Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

As a mantra, this one is a bit odd. Yet I return to this phrase over and over. Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

I find great grace in these words. I have other mantras too, mantras I’ve picked up from my American upbringing: “you can do anything you put your mind to” and “if you work hard enough, you have it all” and “everything is going to fall apart if you don’t get this right.”

Sometimes these are useful. Sometimes I do need a boost of confidence, or a kick in the pants to get me going.

But sometimes, our “we can do anything” attitudes are crushing us. Because it means that each time we fail, each time we crash and burn, it’s all our fault. That if we aren’t high achievers, we’re nothing.

There’s been a meme going around my social media recently that hits close to home: a photo of a teary-eyed, exhausted person with the caption, “me trying to excel in my career, maintain a social life, drink enough water, exercise, text everyone back, stay sane, survive, and be happy.” Some of us could add other things to that list: spend quality time with the kids, be at every church event, volunteer, travel, be well-informed about news and politics, pray daily, buy organic, get enough sleep.

It gets overwhelming. Our plates are full. Our time is scheduled to the brim. And this is just in our own lives. When we peek out to the larger world, it only gets more chaotic—war and poverty and anger and despair, and as Christians, this nagging sense that all those problems land on our plate too. So we try to be light and love, light and love, more light, more love, and eventually we start running on fumes.

It’s easy to burnout. The world needs superheroes, and we are eager to step up to the plate, for a time at least. We want to be SuperMom, SuperBoss, SuperPastor. We want to save the world, because we know how much it needs saving. But we can’t: we miss deadlines and yell at the kids and watch too much TV. Our capes lie in tatters at the end of the day.

And that’s why I long for Ash Wednesday, and for the season of Lent. When I am overwhelmed, overworked; when I have convinced myself that the weight of church success or family harmony or world peace rests on my shoulders; when the guilt of all I have not been able to accomplish hangs heavy around me, then I turn to the words of Ash Wednesday with grateful relief:

Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

Remember you are human. Remember you are fragile. Remember you are limited. Remember that you have strengths and weaknesses and that that’s okay. Remember that perfect does not ever have to be the goal.

Be gentle with yourself, because you are dust. Dust given divine spark and breath, but dust nonetheless.

I love Ash Wednesday because it teaches me that I don’t have to save the world. God’s doing that. God’s got that. I only have to be me. Not a Savior. Not a Superhero. Just a child of God.

And to me, that is the most amazing, ashy grace.

 

Crescent Springs Presbyterian will have its Ash Wednesday service in the sanctuary on March 1 at 6:30pm. You are invited to supper at 5:30pm. If you are not able to be present but still wish to receive the grace of ashes, many churches offer Ashes to Go. Keep an eye out for clergy on sidewalks and in parking lots as you go about your daily drive.