Ash Wednesday.C.25
Words from the Committal in the Burial Office
The Rev. Melanie McCarley

I once visited the apartment of a distant relative. She announced—without apology—that she had given up dusting. She just let it accumulate. “It’s going to do that anyway, so I just let it.” she said.

I was a young person who, at the time, took no joy in cleaning, so I listened to this pronouncement with a good deal of interest—thinking, no doubt, that I would use this to my advantage when asked to do some housecleaning by my parents.

Dust. It does accumulate, doesn’t it. It gets in everywhere. I took a set of Pottery out of a glass cabinet, where it has been looking pretty for several years—and sure enough, the pottery and glass were coated with a fine layer of—you guessed it, dust. Give dust just the smallest of entrances—and it makes itself at home.

There are different approaches to dealing with dust—some folks go with a minimalist design in their home, getting rid of all the things which might catch dust, others with a high-tech approach arming their home with a variety of filters to screen out the offending particles, some clean on a schedule, others pay people to do the cleaning for them. What everyone seems to have in common is this—Dust is perceived as a problem. Like a bad guest, it is not something people like to have in their home.

Today’s sermon—on Ash Wednesday, is a homage to dust. A different approach to seeing dust. Why? Well, because when you get right down to it, you and I, we have a great affinity with dust.

So here are some positive attributes of dust. Cloud formation. Dust particles act as cloud condensation nuclei, which help water vapor form into droplets. This process is important for the water cycle and precipitation patterns. And—if you have a penchant for beautiful sunsets and sunrises—well, you have dust to thank for that glorious display. Dust in the atmosphere absorbs blue and green light, allowing orange and red light to pass through—creating those moments of sublime beauty which we cherish. What’s more, dust from specific chemicals and metals is used to create the colors in fireworks. And finally—air purification (of all things). Dust can neutralize ozone, which can harm the lungs. So, dust, it has its uses.

But what is it, exacty? Truth is—dust is a whole lot of everything—dead skin cells, animal dander, pollen, bacteria, smoke, ash, salt crystals from the ocean, small bits of dirt and rock, clothing fibers-you name it. What’s more—it is ourselves. “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

I’m partial to what Diana Butler Bass has to say about dust. She writes: “We are animated dirt. Soil and life joined. From living ground we were made; to living ground we will return. What does it really mean that we are made from dust? I find it shockingly beautiful—the idea that my life is drawn from the earth. Of course, that dust is made from exploding stars and from all the life that ever existed. It carries the memories of billions of years, of immense wisdom, of lives lived long ago. We are connected so deeply with all that has gone before and all that will be. One day, I shall return to that dust—and my being will join with the dust. Once, I considered “to dust you shall return” a sad thought. Now, I am amazed by it. My body is connected to ancient matter, distant stars, to all living things—we all share in the same stuff.” Amazing. But that is not the end.

In the Service of the Burial of the Dead, during the Committal, the priest, while casting earth upon the coffin repeats these words: “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” It sounds so absolute. As though it is the final equation as to who we are and where we are bound. Perhaps, but I rather doubt it.

It is to be remembered that these words are really the second half of a sentence. And they make sense only when you put all of the words together.

The Committal, you see, does not begin with words of ending—but rather those of new beginnings: “In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brother (or sister) who has died. “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. And then the committal concludes with a blessing.

Those ashes—they are not an ending—they are the stuff from which something new is being made. Oh, we may not be able to see it—not yet, anyway, but God tells us it is there. Jesus says, in the sixth chapter of John: “I will lose nothing of all that I have created, but raise it up on the last day.” (John 6:39—straight from our Savior’s mouth). You cannot be resurrected without dying. There is no resurrection without first becoming dust.

Lent is a season of re-orientation. We are to take a close look—an inventory, if you will, as to what we are—and what, with the grace of God, we shall be. When those ashes are placed upon your forehead, they are done in the shape of a cross. Jesus is what makes those ashes good news. The shape of a cross—it reminds you who you are (a child of God) and to whom you belong. So, you may be dust, but you are divine dust, you are dust that is infused with the promise of life. Now, that is something to be mindful of and even grateful for as we embark upon this holy season of Lent.

How should this make any difference to you as you begin this holy time of year? Perhaps we might consider Lent to be a time for us to get in touch with the truth of who we are. The root of the word “humility” comes from the Latin word humilitas which comes from humus meaning “earth.” Lent is a time of learning the art of humility. “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” It can also be a time of stewardship—take time this Lent to give consideration to the earth itself, climate change, and ways in which we can stem the tide of self-destructive behavior. Perhaps you might consider getting your hands dirty—plant something beautiful or tasty. Remember that it is from the dust that the lilies grow. My goodness, you can even dust your house—but if you do so, do it with a sense of care and even joy—looking at that dust as though it is really something miraculous, graced by God. Because, in truth—it is. Just like you and me. In Jesus’ name. Amen.