Beloved Begotten From Stardust
A reclaiming of Ash Wednesday
Hello there. Today is marked on the Christian calendar as Ash Wednesday. But I reframed this day a long time ago, and I wanted to share why.
For most of my adult life, I was deep inside institutional Christianity. I was a recording artist in Christian music — touring, the whole thing. Then I became a pastor. And then in 2017, I left it all — the music industry, the church, the institution — because my theology outgrew the containers it was in.
But when I left pastoring and eventually left religion altogether, I kept wanting to hang on to something — ritual and meaning-making for individuals and communities. The institutions didn’t fit anymore, but the human need to gather, to mark time, to remind each other who we are? That never stopped mattering to me.
One of the things worth keeping was BELOVED BEGOTTEN FROM STARDUST — a reframing of Ash Wednesday.
The traditional practice says: “from dust you came, to dust you shall return.” It’s meant to remind you of your sinfulness, your smallness, your need for salvation outside yourself. And for a long time I carried that. Until I couldn’t anymore.
Instead of “from dust you came” — from stardust we have come, and to stardust we shall return. And every moment in between matters deeply.
Instead of reminding people of their brokenness — reminding them of their inherent worth. What I call magic. Instead of humbling people into smallness — inviting them into their full capacity.
The ashes stay. But they get mixed with glitter. Because that’s what we actually are — ash and stardust, inseparable. Grief and fire. Heaviness and light. You don’t get to be human without carrying both.
The three things I hold closest — and that guide everything I do — are:
Inherent worth. Every person carries magic that no institution can grant and no mistake can erase.
Connection. We are made of the same stuff as stars and each other. What we do to one, we do to all — and we are deeply connected to the world around us as well.
Responsibility. With that connection comes a call — to care, to show up, to imagine a better world and intentionally make it so.
That last line is the tagline of IMAGINARIUM — a space my community and I have held for almost eight years now. It’s been the home for this work — coat drives, Pride events, prison concerts, retreats, and gatherings like the one I’m hosting tonight with a few close friends around a table.
Tonight we’ll burn what we’re letting go of. We’ll mix the ash with glitter and place it on our skin. We’ll read letters to ourselves. We’ll toast to gravity and grace — gravity being what keeps us grounded to the present, and grace being what reminds us to be grateful. And we’ll remember that we are not small, sinful creatures begging for redemption. We are stardust with agency, and what we do with this life matters.
If today means something to you — religiously, spiritually, or not at all — I’ll just offer this:
You are beloved. You are here on purpose. You are made of stardust and ash and everything in between. Stardust — the cosmos, the magic, the light. Ash — the earth, the darkness, the rawness of our lives. And they’re inseparable — the divinity and humanity that is ours. All of it matters.
Beloved Begotten From Stardust, indeed. 🔥✨
Love, Melissa.
