The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String by Kris Knorr & Barb Froman

Author:Kris Knorr & Barb Froman [Knorr, Kris & Froman, Barb]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Christian Books & Bibles, Literature & Fiction, Humor & Entertainment, Humor, Religion, Religion & Spirituality, Fiction, Christian Fiction
Amazon: B0081VX3IQ
Publisher: Morning West Publishing
Published: 2012-05-09T05:00:00+00:00

Ash Wednesday

THE NEXT EVENING, Lorena’s handiwork greeted worshippers. A rough wooden cross, entwined in black silk, hung from the church doors. Ends of the ebony scarf caught the breeze and circled as though beckoning penitent sinners inside.

The overcast February day matched the oppressive mood. Smells of damp earth and approaching rain hung in the air. Thunder rolled through the sky as a storm advanced from the north.

No musical prelude greeted the worshipers. Without speaking, each person entered and pinned a small square of burlap to their shirt, a rough brown reminder to be remorseful about their sins. They sat in silent meditation.

The great bell in the steeple rang once, a comfortless peal muted by low clouds. When the note faded, the choir stood and sang, “Alas, My God, My Sins are Great.” During another interlude of reflection, worshipers wrote their transgressions on small slips of paper to be burned.

Vera, wearing a somber face and carrying a dark wicker basket, walked up and down the aisles, collecting the written confessions. She had to wait for Micki to scribble two pages of sins before she could leave.

When Vera finally came through the door, Hettie, who waited in the Narthex, picking sickly-looking leaves off potted plants asked, “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never burned sins.” Vera stared at the pile of scribbled trespasses. “I thought two of us would make the chore go faster, but there isn’t as much unbosoming here as I’d imagined.” She scowled. “The centuries-old tradition is to burn the fronds from the previous year’s Palm Sunday for ashes. Jim always did it in our fireplace. This is another ‘bright idea’ to spark-up worship. It’s not enough to come, confess, and receive absolution; we have to add activities.”

“You stored palm branches for a year then burnt them? That’s crazier than burning sins.”

Vera sighed. “It was symbolic. You know…the frond-waving cheer of ‘Hosanna. Here’s Our King!’ turning into an angry: ‘Crucify him.’”

“Well, I guess burning our wrongs is symbolic, too.”

“Yes. Yes. Let’s do something different.” Vera dumped the papers into a small metal trash can. “Let’s ignore the mystery of tradition. Let’s have immediate gratification. We need our sins to disappear in smoke and be rid of them.”

“If you feel that way, why’d you volunteer?”

“I didn’t volunteer; I was asked. Pastor Poe and I had a discussion yesterday. I believe this is his way of apologizing and assuring me he values my assistance. He said he needed someone he could trust to never read these confessions.” Vera moved the project outside the front doors and struck a match.

“And he thinks the rest of us would?” Hettie peered down into the container. “Look at that one. It’s a wad as big as a marble. I bet that’s a doozy.”

“Get some more paper, please. The fire doesn’t want to catch.” Vera frowned at the smoldering contents as a large drop of water splatted the top of her head. Hettie soon returned, carrying a stack of brown paper towels and several purple papers.

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