Ash Wednesday Sermon

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”My father died in 1988 from Altzheimer’s Disease when my son Woody was ten years old. Daddy—and the family—had suffered in different ways for years. Always, tucked in among the on-going and increasing moments of deep grief was one of sadness— sadness that my son would have few memories of the man his grandfather once was: a vital, strong Baptist preacher who adored children, sang with gusto, and doted on the only grandchild he would ever have.Pneumonia mercifully finally took Daddy Home and his body was cremated. After a memorial service in Raleigh, N.C., we drove about an hour to a church cemetery in Siler City, where my mother had been buried eleven years earlier. My brother and I, driving separately with family members, followed the limousine in which my sister, her husband and Woody rode. At some point, he noticed the dark wooden box on the seat next to him and asked what that was. Karen told him “It’s Pa-Paw’s ashes.” While he initially recoiled from that idea, he must have begun to ponder this new mystery. By the time we reached the cemetery, this ten-year old boy asked his aunt, “Can I carry Pa-Paw?’“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”We live in a 21st century world with technology, research and lovely retirement communities. In addition, many more of us now live in cities or suburbs. In article in last Sunday’s Washington Post, Dr. Craig Bowron wrote this: “Our nation’s mass exodus away from the land and an agricultural existence and toward a more urban lifestyle means that we’ve antiseptically left death and the natural world behind.” None of us want to face death—either for ourselves or for people we love. So Dr. Bowron notes that we push end of life care to its extreme capacity and beyond, perhaps because “doing something often feels better than doing nothing.” As post-modern people, even we people of faith do not want to face the fact that at some point—despite the best medical care—we will die. Some of us will die suddenly. Some of us will suffer from chronic disease and thus more slowly. However, the truth is, you and I will die. Our mortal bodies will return to earth from whence we came. Our souls will return to the Holy One who created, redeemed and sustained us during this early journey.We are reminded of this reality in a powerful and visceral way every Ash Wednesday--in the readings, in the prayers, in the imposition of ashes. The prophet Joel calls us to repent to God with all our heart. To return to God because God is “merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.” The apostle Paul entreats us to be reconciled to God through Jesus Christ. In the Gospel, Jesus reminds us that it does no good for us to give up something, to fast for our sins if our actions do not match our words. In other words, God knows our hearts. If we pretend to be faithful and observant, others might be fooled. However, God is never fooled. God knows that in our hearts, we are really more interested in acquiring money, land, techie gadgets and comfortable lifestyles. Jesus reminds us that in order to be in right relationship with God, we must understand that the real treasures are hidden in God’s kingdom—not on earth. In order to possess those treasures of unconditional love and justice, we must be willing to turn from our comfortable ways, die to our own desires, and live in communion with God.“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”You and I are not perfect. We are human beings. Despite our best intentions to die to self and follow Christ, we make mistakes. Yet our God is not just a God of judgment. God is a God of mercy and steadfast love. So very early on in the Christian tradition, a season of repentance and preparation for baptism was established, and much of that tradition continues today. The forty days of Lent begin with Ash Wednesday—a holy day observed by fasting and prayer. The season of Lent is a time to remember the Lord’s passion and resurrection in intentional ways. Many people of faith give up something they love, as a Lenten discipline. Others take on extra Lenten disciplines: prayer, Bible study, devotional reading, attending extra worship services, or a book study.On this holy day that invites us to a holy Lent, we kneel to ask God’s forgiveness for sins done and left undone. We remember that we are mortal human beings who will not live forever on this earth. We feel the cross traced on our foreheads with black, gritty ash. This reminds us that someday, we will return to the good earth from whence we came. Yet there is hope for more. As faithful Christians, we can anticipate the holy waters of baptism at the Easter Vigil, when the newly baptized feel the cross traced on their foreheads--not with ashes, but with holy oil. Sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism. Marked as Christ’s own forever. This is our treasure—a treasure without price, a treasure strong and precious and eternal—the hope of the resurrection of the dead, and the life to come.“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”On a sunny day in 1988, I watched as a ten year old boy solemnly and slowly carried the earthly remains of his grandfather across a cemetery. Gently, he placed the wooden box down. Towards the end of the service, the priest prayed the Commendation from the Burial Office. His words rang out with certainty: “You only are immortal, the creator and maker of mankind; and we are mortal, formed of the earth, and to earth shall we return. For so did you ordain when you created me, saying, ‘You are dust, and to dust you shall return.’ All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”Death is inevitable. On that day, as I stood at the graves of my parents, these words reminded me of my own mortality. Yet I knew that death would not—does not—will not have the final word. In Jesus Christ, the cross—sometimes etched in holy oil and sometimes etched in gritty ashes on our foreheads—reminds us that we possess the hope of resurrection life. Hope, faith, love. Such treasures we only glimpse in this life. So even at the grave, we make our song.At the end of the graveside service, Woody turned to me. “Mom, shouldn’t we sing something?” he asked. Through my tears, I nodded. So we held hands, stood close to the earthly remains of the old Baptist preacher and sang softly our hope in Jesus Christ: “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong. They are weak but he is strong. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so.”© The Rev. Sheila N. McJiltonPicture of Nelson headmarker by Sheila N. McJilton. Other pictures accessed through Google images.