Shortly after the fires East of Eugene began, I went for a walk in Amazon Park near my home. When I came home, I went to wash my hands, and saw in the mirror that my face and hair was dotted with small pieces of black ash. They were irregularly shaped. Just as each snowflake is unique, I noticed with a shock that so is each piece of ash.
Suddenly I knew that I was seeing on my own body the remnants of bodies of living beings: Trees, grass, fruit, birds, deer—perhaps even people.
I desperately wanted to wash it all off, flush it away, clean up what was happening. But I kept some of the ash on my head. It reminded me of Ash Wednesday, when we wear the ashes all day, remembering that we come from dust, and we return to dust.
Then in one of my Zoom gatherings, my friend Kate told us that she had collected ash from her balcony and put it on her altar, so that she could pray for the beings that had perished so brutally. She gave me some of the ash, which I put in a small jar, and added to my own altar, below my central icon of Mary and Christ.
I deeply grieve the loss of each organism in this fire, no matter how tiny. As KEZI-TV acknowledged the first day, these fires are the result of the climate crisis. In my prayers, I begin with acknowledging my complicity with this loss, both these fires near us, and similar things happening around the globe.
I recall the powerful words of the confession in the Book of Common Prayer, that we say in each service: “We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbor as ourselves. We are truly sorry.”
Our Bishop has told us, when we asked what we can do: Pray. There will be many actions that will be needed in the weeks and months to come. Begin everything with prayer, with the confession of our complicity, and our desire to delight in God’s world, and walk in God’s way
