Remember that you are dust

Seven years ago this time, my dad was dying of lung cancer. Ash Wednesday that year hit me hard, hearing those words, "Remember that you are dust and to dust you will return." A week or so later I went to New York City for "prospective student" days at the seminary, and went with a group to Ground Zero. This was just five months after 9/11, and they were still working on excavating the site. When we went to St. Paul's, where the workers went for respite, we were given a card they'd given out on Ash Wednesday with a picture of the old cemetery literally buried in ashes. And it hit me hard again. "Remember that you are dust and to dust you will return."

Today I officiated at two Ash Wednesday services. At the first, the congregation was mostly older people--70s, 80s, and 90s. Their skin is soft, papery, fragile. There are age spots and wrinkles. It feels holy to make the sooty mark on the foreheads and murmur the words, "Remember that you are dust...." knowing that the words carry a certain weight of immediacy. And yet there is still so much life.

This afternoon I led a children's liturgy. Many of the children were at last night's dinner when we burned the palms to make the ashes, and they arrived today curious and open. We talked about the ashes and how they helped us remember that we are part of God's creation. We talked about how the ashes are signs of how sorry we are for doing things that are wrong, and about how important it is to say that we're sorry--to God and to other people.

And then I made that sooty mark on the foreheads of these children. Children whose skin is fresh and soft and new, unmarked by time, unmarked by worry. "Remember that you are dust nd to dust you will return." Yes, even the little children.

It is a holy thing we do this day. Remember that you are dust...