We are dust...holy dust.
The Rev. Amy Hodges Morehous
March 9, 2011
Church of the Ascension
Ash Wednesday
8 The Lord is full of compassion and mercy, *
slow to anger and of great kindness.
9 He will not always accuse, us, *
Nor will he keep his anger for ever.
10 He has not dealt with us according to our sins, *
Nor rewarded us according to our wickedness.
11 For as the heavens are high above the earth, *
so is his mercy great upon those who fear him.
12 As far as the east is from the west, *
so far has he removed our sins from us.
13 As a father cares for his children, *
so does the Lord care for those who fear him.
14 For he himself knows whereof we are made; *
he remembers that we are but dust.
I was not with you last year on Ash Wednesday. Instead, I was helping to bury and memorialize the father of one of my best friends. I had known Jerry by knowing his daughter for almost 20 years. I knew him as a quiet guy, with a dry wit. He had a re-occurence of melanoma - swift, sudden, and unexpected. The time between his diagnosis and death was brief - only a few weeks. So I spent last Ash Wednesday hugging his family, and offering them love and support in a time when that was what was needed.
That’s one of the things we do, here in community. We offer support when we can. Tears when we should. And love always. Together, tonight, as a community, we are here to remember, and to repent. We are here to acknowledge that we, too, will go as all those who have gone before us. We are sobered by that knowledge. We remember together that we are but dust.
In your hand, you should have a little bit of dust - a rock, given to you as you entered. If you didn’t pick one up, the ushers can provide you with one. I will admit that handing out rocks when you know you’re preaching is a little bit of a dicey proposition. If you are visiting, you should know that isn’t exactly one of our common practices. And I am not up here tonight to advocate stoning as a Lenten discipline.
When we think of Lenten discipline, we frequently think of giving things up. People give up all kinds of things. Soda. Chocolate. Desserts. Meat. facebook. One year for Lent I gave up being self-critical, which was surprisingly difficult. Of course, I took it up again immediately, as soon as Easter came, so make of that what you will.
But the giving up of ‘things’ is not all there is to Lent. Sometimes, it is good for our spirits to take things on. To try out a new kind of prayer. To resolve to do a good deed for others. To read Scripture daily. Those are all good things.
Tonight what I’m going to ask you to do is a bit of both. We’ll all have the opportunity to give something up...and to take something up. Tonight, what I want us to contemplate giving up is a small share of our burdens. We all have them. Some of us have more than our fair share. Some of us might have trouble thinking of one - if so, we’ll all try not to envy you your good fortune. I want you to think of one of yours.
Is it a grief or loss? A worry about the future? A relationship broken and unmended? An anxiety for your children or your partner? An unrelistic expectation? A regret you can’t shake? Something you cannot forgive in yourself, or in others? Tonight I’m going to ask you to remember your many burdens, those things that wear us down, that keep us up in the middle of the night. These rocks in our hands - they represent our burdens. Now, I will warn you that they are in no way proportional. The weight of your burdens may feel crushing in comparison to this tiny pebble. You may be bearing up under so many burdens that you feel you need a whole garden of rock. Nor are we to compare one person’s burden to another. You may look at your neighbor’s rock, and think, “Mine is far larger than hers.” And indeed, it may be. But here, tonight...for a moment....we’re going to hold our own rock, and we’re going to think of one burden. Choose one that you have carried in your heart for too long, one that has worn you down, or divided you from God. Close your eyes, if that helps you. But here...for a small space...we’re going to be quiet, and hold our small bit of dust, and remember.
….........................................................
Now that we’ve all had time to think, I will confess to you one of the many sins that I confess to God every Ash Wednesday - the sin of self-sufficiency. I find that I want to hold on to my burdens, to keep them close to my heart, and make an idol out of them. If I do that long enough, they weigh down my spirit, and they impede my relationship with God, and with you. That is not God’s will for me, or for you.
For while we all remember here tonight that we are but dust, I tell you that we are holy dust. We are formed and shaped from dust to dust, from first breath to last, by a God who loves us enough to send his son to live among us, to love us, and to give his life up for us. We are the children of a loving God, whose wish for us is not suffering, is not grief, is not separation, nor the weight of a heavy burden.
12 As far as the east is from the west, *
so far has he removed our sins from us.
13 As a father cares for his children, *
so does the Lord care for those who fear him.
14 For he himself knows whereof we are made; *
he remembers that we are but dust.
So, tonight, on this Ash Wednesday, to begin this holy Lent, I’m going to lay down my burden, my bit of dust. Here --- in this basket. I do not do this lightly, but with reverence, and prayer, knowing that God does not wish me to be bowed down by the weight of it.
When you have thought it through, I invite you to come forward, and place your stone in the basket. With it, we are beginning Lent by doing a holy thing - letting go of a burden. I hope you surrender that burden to God, and to this place.
So, now...you too are invited to bring your stone forward, to leave it here in this holy space, if the Spirit moves you to do so.
…......................................................
I said that Lent was about giving up, and we have each given up something dear to us, something costly. But Lent is also about taking on something new. This is a visual representation of our burdens - this mounded pile of stones. Together, they are too much for one person to hold.
But that is why we are here - we have laid our burdens down tonight in the community of Christ. We have shared them with one another. If you have laid a stone here, you have surrendered your burden to God, and to this community. Now I ask each of you who laid down a burden...to take another burden up. But not one of your own. When you come forward for the imposition of ashes, I would ask you to pick up a stone to take home. It will not be your stone. It will not be your burden, but your joy.
This stone is someone else’s deep burden, given over to God. I will take it home with me, in joy and thanksgiving for God’s great love, even in the midst of our sin and our brokenness. I will take it to pray over it during Lent, to hold it before God, so that someone else no longer has to do it alone.
Together, as a community in Christ, may we bear one another’s burdens this Lent with thanksgiving, gratitude and joy. May you know that your burden has been blessed, that someone else will bear it for you now, with love and hopefulness. May you go from here remembering that we are but dust, but we are holy dust. We are children of the living, redeeming and sustaining God, and we are never alone.
Amen.
Holy and loving God, you have before you here the burdens of your people. Long have you seen your people weighed down with burdens that they do not need to carry alone. Bless these stones, and bless those who carry them forth from here, mindful of their weight in our lives. Amen.
March 9, 2011
Church of the Ascension
Ash Wednesday
8 The Lord is full of compassion and mercy, *
slow to anger and of great kindness.
9 He will not always accuse, us, *
Nor will he keep his anger for ever.
10 He has not dealt with us according to our sins, *
Nor rewarded us according to our wickedness.
11 For as the heavens are high above the earth, *
so is his mercy great upon those who fear him.
12 As far as the east is from the west, *
so far has he removed our sins from us.
13 As a father cares for his children, *
so does the Lord care for those who fear him.
14 For he himself knows whereof we are made; *
he remembers that we are but dust.
I was not with you last year on Ash Wednesday. Instead, I was helping to bury and memorialize the father of one of my best friends. I had known Jerry by knowing his daughter for almost 20 years. I knew him as a quiet guy, with a dry wit. He had a re-occurence of melanoma - swift, sudden, and unexpected. The time between his diagnosis and death was brief - only a few weeks. So I spent last Ash Wednesday hugging his family, and offering them love and support in a time when that was what was needed.
That’s one of the things we do, here in community. We offer support when we can. Tears when we should. And love always. Together, tonight, as a community, we are here to remember, and to repent. We are here to acknowledge that we, too, will go as all those who have gone before us. We are sobered by that knowledge. We remember together that we are but dust.
In your hand, you should have a little bit of dust - a rock, given to you as you entered. If you didn’t pick one up, the ushers can provide you with one. I will admit that handing out rocks when you know you’re preaching is a little bit of a dicey proposition. If you are visiting, you should know that isn’t exactly one of our common practices. And I am not up here tonight to advocate stoning as a Lenten discipline.
When we think of Lenten discipline, we frequently think of giving things up. People give up all kinds of things. Soda. Chocolate. Desserts. Meat. facebook. One year for Lent I gave up being self-critical, which was surprisingly difficult. Of course, I took it up again immediately, as soon as Easter came, so make of that what you will.
But the giving up of ‘things’ is not all there is to Lent. Sometimes, it is good for our spirits to take things on. To try out a new kind of prayer. To resolve to do a good deed for others. To read Scripture daily. Those are all good things.
Tonight what I’m going to ask you to do is a bit of both. We’ll all have the opportunity to give something up...and to take something up. Tonight, what I want us to contemplate giving up is a small share of our burdens. We all have them. Some of us have more than our fair share. Some of us might have trouble thinking of one - if so, we’ll all try not to envy you your good fortune. I want you to think of one of yours.
Is it a grief or loss? A worry about the future? A relationship broken and unmended? An anxiety for your children or your partner? An unrelistic expectation? A regret you can’t shake? Something you cannot forgive in yourself, or in others? Tonight I’m going to ask you to remember your many burdens, those things that wear us down, that keep us up in the middle of the night. These rocks in our hands - they represent our burdens. Now, I will warn you that they are in no way proportional. The weight of your burdens may feel crushing in comparison to this tiny pebble. You may be bearing up under so many burdens that you feel you need a whole garden of rock. Nor are we to compare one person’s burden to another. You may look at your neighbor’s rock, and think, “Mine is far larger than hers.” And indeed, it may be. But here, tonight...for a moment....we’re going to hold our own rock, and we’re going to think of one burden. Choose one that you have carried in your heart for too long, one that has worn you down, or divided you from God. Close your eyes, if that helps you. But here...for a small space...we’re going to be quiet, and hold our small bit of dust, and remember.
….........................................................
Now that we’ve all had time to think, I will confess to you one of the many sins that I confess to God every Ash Wednesday - the sin of self-sufficiency. I find that I want to hold on to my burdens, to keep them close to my heart, and make an idol out of them. If I do that long enough, they weigh down my spirit, and they impede my relationship with God, and with you. That is not God’s will for me, or for you.
For while we all remember here tonight that we are but dust, I tell you that we are holy dust. We are formed and shaped from dust to dust, from first breath to last, by a God who loves us enough to send his son to live among us, to love us, and to give his life up for us. We are the children of a loving God, whose wish for us is not suffering, is not grief, is not separation, nor the weight of a heavy burden.
12 As far as the east is from the west, *
so far has he removed our sins from us.
13 As a father cares for his children, *
so does the Lord care for those who fear him.
14 For he himself knows whereof we are made; *
he remembers that we are but dust.
So, tonight, on this Ash Wednesday, to begin this holy Lent, I’m going to lay down my burden, my bit of dust. Here --- in this basket. I do not do this lightly, but with reverence, and prayer, knowing that God does not wish me to be bowed down by the weight of it.
When you have thought it through, I invite you to come forward, and place your stone in the basket. With it, we are beginning Lent by doing a holy thing - letting go of a burden. I hope you surrender that burden to God, and to this place.
So, now...you too are invited to bring your stone forward, to leave it here in this holy space, if the Spirit moves you to do so.
…......................................................
I said that Lent was about giving up, and we have each given up something dear to us, something costly. But Lent is also about taking on something new. This is a visual representation of our burdens - this mounded pile of stones. Together, they are too much for one person to hold.
But that is why we are here - we have laid our burdens down tonight in the community of Christ. We have shared them with one another. If you have laid a stone here, you have surrendered your burden to God, and to this community. Now I ask each of you who laid down a burden...to take another burden up. But not one of your own. When you come forward for the imposition of ashes, I would ask you to pick up a stone to take home. It will not be your stone. It will not be your burden, but your joy.
This stone is someone else’s deep burden, given over to God. I will take it home with me, in joy and thanksgiving for God’s great love, even in the midst of our sin and our brokenness. I will take it to pray over it during Lent, to hold it before God, so that someone else no longer has to do it alone.
Together, as a community in Christ, may we bear one another’s burdens this Lent with thanksgiving, gratitude and joy. May you know that your burden has been blessed, that someone else will bear it for you now, with love and hopefulness. May you go from here remembering that we are but dust, but we are holy dust. We are children of the living, redeeming and sustaining God, and we are never alone.
Amen.
Holy and loving God, you have before you here the burdens of your people. Long have you seen your people weighed down with burdens that they do not need to carry alone. Bless these stones, and bless those who carry them forth from here, mindful of their weight in our lives. Amen.
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