“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” And from the dust, God makes beautiful things out of us. I never imagined that I’d celebrate Ash Wednesday holding the memory of my father’s ashes. That the one who walked to the cross and claimed us at baptism walked the same dusty, earthen land.
On Ash Wednesday, when the ashes are marked on our foreheads, when we feel the ash, remember the darkness and reflect on death, we know intimately that the one on the cross was made of the same dust as us. It’s a love that claims us from the beginning, embraced by the arms of God, and doesn’t let go even when our life on earth ends. By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken for you are dust, and to dust you shall return. The water at our baptism washes over us with a love and grace stronger than anything we can imagine and greater than any mistake we’ve made-stronger even than death. On this day of ashes and dust and remembrance, the sign of the cross on our foreheads reminds us of the cross from our baptisms. We remember the places we’ve been and think toward the places we’ll go and all the beautiful things God will make out of each of us. Communities gather to feel the ashen cross on their foreheads and to hear the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”Īsh Wednesday brings us to our knees. Thread starter sweet prince Start date 1 sweet prince. That tender, solemn day in the church where we gather to reflect on death. From dust you came, and from dust you will return, incel.
The instructions for his ashes were written well before I even finished seminary, let alone knew where and how God was calling me in ministry.īut my dad knew intimately that God makes beautiful things out of us, from the dust. You see, not only in his life but in his death, my dad knew the hope and beauty of dust. I knew my dad’s love for the stretching skies and vast prairies.Īnd finally, the final resting place for his ashes-my first call congregation. I heard the stories my dad shared of his father’s life growing up in the flat, beautiful land of Nebraska. The fondest memories were shared, of games outside throughout the summer months, working on cars with his dad, and telling stories with his brother late at night under the covers. The places where he learned to love and be loved. In Buffalo he wanted the ashes spread at his school and his home. Nebraska, where his ancestors lived and my first call congregation. In the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, since out of it you were taken for dust you are and unto dust you shall return (Gen 3:17-19). Three locations brimmed with the holiness where he wished his ashes to rest: his hometown of Buffalo, N.Y. He would be cremated and had specific directions on where to scatter his dust.Ī tablespoon of his ashes, to be precise.
You make beautiful things out of the dust / You make beautiful things out of us -Gungor.Įven before he was sick and death could be denied, my dad knew what would happen to his dust.
0 kommentar(er)
