Ash Wednesday, part 1

I have just come from joining an Ash Wednesday celebration at St John the Divine, an Anglican church in downtown Victoria that I quite enjoy.
I couldn't help but notice as I walked in that I was severely tipping the age balance: except for an eight year-old, the person closest to me in age (I'm twenty-five) was about fifty.
I was so thrilled to be in the midst of liturgy on an otherwise dreary weekday. Our non-denom, laid-back, pastor-wears-sandals-with-socks-and-some-kids-have-blue-hair church is in the process of introducing liturgy to our services, and we had a meeting this week during which we discussed the reasons to do so. How to explain liturgy to the kid with blue hair? I felt I came across the only necessary reason this morning: to hear more Scripture. We heard from everything--OT, Psalms, Gospels and Epistles. I drank it all up like the parched peace lily I watered yesterday. At our church, at most, we'll hear the passage that's being preached on, and maybe another companion reading. Not enough. Not enough. Cannot express to you the delight I felt when I saw a tall woman in her seventies walk up to the lectern with the help of another lady, same age but a full head shorter, and began reading in a loud clear voice from the book of Joel. "Return to me with all your heart."

(I have more thoughts--on the ashes themselves--but my library internet session is about to run out. Stay tuned for part two.)