My pastor, like the pastor tonight, said "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." It is powerful, but tonight it hit me like a ton of bricks. I've held the very dust my body will return to in my hands. I've felt dust, and I will return to that very dust.
In a previous post I've mentioned handling my brother's ashes. And tonight during worship that memory persisted. I enter this season of Lent focused on the eventual cross that brings hope of new life, light that brings a new day and joy. Yet, before I can reach the cross I must look inward, and fully figure out the words spoken to me as a cross of ashes was drawn on my forehead. Remember...that...you...are...dust. I am nothing, I am flesh, I am mortal. And...to...dust...you...shall...return. I am nothing. I will be dust. "But God gives us the free gift of life forever in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 6:23)
When I try to internalize all of this my stomach turns and I feel sick and sad. I miss my brother. I can't plead for his return, because it is pointless. As I enter the season of Lent the grieving for my brother is renewed. I feel the same numbness that I felt the first night I had to close my eyes knowing my brother was no longer in the world. The realization of his loss sends shock waves throughout my body, a quiet reminder that his death is true. These forty days leading up to Easter will be for me a slow, steady, heart breaking, gut wrenching climb to finally see the glory of the cross, and the mystery and wonderful joy of the empty tomb. Believe me it is not easy, I want to run, I want to curl up in a ball and cry until my body ceases to produce tears. I fight against this urge every single moment of every single day.
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