A Season of AshesRead Time 9 min

Memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris.

Remember, man, that you are dust, and to dust you will return.

The ashes that were just used to mark our foreheads speak a profound truth about who we are. One of the formulas that accompanies the process of marking articulates that truth perfectly – we are dust – and to dust we will return.

This truth is even more evident in modern times, since we now know that we in fact are made of dust billions of years old. We are the end products of eons of evolution — we can trace our bodies through primates and petunias and pumice all the way back to primal dirt — and to the Creator’s hand.

Our beginnings are as humble as that. Dirt is the most ordinary — basic — modest material in creation. Dirt is our origin — and however far we progress along the spiritual path — we can never escape our source. And dust is our final destiny along with all who have gone before us.

And yet, we are more than dust. We are graced with a spirit — we possess a soul. It is this that separates us from the rest of the animal world. But the very advantage that separates us from the rest of creation at the same time dramatizes our distance from the Creator.

Scripture first calls us dust and then calls us flesh. Flesh is the biblical word for humans immersed in worldly matters as opposed to heavenly affairs. Flesh is the biblical word for human beings at odds with God — estranged from God. Flesh denotes our human frailty and fragility — our unresolved moral struggles. One might say that we are doubly doomed — bodies made of random dust particles — and spirits engrossed in unruly flesh.

The saving grace is that the ashes we received on Ash Wednesday are twisted in the form of a cross. And that reminds us that the Word of God also became flesh — that the Son of God was incarnated in a body made of dust and a spirit engaged with flesh. And when Jesus took on flesh — his father smeared dust on his own forehead you might say. God himself is now smudged with dirty fingerprints.

After the Son descended from a spotless, spiritual heaven — the dusty, fleshy Jesus was doomed to die just as surely as we are. He did not shrink from dust — he did not avoid dust — he did not attempt to escape our common human fate. Nor did he stop at dust. Jesus descended into mortal death — into dismal dust — and emerged at the other end into an immortal, new life.

We are the sisters and brothers of Jesus. He has shown us the painful path to glory. Because of him, we are no longer ashamed of our lowly beginnings. We no longer fear returning to dust; we believe that our fleshy transgressions have been redeemed and that we will pass from ashes to Easter. So is our earthly journey. And so is the season of Lent.

So, as you begin making your way through this current season of Lent, you may be searching where to set your sights or focus your gaze. In Pope Francis’ Apostolic Exhortation to young people entitled Christus Vivit (March 25, 2019), he wrote: “Keep your eyes fixed on the outstretched arms of Christ crucified, let yourself be saved over and over again.”

Bearing these words in mind, I invite you to carve out some quiet moments over the next few weeks to ponder the following:

• How often do you take the time to sit before the cross of Christ — to reflect or pray — to ponder?

• Do you ever take the time to simply focus on what is before you, just looking at the cross in the face, so to speak.

• What does the cross tell us about God? God longs for us — longs to take each of us to himself. God has become vulnerable for us. God desires to heal us and to make us whole. God loves us — to the point of dying for us — and more.

• What does the cross tell us about ourselves? We long to be wanted — accepted. We want to be embraced as we are. We want to be forgiven, healed and made whole — from all of life’s hurts. We desire to be loved without conditions, limits or expectations. We need the help that can only come from God.

Throughout this Lenten season, take a deep, long look at the cross – and allow God to save you all over again. And as I suggested recently in my weekly email blog, “The Branches,” (you can sign up to receive it at here), I invite you to utilize the following prayer from St. Bonaventure:

Lord, Holy Father, show us what kind of man it is who is hanging for our sakes on the cross, whose suffering causes the rocks themselves to crack and crumble with compassion, whose death brings the dead back to life. Let my heart crack and crumble at the sight of him. Let my soul break apart with compassion for his suffering. Let it be shattered with grief at my sins for which he dies. And finally let it be softened with devoted love for him. Amen.