The Gift of Our Mortality

“Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” From the Ash Wednesday Liturgy

Most of us do not like thinking about our own mortality. Despite knowing that we will not live forever, there is a general avoidance of really sitting with that fact. I knew a colleague long ago who led a Lenten retreat where everyone had to write their own obituary and then lie prone on a pew while the burial rite was read. That seemed like quite a lot, but I understand the impulse.

Our tradition always starts the season of Lent with Ash Wednesday. Preparing for Easter and the joy of resurrection means we must confront the reality that the only gateway to that new life is through death. We place ashes on our foreheads, regardless of age or health status. We make the sign of the cross on newborn babies and our elders. It never fails to move me when I solemnly say, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

One beauty of Ash Wednesday is that after we’ve faced our own mortality squarely, at that same service we then return to the rail for Communion, reminding us of the feast of resurrection. We hold both tensions this day.

I understand the desire to avoid the reality of our mortality. And when I am mindful of my own mortality, I make different choices. If we knew our last day was today, what might we do differently? What might we relinquish? Are there stresses and concerns that simply fall away when we know there is less time?

Part of my rule of life is observing the sacrament of the present moment. It reminds me that God is present in all the moments of our days. It is a way of holding the limits of our lives before our eyes. We cannot know the future, and fully appreciating the sacrament of each day allows the most ordinary circumstances to be transformed. Meaning becomes more tangible when we slow down long enough to recognize that our every breath is a gift.

The season of Lent gives us an opportunity to pause from the frenetic pace of our lives and ask important questions. Are we leading a life grounded in gratitude and care? Do we notice the holy moments that are always around the corner? Are there people and relationships that need our attention?

Traditionally during Lent, we give things up or take on practices that make us more aware. Those actions begin with the willingness to honor the gift of limits in our lives. Limits allow us to flourish, and the very limit of our earthly pilgrimage helps us honor the good gift of life. I hope you will join us for services today. And if not, at least take a pause and remember what it is to walk this earth and appreciate the life we have.

Peace, Beth +