The household chore I most dislike is dusting. It just seems utterly pointless. As soon as you’ve dusted, more accumulates, and there’s no sense of satisfaction in having accomplished anything. In particular, the new bedstand I have next to my bed is shiny and seems to particularly attract a lot of dust. It’s by a window, and so every morning and every night I’m reminded that I really should do more dusting.
Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
That is the phrase we will hear today, on Ash Wednesday, as we receive that reminder and a cross of ash on our foreheads.
Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
I have said that phrase and distributed ashes more times than I can count. And I sometimes notice that the people I’m giving ashes to seem like the most unlikely to need to hear those words.
Remember that you are dust.
I’ve distributed ashes to a man having just heard of a cancer diagnosis. I’ve given ashes to a young, bright-eyed child, 2 years old, who’s a little puzzled as to why I don’t give her some bread, and why there’s no coffee hour afterwards. For many years, I distributed ashes by the train station in Chicago. I gave ashes to harried, worried-looking people rushing to work, who pause just long enough to be reminded that they are dust, and to dust they shall return.
I’ve given ashes to a fire chief, who certainly doesn’t need to be reminded of the effects of fire and death, and once even to someone smoking a cigarette while I put ashes on their forehead.
Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
Today, as last year, I will be distributing ashes at Episcopal SeniorLife Communities in the Chapel of the Good Shepherd. It seems strange to be giving ashes to a place so full of life, but where people are so fully aware of their frailties.
Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
I just returned from a trip to Minneapolis. There was a hushed, serious tone in the city, and life was changed for everyone. My daughter and son-in-law take whistles with them everywhere they go. We went to a restaurant with a limited menu because its workers were afraid to come to work. We visited the memorial for Alex Pretti. In the midst of tears and sadness, there was also beauty —flowers, candles, artwork, music. And two Sudanese women who were giving out sweet, milky tea and sambusas.
Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
Who needs to hear that they are dust? Perhaps it’s helpful to think of the phrase as meaning… “Remember what is most important today.” It is easy to forget in the rush and the busyness of life, but everyone needs that reminder. Faithful Christians who show up every Sunday and on Ash Wednesday. Neighbors, family, strangers, all who are in any need or trouble.
Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.
Remember what matters most and live it.
+Kara
