Ash Wednesday

sunset

Today we die, so that we may rise again with Christ on Easter morn.

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

This is more than uncomfortable; it’s intolerable.

Dust is nothing. It scatters in the smallest breeze, is tracked over the carpet without us noticing, and covers the surfaces we don’t see and so forget to clean. At the most, it’s an annoyance, something that makes a little more work for us, or that makes us sneeze. At the least, it’s less than nothing. It’s a part of our daily lives that we don’t notice until it bothers us, and then we only notice it until we’ve alleviated the annoyance.

And yet this is what we came from. Adam was dust. As his children, we are children of dust.

I am a child of dust.

Like dust, I could be gone in a poof, in a moment of thoughtlessness on someone’s part. My dusty body would still, then mold, then later disintegrate. Eventually, it would be part of the dust that coats someone else’s bookshelves and knicknacks. They wouldn’t know me, or remember me, or even think about the dust that once was me as anything more than their current annoyance.

More sun

Part of me is dust, but part of me is light. God gave Adam, the dust-man, His own breath. He made him living dust, dust that could think and walk and talk and love and cry and scream and make decisions and have responsibility. He made him dust-and-more-than-dust.

As Adam’s child, I also am more-than-dust. But it is hard for more-than-dust to live with dust. So the dust must die. It must die for the more-than-dust to live.

Today we die, so that we may rise again with Christ on Easter morn.

Sunrise

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