'To dust you shall return'

"You are dust, and to dust you shall return."

The Ash Wednesday liturgy takes on a greater poignancy at times when we are faced with the limitations of life. I've attended more than my usual share of funerals in the past month, and although some were called "celebrations of life," their sadness was not diminished by a more upbeat name. Tonight I wear crossed black smears on my forehead as unnecessary reminders of the limits mankind has known since the days of Adam and has recognized philosophically at least since the writing of the Torah some 3,000 or so years ago. Each funeral, each painful passing, each empty chair reminds us that our lives are as fleeting as the windblown dust and as commonplace as the dust itself.

We delude ourselves by thinking that we are important, that we are more than the dust of the earth or that our importance will last. Ash Wednesday reminds us that our greatest achievements, our grandest schemes and adventures are nothing more than cosmic dust in a universe more vast than our minds can comprehend.

The 40 days of Lent begin, like the first day of boot camp or football practice, by tearing down the ego so that it can be rebuilt. The Lenten season — so called from the lengthening of the days at this time of year — ends with the triumph of Easter. The Resurrection gives hope where there was none, glimmers of precious gems among the dust. When the windblown dust has settled, its force, its sting, its beauty and its love will live on in collective memories.

You are dust, but the dust will not be soon forgotten.