, measuring 6.8 and strong enough to take down brick buildings in Seattle’s historic district.

When the quaking began, those with earthquake or earthquake drill experience headed into doorways. Others went under desks or into suspended animation. We all headed into a prayer willing it to end.

And when it did end, our words came back. Inadequate, relieved words that were uttered with widened eyes and pounding hearts, spoken while holding on to one another. After family check-ins and news check-ins and building check-ins, the day continued. Within an hour the Ash Wednesday noon service began.

But the text and message had already been delivered: Remember, “you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19).

Dust wasn’t what I was contemplating later in my office. I distinctly remember looking out my window at the street and houses and thinking—everything we think is solid is really liquid. That thought still unnerves me. In Seattle we perpetually await “the big one” and berate ourselves for not completing all the earthquake readiness steps recommended by city planners.

Yet the thought that we are all “living on liquid” provides an apt entrée into Lent, doesn’t it? This is the season when we are invited, once again, to contemplate Christ, the solid rock on which we stand. It’s a time when we are called to remember that the resurrection morning began with an earthquake as well. Lent is a season when we are challenged to live as baptized people, grounded in the Spirit, following the one who walked on water.

Read more about: