An Offering Of Ashes

My church burned down.

Sunday morning, before Mass, I got up and saw it on Facebook. I called a friend who lives close by, and she told me what happened. Or what they knew at the time, which was:  our church burned down.

It was hit by fireworks. There are pictures, but they make me sick to my stomach. I can’t look at them anymore and I still can’t bring myself to drive by and see it.

And there are fireworks going off tonight but they don’t sound like freedom to me this year.  This year they sound like bombs.  Bombs that dropped onto the roof of my church and then burned it down.  My church where I sing loudly in a bad voice and get ashes smeared on my forehead is now silent and full of ash.

Now they are clearing and deciding and planning the next steps; none of which involve me. A priest told me once that Catholicism is a religion of signs.  I wondered what a burned church could mean.  I found the courage to pray for understanding.

OK God. What do you want me to do with this?

The answer shocked me.

Give.

Give? Give what?

Of course I will give.  Of course I will help rebuild our church.  But there isn’t anything to give yet.  No funds or plans or directions; too many decisions are still being made. That time will come, but it’s not now. I was confused.

I realized that just a week ago I was at the Type A conference, listening to Emily of Colorado Moms speak.  Then we both went home and her state burned and my church burned.  And neither of us knows what it ‘means’, none of us knows what it means.  But we know the feeling of helplessness; of wanting to make it better and feeling like there is nothing we can do.  Of being mobilized and ready to help. Of holding our hands out, but not being able to see if there is anyone there to take them.

There is. Not here, but in another place where 350 families lost their homes.  THREE HUNDRED FIFTY FAMILIES.  A long time ago I used to travel to Colorado Springs for work, and I loved it there.  I felt snuggled in by the mountains all around, and the people were warm and friendly and it has stayed in my heart; remembered as a wonderful community.

I usually talk about local charities.  Local events.  Local needs that need to be met, but today I very humbly ask you to consider helping the victims of the Colorado Wildfires in some way.  Can you imagine? I can’t.  I am heartbroken about my church but my house? The need is so great right now.

What if your house burned down and some woman in Colorado Springs heard about it, and donated to a charity that was helping you to rebuild? Would the amount matter? No.  The fact that someone thought about you and wanted to do something – anything – to make it better. That’s what would matter. It would give you exactly what you needed.  Hope.

We rise again from ashes, from the good we’ve failed to do.
We rise again from ashes, to create ourselves anew.
If all our world is ashes, then must our lives be true,
an offering of ashes, an offering to you.

We offer you our failures, we offer you attempts,
the gifts not fully given, the dreams not fully dreamt.
Give our stumblings direction, give our visions wider view,
an offering of ashes, an offering to you.

Then rise again from ashes, let healing come to pain,
though spring has turned to winter, and sunshine turned to rain.
The rain we’ll use for growing, and create the world anew
from an offering of ashes, an offering to you.

From “Ashes” by Tom Conry.