Ashes to Ashes

Remember:

From dust you came,

Have you ever watched someone make pottery? Maybe create pottery is a better term. Then again, potters call it "throwing". And it is throwing, because it's very physical. It takes all of you to make a good pot.

A couple weeks ago I had the opportunity to watch someone throw pottery. Kyle took me to his studio at the University of Washington where he is a ceramics major. He got all dressed up in his coveralls and hauled a bucket full of used clay over to a table where he smacked it into a thin layer to let it dry.

Then Kyle took some other clay and did this thing called "wedging". Basically, you find some open space - for him, it was the ground - and you sort of knead the clay for a while. Vigorously. It's supposed to get any air bubbles out and ease the creating process later. So you get down on the ground, on your knees, and you work the clay. You throw it against the ground and you beat the air bubbles out of it.

After that, Kyle carefully made a ball and put it on the wheel. The wheel is difficult. You have to learn it, know it. It takes a combination of skill, gentleness, and strength. In his words, "You could take the biggest, baddest football player, and he'd be huffing and puffing by the end of it and not have anything to show for it." It takes your whole body - your back and your hips and your arms, legs, head, shoulders. You really have to get into the process.

Then he kicked on the wheel, and the ball started spinning. He added water to his hands and to the ball of clay, and he started into it. Just like that, there was a divot in the middle of the ball. Then, just like that, it had a shape. The clay looked like it was rising out of itself, or rising out of Kyle's hands. It's a delicate process as much as it is a brute process.

As Kyle explained to me what he was doing on the wheel, he spoke as if the clay were a living creature. He would say things like "It doesn't want to cooperate" or "You have to know what the clay wants" and later, "It's getting tired. Might be time to stop."

And I watched him nod his head, because throwing clay is rhythmic. You nod your head as the clay spins and you get a feel for where the lumps and imperfections are and you apply pressure the next time it comes around. You learn the clay, and you join it and guide it.

The story of God creating humans out of the clay of the earth hit me with more clarity than I've ever had before. God got involved. Because making humans is a very physical thing. He knelt down on the ground and plunged both of his arms deep into the earth. He dug out a heap of sledge, put it on the floor, and he began to create. He smacked out the air bubbles and kneaded us. He carefully rolled us up into a ball. He put us on the wheel. He used his skill and his strength and he joined us in rhythm. He joined us. He used his arms and his back and his legs and hips. It's a delicate process as much as it is a brute process. And he listened to us, to each unique piece of pottery. He spoke of us as if we were a living creature.

And then, in a way that not even the most expert potter could do, God breathed into us. After watching the effort that goes into throwing pottery, I wonder if the breath God breathed into us was a breath of exhaustion. I think it might have been. Like a breath of release after you've concentrated and worked really hard at something, after you've really put yourself into something. Like you've given that thing part of yourself.

When he was finished, Kyle took off his coveralls. His clothes were damp with the effort of creation. And God rested.

And to dust

You shall return

Kyle threw any extra scraps back into his bucket to dry. He scraped the muck off of the wheel, and he picked up little slivers of clay off of the floor. Every bit.

The bits and pieces of sludge aren't thrown away, though. They wait in that bucket until it's time to make something again. Then you take those pieces and you mash them together. You put them back on the table. You wedge them on the floor. You form them into a ball, and you put them on the wheel. And then, one day, you begin again to create another unique piece of art out of the scraps of life.