Ashes, wrinkles and queues
On the ridiculousness of humans (well, me) and a request for your help
Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, when many Christians dwell in the reality of our brokenness and the fact we will die. It’s fun. I’d agreed to meet a friend for the service at St Paul’s cathedral. Normally I go locally, but was going to be in town anyway and decided a side of aesthetic uplift with my liturgical reflection on mortality was just what I fancied.
When I arrived, sweaty and harassed from a rushed bike ride, there was a long security queue snaking down the iconic marble steps. I checked my watch irritably. I hate being late. Ahead of me a gaggle of teenage girls were twittering, in matching black leggings and pink hoodies. Some kind of incongruous dance school outing, it seemed. Their faces were made up as if about to go on stage, with thick stripes of bronzer and heavy brows, in that strange way most teenage girls do now. As I watched them, a large breakaway group returned from getting bubble tea, ducked under the barrier, and jumped the queue.
I tutted. I couldn’t help it. It is part of my national identity. Poor queue etiquette riles me like little else. I managed, this time, not to say “excuse me, I think you’ll find the back of the queue is over there” in my most condescending tone, but only because I was too far back for them to hear me. Truly, my #croneseason is upon me. I just seethed, shuffling forward awkwardly in the drizzle filled with contempt towards these young women.
Once, finally, inside, we settled under the absurdly beautiful dome. The clergy and choir processed in, the heady incense began to billow and the music of Palestrina rang out. It should all have conspired to create an ideal spiritual experience. It didn’t. I was just irked.
Then we were invited up for the “imposition of the ashes”. The palm crosses used on Palm Sunday from the previous year are burnt, mixed with oil, and the leader uses them to draw a cross upon your forehead. From dust we come, to dust we shall return. It’s both powerful and pleasingly goth. The trouble was, the queue system had got out of control. Maybe a thousand people were trying to join two lines, and the vergers did not have the bouncer-type instincts required. It was chaos, and as I stood at the end of my row trying to politely merge into the crowd in roughly the right direction I felt two conflicting urges. 1)To sort this sh*t out by standing on a chair and directing people, and 2) to win. Because I have another seemingly hard wired tendency, alongside observing proper queue etiquette, which is to get places as fast as possible. A non-insignificant part of me just wanted to take advantage of the carnage and finagle my way to the front.
Dear Lord. I am utterly ridiculous.
As I became aware of this unlovely mess going on inside me, shuffling forward with an outward attempt at patience, I glanced down at the service sheet and the prayers I had distractedly just prayed.
So I prayed it again. I tried to mean it. I remembered that morning, flicking past images of the families of Israeli hostages and dead Palestinian children, deliberately avoiding feeling anything lest I be destroyed by the weight of suffering. I saw, suddenly, the dignity of the pink-hoodied teenage girls, their preciousness, their unshakable value to their parents, to God. The service did what it is meant to do; helped me see the depths of my own foolishness and fragility, but not despair.
I arrived at the front of the queue suitably chastened, close, for the first time, to actual penitence. As the leader put the ashes on my forehead I received them as a profound gift.
At the exact same time, the small part of my brain often thinking about skin care piped up: “Ashes: good for wrinkles, or bad? Someone should make a serum, or a limited edition exfoliator.”
I burst out laughing.
I walked back to my seat acutely aware of my ridiculousness, with a strong sense that God was laughing with me. I wove through a sea of (still disorganised) faces, the multi-national multi-racial London congregation united visually by our matching black smudges. We are all ridiculous, I thought. And all so loved. And I repeated a line of the Ash Wednesday liturgy to myself, quietly: “You hate nothing that you have made”. Thank God for that.
The paragraph above is from Impossible Creatures by Katherine Rundell, which I can recommend both if you have children and/or if you, like me, believe in the morally formative power of brilliant children’s literature. Isn’t it the most wonderful page?
Also, I do. I need your help.
In May my first book is coming out, with Hodder and Stoughton in the UK and Brazos in the US, entitled Fully Alive: Tending to the Soul in Turbulent Times. I won’t say much about it now, because we’re still a way off, but if you are enjoying my writing here you will probably like it, and it is available for preorder.
In the meantime, one of the things the publishers and I are busy with is planning events. Knowing how well connected and thoughtful you all are (not to mention geographically dispersed) I have some questions for you. I’d be so grateful if you would drop thoughts into the comments, reply to this email, or send me a message via my website.
Would you like to explore hosting an event with me? Either under the umbrella of an institution or something we organise together? My dear friend
did several of those around his wonderful book At Work in the Ruins, and I liked his can-do, community building approach. If you think you can gather an audience to discuss something connected to the themes I’d love to hear from you. I am based in the UK but plan to be in the US in the summer, getting to Europe is not impossible, and of course online events have no geographical limits…If not you, do you know someone who I should connect with who might be interested in hosting an event? I’m especially interested in cross over spaces, organisations around which spiritual-but-not-religious/deep thinking/wisdom oriented people cluster, because it’s written mainly for that audience, but I will happily also speak to churches who are comfortable with high levels of honesty (and the book’s occasional profanity).
Which podcasts do you think would be a good fit? There is such a rich ecosystem now there is a chance I won’t know your favourite, and I’d love to be introduced to any you think I should know, and who should know me.
If you have a relationship with a local bookshop (I’m looking at you, children’s librarians…) who run events and might be interested, please connect us!
I thought it might help to read some of the responses from people who have seen advance copies, as a testimonial of sorts.
Oliver Burkeman, whose book Four Thousand Weeks I loved, said:
Elizabeth Oldfield has a gift for writing about the things that matter most in a way that's honest, warmhearted, and down-to-earth in the very best sense of the term. This remarkable book points not to some unreachable ideal of life but to a deeper, more soulful and meaningful experience of the lives we're actually living.
Krista Tippett, who hosts the On Being podcast, and is in part responsible for me wanting to write about these things, across tribes, in public, said:
In this beautiful book, Elizabeth Oldfield gives voice and vigor to a paradox of our time — that even as Christianity is officially on the wane, it is a bearer of wisdom, intelligence and rituals of lavish value to our world in all its pain and its promise….It is a great gift to all in search of a deeper life, of “spiritual core strength” — of a full, redemptive aliveness.
And James K.A. Smith, Christian philosopher and expert on Charles Taylor said
Oldfield's honest, hopeful, humane wisdom is the fruit of something spectacularly rare these days: listening. A welcome voice in our secular age.
Well that is uncomfortable, but I’m going to have to get better at it.
Deepest thanks in advance to any one who feels able to get involved in this. I really look forward to being in conversation with some of you, and maybe even creating some havoc and marvels, together.
There are many things I love about this post. I think I need to write you a longer thank you note type letter about your larger project. But here, everything from the inner thought life that’s so ridiculous for all of us, the ashes to ashes mercy there, and also the announcement of your upcoming book (Congratulations!)- so good.
Thank you for your work thus far..I’ll put some longer form thoughts together soon and find someway to send them.
PS Krista Tippett has ALWAYS been at top of mind when I listen to your work- and I think she broadcasts from my hometown Minneapolis!
PSS Maybe you could come to Minneapolis…I will think about this further. There are loads of networks here that would love your project or maybe we’re secretly all Elizabeth Oldfield groupies already and haven’t compared notes yet !
Ah, it would be lovely to uncover which Unitarian space(s) might be right to host you 😊