Remember the Dust

A variety of responses to the Imposition of Ashes yesterday...

As I moved toward a woman in a care center, I thought she was deep in meditation.  It turns out she had fallen asleep (can't say that I blame her).  I began to touch her forehead and she awoke with a start.  I began to apologize for startling her but she just smiled.

Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.  What a way to spoil a nice nap!

Several folks came through the procession and received their crumbly ash crosses.  They responded with "Thank you."  I wonder how much of that was gratitude and how much was reflex.

Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.  Thank you, I think.

A little guy came with Dad.  I made the mistake of trying to put the ashes on him first.  That was not going to happen in this lifetime.  He nearly ran down the aisle to escape.  Later, when he came forward with Dad for communion, he eyed me with suspicion and wanted nothing to do with the blessing.

Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.  I'd like to back away as well.

There is nothing like an Ash Wednesday service to go hard on the newly-bereaved.  They don't need any more reminders of mortality, finitude, death and despair.  Thus the tears as they came through the line with courage to still take on yet one more memento mori.

Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.  When someone has recently died, how can I remember anything else?

I'm always struck by the parents who bring their infants to be marked with the mortality muck.  It is a burden to think that this new bundle of joy stands under the shadow of death just like the rest of us.  Suddenly the reality of parenting as sacrificial ministry lands on them like an catapulted elephant.

Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.  I wish I could forget that when I hold my little one.

I'm glad it's Thursday.