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mollywheezy) wrote2024-09-20 10:26 am
mollywheezy) wrote2024-09-20 10:26 am
LJ Idol Week 10, Prompt: Synesthesia
In my second semester of seminary I was in charge of planning and leading a worship service for Ash Wednesday for the first time. I had the service planned, bulletins printed, and on Tuesday morning after class Dr. B, the faculty advisor for the worship committee, asked me if I had the ashes. I did not have the ashes but told him I would get some. I had no idea how difficult it would be to obtain ashes!
While I was making phone calls on the public phone in the student lounge, a friend with a cell phone helped me call all of the religious supply stores in Dallas, TX. There were no ashes to be found. I had only attended a handful of Ash Wednesday services in my life and had never before thought about where the ashes come from. Waiting until the day before to learn was not the best of plans.
I called the pastor of my church, and he said he would give me ashes and I could pick them up that evening. When I went to get the ashes, Pastor D handed me the smallest size of pill bottle with about a millimeter of ashes in the bottom. If anyone knows me well, I do not have a poker face, and he saw my feelings about the amount of ashes. “How many people are coming to your service?”
“We have two services, and at the second service we were going to have two stations to impose ashes. There might be 40 or 50 people between the two?”
“This should be plenty. I’m sorry I can’t give you more. We always dry and burn the palm fronds from the previous Palm Sunday, but there was a leak in the closet and last year's palms were moldy and unusable.” He held up another pill bottle with only about twice as many ashes as were in mine. “This is it.” I knew we would have a couple hundred people at our church’s service, so I thanked him profusely and left.
When I came home, I showed my husband Peter the ashes. “Is that going to be enough?”
“Pastor D thinks so, and I’m sure he knows after decades in ministry, but Dr. B always has to have ten times what he needs of something or he gets nervous.”
“We could burn some newspaper . . .”
“No, we can’t. Several people told me not to do that. The ink will stain people’s foreheads for days.”
“What else could we burn?”
“How about the ugly plant outside the door?”
“Will the apartment complex get upset about us burning their plant?”
I laughed. “You realize our lease says we aren't supposed to be burning anything, right? I don’t think ripping a few leaves off the ugly plant is what we need to worry about.”
I tore several leaves off the plant while Peter searched for something in which to burn them. He found a coffee can still half full of coffee and put the coffee in a ziploc bag. We only ever used matches to light candles if the power went out, but we found some, and with the leaves in the coffee can went to our tiny porch and lit them.
Unfortunately, the leaves did not burn; they smoked. They emitted noxious fumes that tasted like rancid butter. They weren’t going to make ashes. Peter ran for a cup of water to put out the fire. When the coffee can had cooled down enough, I dumped the soggy mess into the trash and dried off the coffee can with paper towels. “Well, that didn’t work. What do we want to try burning next?”
I looked around for what we could burn and settled on an empty toilet paper tube. It did at least burn, but the ashes were really flaky. I tried putting some on Peter’s forehead (he volunteered as the model) and they flaked into his eyes! I tried to break the ashes up more, but they still were not “good” ashes, so I added some olive oil and stirred it up. Peter said, “It looks like runny tar.” He was correct in his description, but it was as good as it was going to get.
The next morning, I set “my” ashes out for the 8 A.M. service. Dr. J, who was leading the service, looked at the ashes, made a face, and asked me, “What is that thing in there?”
I glanced into the ash bowl and was surprised to find a caper! “It’s a caper. All I had at home was herbed olive oil . . .” Dr. J removed the offensive caper and threw it in the trash can. She did not seem any more impressed with the ashes but refrained from further comment.
At the 10 A.M. service I was co-leading with Dr. B, I gave him all of the “good” ashes from Pastor D and I used the ones Peter and I had burned. I had never done the imposition of ashes before, but it always looked easy. When the service was nearing completion, I scanned the room. All of the people on Dr. B’s side had perfect little crosses right in the middle of their foreheads with no flaking. They were even all the same size! While on my side of the room, I could feel the oily tarry substance I had created oozing down everyone’s forehead. I prayed it wouldn’t get in anyone’s eyes.
After the service, Dr. B noticed the discrepancy in the two bowls of ashes. I explained what had happened. Thankfully he had a sense of humor, and I ordered ashes for the next year before they were even back in stock at the nearest Christian supply store. That was the first and last time I participated in the imposition of ashes until last year.
My current pastor asked for my help with the imposition of ashes. I could see the super-fine texture and softness of her ashes and asked what she had burned. She whispered, “Nothing. It’s black eye shadow I dumped out of the container. I found the idea in an online clergy women’s forum.”
“THAT. IS. BRILLIANT!!!”
While I was making phone calls on the public phone in the student lounge, a friend with a cell phone helped me call all of the religious supply stores in Dallas, TX. There were no ashes to be found. I had only attended a handful of Ash Wednesday services in my life and had never before thought about where the ashes come from. Waiting until the day before to learn was not the best of plans.
I called the pastor of my church, and he said he would give me ashes and I could pick them up that evening. When I went to get the ashes, Pastor D handed me the smallest size of pill bottle with about a millimeter of ashes in the bottom. If anyone knows me well, I do not have a poker face, and he saw my feelings about the amount of ashes. “How many people are coming to your service?”
“We have two services, and at the second service we were going to have two stations to impose ashes. There might be 40 or 50 people between the two?”
“This should be plenty. I’m sorry I can’t give you more. We always dry and burn the palm fronds from the previous Palm Sunday, but there was a leak in the closet and last year's palms were moldy and unusable.” He held up another pill bottle with only about twice as many ashes as were in mine. “This is it.” I knew we would have a couple hundred people at our church’s service, so I thanked him profusely and left.
When I came home, I showed my husband Peter the ashes. “Is that going to be enough?”
“Pastor D thinks so, and I’m sure he knows after decades in ministry, but Dr. B always has to have ten times what he needs of something or he gets nervous.”
“We could burn some newspaper . . .”
“No, we can’t. Several people told me not to do that. The ink will stain people’s foreheads for days.”
“What else could we burn?”
“How about the ugly plant outside the door?”
“Will the apartment complex get upset about us burning their plant?”
I laughed. “You realize our lease says we aren't supposed to be burning anything, right? I don’t think ripping a few leaves off the ugly plant is what we need to worry about.”
I tore several leaves off the plant while Peter searched for something in which to burn them. He found a coffee can still half full of coffee and put the coffee in a ziploc bag. We only ever used matches to light candles if the power went out, but we found some, and with the leaves in the coffee can went to our tiny porch and lit them.
Unfortunately, the leaves did not burn; they smoked. They emitted noxious fumes that tasted like rancid butter. They weren’t going to make ashes. Peter ran for a cup of water to put out the fire. When the coffee can had cooled down enough, I dumped the soggy mess into the trash and dried off the coffee can with paper towels. “Well, that didn’t work. What do we want to try burning next?”
I looked around for what we could burn and settled on an empty toilet paper tube. It did at least burn, but the ashes were really flaky. I tried putting some on Peter’s forehead (he volunteered as the model) and they flaked into his eyes! I tried to break the ashes up more, but they still were not “good” ashes, so I added some olive oil and stirred it up. Peter said, “It looks like runny tar.” He was correct in his description, but it was as good as it was going to get.
The next morning, I set “my” ashes out for the 8 A.M. service. Dr. J, who was leading the service, looked at the ashes, made a face, and asked me, “What is that thing in there?”
I glanced into the ash bowl and was surprised to find a caper! “It’s a caper. All I had at home was herbed olive oil . . .” Dr. J removed the offensive caper and threw it in the trash can. She did not seem any more impressed with the ashes but refrained from further comment.
At the 10 A.M. service I was co-leading with Dr. B, I gave him all of the “good” ashes from Pastor D and I used the ones Peter and I had burned. I had never done the imposition of ashes before, but it always looked easy. When the service was nearing completion, I scanned the room. All of the people on Dr. B’s side had perfect little crosses right in the middle of their foreheads with no flaking. They were even all the same size! While on my side of the room, I could feel the oily tarry substance I had created oozing down everyone’s forehead. I prayed it wouldn’t get in anyone’s eyes.
After the service, Dr. B noticed the discrepancy in the two bowls of ashes. I explained what had happened. Thankfully he had a sense of humor, and I ordered ashes for the next year before they were even back in stock at the nearest Christian supply store. That was the first and last time I participated in the imposition of ashes until last year.
My current pastor asked for my help with the imposition of ashes. I could see the super-fine texture and softness of her ashes and asked what she had burned. She whispered, “Nothing. It’s black eye shadow I dumped out of the container. I found the idea in an online clergy women’s forum.”
“THAT. IS. BRILLIANT!!!”
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Dan
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- Erulisse (one L)
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This is amusing and clever.
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