“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return.”
I spoke these words out loud as I smeared an oily, ashy cross, on the forehead of a Cox employee as he was on his way to work. I had never met him before. We were offering drive through ashes this past Ash Wednesday and as he drove by in his work truck, he threw a quick U-turn and pulled in. “Thank you,” he said through tears.
I’m always taken aback by this simple, sacred gesture. This recognition of our frailty and our limits. I’m amazed at the peace that comes through this moment of confession. Confession of our sin, yes, but especially of our mortality. In a culture that hides itself from the fear of death, I’m surprised at the actual softening that occurs as I accept this hard reality.
This year I will turn 50. That number is sobering to me. There is nothing youthful sounding about 50. Anything young at this age smacks of midlife crisis. It is time to grow up and act like an adult. To accept that there are fewer days ahead than there is behind.
A mentor of mine brought this up to me recently. Jeff, you’re turning 50. You need to think about the problem you’re here to solve. What is the assignment you’ve been given? How can you pour yourself completely into the work God has given you to do?
These are stewardship questions, and they are important ones to ask. Truly, I’m accountable for how I’ve lived my life and what I’ve done with the talents and gifts I’ve been given. I want to be found faithful. To hear my heavenly Father say, “well done.”
But the ash speaks to a different part of my heart. The part that knows how small and inconsequential my life and actions are apart from a God that can take and multiply my trifling efforts. The part that sees all my flaws and weaknesses and marvels at how God can still use such a broken vessel. Yes, I am healing and being made whole, but the ash reminds me that I will only get so far in this lifetime.
Because all I have is this brief moment of time. And like grass, this life will quickly wither and be gone. So maybe I can look at myself with a bit more gentleness. “Remember Jeff, you are dust, and to dust you will return.”
Lent is a time to reflect on this quick little blip of our lives on the eternal timeline, and marvel that we are caught up in something so much larger than any of this and any of us. Resurrection has happened. Death has been conquered. And though none of us will escape death, it will not be the last word. And the truest part of us will endure.
As I think about the year we’ve had and the year ahead, there is so much yet to be done. So much work left to do. But Lent gives us to permission to accept and even embrace our limits. To accept our fragility and vulnerability. That the value and glory of my life is found completely in the eyes of the Father, and my worth is and will always be simply to remain as His beloved.