Seeing with Fresh Eyes
It was an early Wednesday morning, and I was hurrying—almost running—to catch the ferry from Bainbridge Island to Seattle. The terminal felt especially busy that day, crowded with people moving at practiced speed, the way overachievers do, intent on finding their preferred seat or joining their familiar cluster of friends for the thirty-five-minute crossing over the eight miles of Puget Sound.
I wasn’t paying attention to anyone. I was distracted—preoccupied in the way a graduate school president often is—lost in my own thoughts, unaware that this was not just any Wednesday. This was a holy day in the life of the Church.
As I reached the edge of the terminal building, I saw him.
There stood my pastor—our vicar, Father Dennis—vested as he would later be that afternoon in the sanctuary of St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church. I had never seen him on the ferry commute before. Then I noticed the sign placed deliberately at his small station near the flow of foot traffic: “Ashes to go.”


