Spring is not far away

Faintly, as I sit inside in the morning's first light, I hear birds singing cheerfully outside. I am reminded that the vernal equinox is just 27 days away. Spring arrives six days before Easter this year. The birds are offering an overture before the symphony begins

The winter thus far has delivered some days so cold our bones felt brittle and some biting winds that turned mild days frigid. Some snow and ice came, but not so much this year as to challenge comparisons in our memory. 

Late February is not assurance that winter is over. Snowstorms have buried us in Marches past and can do it again. But crocuses and daffodils are bravely poking their colorful heads into the chilly air, promising warmer days ahead. In this somber season of Lent, there is the promise of spring and Easter.

The sun will cross the celestial equator, and warmth will bathe our portion of Earth's sphere once again. The warmth we have pursued these past few months will blanket us and sap our energy, and we will long for a cooling breeze and the thrill of autumn colors.

'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.