I'm home from today's stations of the cross--smelling like campfire, myrrh, and frankincense--and filled deeply with gratitude.
At our stations of the cross tonight, we were supposed to have a fire in the courtyard (because that's where Peter denies Jesus in Luke). But it rained/drizzled/threatened to rain again all morning, so we pushed the fire pit under an overhang and invited people to sit by a pile of logs. (Dark weather is perfect for Good Friday, btw, so the tradeoff wasn't so bad).
However, when I returned from a break, I was delighted to find that the other pastor (Allen) and our youth minister (Austin) had those logs roaring away!
Moreover, our last station included packets of 'grave spices' for people to take home (myrrh, frankincense, misc. herbs etc). Well Austin had the great idea of emptying one into the fire, which was perfect since those first two ingredients were solid chunks of incense anyways. The whole place smelled holy. It was beautiful!
...and we finished the night by burning the same slips of paper that people brought to the altar on Ash Wednesday. One of them simply said "sin"; I know because it flew open when I tossed it into the pit and I watched it slowly curl into itself--from the edges in--and shift from white to umber to embers. Soon, the sin in the center was consumed and the whole thing was a powdered remnant that scattered with the toss of a breathe.
"And Jesus called out with a loud voice, 'Father into thy hands I commit my spirit.' And having said this, he breathed his last." --Luke 23:46
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
And now we wait for resurrection.
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