There is no logical, or sacramental, or doctrinal connection between the persistent dryer ball that unaccountably made its way into the Ash Wednesday service and the pandemic that somewhat more accountably made its way into our selves, our souls and bodies, our hearts and minds, our streets and stores, our restaurants and our theaters, and our churches. But there seems to be a metaphorical one. All these long months, I feel like I’ve had this lost dusty thing in my pocket. Read more