+ Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. +
+Bishop Dee Pederson
The season of Lent begins as worshipers receive the sign of the + cross on their foreheads and hear again the words from the Ash Wednesday liturgy: “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”
Simple. Humbling. Ominous. Powerful.
As a pastor, I tremble to speak those words.
- You never know if this will be the last time you trace that ashen cross on someone’s forehead - because before the next Ash Wednesday, you may stand at their grave and say the words echo it, “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
- And when a parent comes forward carrying a young child in their arms, I take a breath and pause, wondering whether they really want me to speak those foreboding words over their sweet child.
This year, those words of Ash Wednesday feel all too close and true. Individually, we may not sense it. But the reality of our fragility, mortality, and “dustiness” surrounds us:
- Beloved friends, family members, and church leaders die unexpectedly.
- Congregation members choose conflict over reconciliation or collaboration.
- Our black and brown children and grandchildren carry their passports at all times because - you never know.
- Neighbors who were not born in the U.S. – people of color - suddenly disappear from the restaurants, stores, and farms we know here in greater Minnesota.
- Refugees brought here by our social service organizations are taken away.
- Church members hide away in fear, afraid to go to work or bring their kids to school.
- Teachers struggle to support the students they miss.
- Church members and leaders face criticism as they stand for justice.
You may or may not be experiencing some of those realities yourself. Many out here are afraid to voice our concerns. Some churches seem to have galvanized in recent weeks, while others seem to have grown more divided.
But here is the thing: we need each other. We are church together.
That is not true because we all think the same thoughts or go through the same life experiences. We are church together because Jesus Christ has made it so. Claimed in the name of the + Holy Trinity, we believe that our sins are forgiven and that we are held in God’s love forever.
We do not have the same gifts and we do not have to agree on everything, but we are united in living the way of Jesus.
This means that if someone in my church, my community, or community down the road is struggling, it is my calling to love that neighbor in whatever way I can. It means paying attention. It means recognizing that my neighbor’s needs are real. We are church together. We bear one another’s burdens. And this year, without a doubt, we remember that we are dust and to dust we shall return.
As this reality grounds us, I pray that you will be rooted even more deeply in the promises we hear in the readings for Lent. The promises of:
- the power of God’s word;
- salvation for this world God loves so much;
- receiving living water;
- opened eyes that truly see;
- life out of death; and
- a procession of humility, peace, justice, and love.
Even as Lent begins with the familiar words of dust, so it unfolds with God’s promises of mercy and steadfast love.
Last year, we began leaning-in to a synod assembly theme focused on “joy.” This year, we lean towards “hope.” The cross + of Ash Wednesday reflects the cross of Holy Baptism. The ashes may disappear; the cross of baptism remains every day. It may not be visible in a mirror, but it is seen as we “live among God’s faithful people, hear the word of God and share in the Lord’s Supper, proclaim the good news of God in Christ through word and deed, serve all people, following the example of Jesus, and strive for justice and peace in all the earth.” (ELW, Affirmation of Baptism, p. 236).
This Lent, I pray you are sustained by the sure and certain promises of Jesus Christ even as you live in the realities of daily life. St. Paul, writing to the church in Rome, put it like this:
Do not lag in zeal; be ardent in spirit; serve the Lord.
Rejoice in hope; be patient in affliction; persevere in prayer.
Contribute to the needs of the saints; pursue hospitality to strangers. (Romans 12:11-13)