Letters to My Congregation

Remember that You Are Dust

Each week (usually Tuesday afternoon), I send out a letter to the congregation at ClearView Baptist Church. It’s a tiny way I hope to shepherd them during the week. Perhaps it might encourage, help, or challenge you as well.

Photo by Annika Gordon on Unsplash

ClearView Family,

As a born and bred Southern Baptist - Fat Tuesday (today), Ash Wednesday (tomorrow), and Lent have always been unfamiliar to me. They are things “others” did. Though no one in my religious circle articulated it this way, there seemed to always be an air of “we are superior Christians because we don’t need to do all that.” Seeing a black smudge on someone’s forehead on a Wednesday, 6 and 1/2 weeks before Easter, further separated me from “those Catholics.” It’s been foreign to me for most of my life.

Trust me - I’ve had my share of black smudges on my skin. In college, I worked at Chuck’s BBQ. I love a good outdoor fire. I regularly grill and smoke meats. It’s impossible to do any of these without getting some ash - dark black smudges - somewhere on your person. Usually, when I am smudged, I am in my happy place. It means I am doing something I love, and I smell like some sort of seasoning meat rub. It’s Katie’s favorite cologne (grin).

Photo by sarah richer on Unsplash

Yes. I’ve worn my share of black smudges. But I’ve never intentionally put one on my forehead. I’ve never had another intentionally mark my forehead with ash. And, to be sure, I don’t envision our tradition offering that sort of thing anytime soon. But I do want to encourage you, ClearView, not to waste Ash Wednesday. At least, let’s not waste the meaning and purpose behind it.

If you see anyone with a black smudge on their forehead tomorrow, someone attempted to make the sign of the cross with ash. As the sign was being made, someone said to them, “Remember that you are dust” or something similar. The purpose of Ash Wednesday, in other words, is to remind us humans that we are, well, human. We are limited. We are not God. We will die. There will be a day when we will not exist on the earth anymore like we do now. The world will, one day, go on without us. Let’s be honest. About an hour after our body is placed in the ground, our family will gather in the church fellowship hall, eat potato salad, and talk sports. Ash Wednesday is a reminder that we are needy, reliant, dependent, helpless, and frail. We were made from dust. We will return to dust.

I’m not sure my soul needs a more important reminder.

Jacob Lupfer, an expert on such things put it this way:

“‘Remember that you are dust’ is not despairing; it is simply accurate. We confront the creatureliness we spend our lives avoiding - even in the pew and the consulting room . . . I’ve come to see that Ash Wednesday’s starkness is its strength. It does not demand a narrative of progress or pretend that I have one. It does not promise repair. . . It does not diagnose or accuse. It simply offers repentance and belief as a command that feels more like an invitation. ‘Remember that you are dust’ does not condemn. It clears the ground. And in that moment, for reasons I may never fully understand, I find I can hear God.”

I love that. “Teach us to number our days,” the psalmist prays, “that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Considering our humanity and creaturely limits, then, moves us toward wisdom. It moves us toward our need for God. Remembering that we are dust, whether we put ash on our forehead or not, gives us permission to breathe. It allows our shoulders to relax and our lungs to slowly fill with air. God is God and we are not. We are weak, but He is strong. We don’t have to take ourselves so doggone seriously. God, He’s the One who should get the lion’s share of our seriousness.

ClearView - today, tomorrow, or the next time you play (or cook) with fire - let some ash or coal or soot smudge on you somewhere. Remember that you are dust. And so is your spouse and child and neighbor and colleague. God designed it this way. Give yourself a break. Give those around you a break. Talk to God about the bind you’re in. And watch what He can do with dark, nasty smudges.

I’ll see you tomorrow night for a fun meal together, and Sunday morning I’ll have my Bible open to Revelation 3:7-13.

Feeling Ashy,

Pastor Matt