The Rev. Canon Anne E. Kitch
Isaiah 58:1-12; Psalm 103; 2 Corinthians 5:20-6:10; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
Clearly, we do not remember that we are dust. I would suspect that few if any of us begin our day saying, “Thank you God for this day…and that I am dust.” We may not remember that we are dust, but apparently God does. As the psalmist prays, “For he himself knows whereof we are made; he remembers that we are but dust (Psalm 103:14). Fortunately we do have this yearly liturgy to remind us. This is a good thing because I think in our culture we can use all the help we can get to remember our mortality. We fend off death with extreme medical procedures. We keep death out of sight and as much out of mind as we can. We don’t want to talk about death and dying, as if they are distasteful subjects. We whisper words like “cancer” as if having a disease means we are going to die and we wouldn’t want to admit that. But as Hospice Chaplain Anne Huey states, “Actually, being alive means we're going to die.”
And although “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” is a well known mantra used in many funeral services, our culture is bent on preventing just that. As local author Mark Harris describes in his new book Grave Matters, many modern burial practices aim to prevent our bodies from returning to the earth. High-end modern coffins are built out of bronze and copper and can be sealed to prevent the elements from reaching the body. Most cemeteries pour three thousand pounds of concrete into each grave to create a vault so that coffins won’t collapse as quickly and even when they eventually do, the ground above them will stay nice and smooth. Which does make mowing easier.
Just what are we protecting? We don’t die well in our culture. And I believe when we don’t die well, we don’t live well either. I am not talking simply about living each day to the fullest, although that is not a bad practice. Certainly people who have had near death experiences often re-examine their priorities and commit to living a better life by spending time on what is important. Certainly, to remember that we are dust is to remember our mortality. But to remember our mortality is not just about acknowledging that we will die; it is also about recalling that we are mortal, that God created us and we are God’s creatures. I think as Christians there is more to living well than just living each day to the fullest, and that is striving for the things eternal.
What are the things that endure? What lasts beyond death? And as a people whose faith is most fully known at the foot of the cross, in the face of death itself, perhaps the better question is, what conquers death? St. Paul reminds us of the greater things when he writes, “Faith, hope and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.” It is after all love that hangs on the cross and reaches to the tomb and beyond. I cannot escape the command that Jesus holds up for us, to love my neighbor as myself. To remember that we are dust and that we will return to dust compels us toward works of mercy in the world that will add to the goodness of the world. It is not we who will continue. So do we want a legacy of monuments and money—or of adding to the balance of love? Loving my neighbor as myself can in fact make the world is a better place.
The Matthew passage is clear about certain kinds of piety that are dangerous to our souls—the kind that is about drawing attention to ourselves. But notice that Jesus still commands us to give alms, pray and fast. These spiritual practices are important. They help to move us beyond ourselves and connect us to the world. It is these spiritual practices that make a difference in the world, that produce the kind of treasure that is worth having. As Isaiah says, “Is this not the fast I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice…to let the oppressed go free? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house?” If we live lives that are always about giving away to others, then we are adding to the world.
According to Mark Harris, it was in the mid 19th century in our country that coffins began to be called caskets—a word that at that time referred specifically to jewelry boxes. This renaming heightened the sense of the body as precious. But our body is not the treasure. Our treasure is Christ. God remembers that we are dust, and when we remember it as well, we can focus on the practices which conquer death, the practices of love. We can be as ubiquitous as the dust in the air, but dust motes of love adding to the balance of what is redemptive in the world.
Episcopal priest and author Suzanne Guthrie writes, “Because I am earthbound and made of dust, I am deathbound and will return to dust, my time will end in dying.” She goes on to pray, “I may be dust, O Blessed, Holy One. But I know I am your dust.” Remember that you are dust. Remember whose dust you are. Amen.
Copyright 2007 © by Anne E. Kitch
(Anne Huey quoted from an article in the Morning Call, Feb 9, 2007. Mark Harris, Grave Matters: A Journey Through the Modern Funeral Industry to a Natural Way of Burial. Suzanne Guthrie, Praying the Hours pp. 30, 36)
