I’ve always found it funny that we read these words on Ash Wednesday: “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.” We read these words and then walk up the aisle of the sanctuary in order to have a cross made on our foreheads from the dust of the celebrations of the year before. From dust we were formed, and to dust we shall return.
We wear this dust on our foreheads one time a year. One time a year we acknowledge publicly the harshness, but also the beauty, of life—the celebrations of Easter aren’t the only thing we are charged to remember. We acknowledge our dust as a community one time a year. But what abut the dust we carry with us the other 364 days a year?
We’re all made of the same dust. And the dust that we leave in our tracks is a piece of us. A piece of our souls, our hurts, our sorrows. A piece of our faith.
Do we notice our dust? It isn’t pretty. Sometimes what we leave behind for others isn’t the best of us. It’s the hurt. It’s the fear. It’s the doubt. I like to brush dust off to the side. I like to pretend like my life is spotless, that if I just brush the dust of my own life away, I can go through life with only the joys. But Ash Wednesday reminds me that my dust is God’s dust. I have to deal with dust because it’s as much a part of my life as the joys that I hope shine through.
Of course, my dust isn’t the only dust that matters. How do we handle the dust of others? As children of the one who formed us from the dust, we have been given the responsibility of noticing the dust of others. We can’t pretend that the only thing worth seeing is the light. That doesn’t cut it, and it’s on this day each year that we’re reminded of that.
We have to see the dust, those pieces of our beings and our souls that we leave behind for those we love. We have to notice those pieces, because someone has to notice and sit with the awkwardness and discomfort of those pieces. Someone has to sit with and listen for the voice of God coming to us from the brokenness of our selves. We don’t get a pass because we’re of the same dust.
We’re all broken. We’re all loved. We’re all afraid. We’re all loved. We’re all angry at the wrongs of this world. We’re all loved. We’re all dust. We’re all loved.
From dust you were formed, and to dust you shall return. Notice the dust. Notice the grace. Know you are loved by the one who took up the dust and formed it into you. Listen for the voice of God coming through the dust of others. And never doubt that someone is listening for the voice of God coming through you.
From dust you were formed, and to dust you shall return.