Unto
Dust Shalt Thou Return
Ash
Wednesday
6 March 2019; 12:00 noon and 7:00 p.m. Said Mass
6 March 2019; 12:00 noon and 7:00 p.m. Said Mass
With
Imposition of Ashes
Homily Delivered at the Parish Church of Trinity Ashland, Oregon
Homily Delivered at the Parish Church of Trinity Ashland, Oregon
The
Very Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
God, take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of
flesh. Amen
“Remember that thou art dust, and unto dust shalt thou return.”
These are the words God speaks in Genesis when casting out
the Man and Woman from the Garden of Delight after they turn from God. They are the words spoken when we impose
ashes on the foreheads of those invited to observe a holy Lent. They call us, in the words of the Latin
phrase, to remember our death: “memento mori.”
The great stoic philosopher Epictetus, writing in Greek and
living in first century Rome, permanently crippled from abuse he suffered from
one of his masters when he was a slave, believed that the key to balance and
even authentic moments of joy in life without being overwhelmed by despair when
loss occurs comes from being absolutely honest about the nature of things in
our life.
“When it comes to anything that delights you, is useful to
you, or of which you are fond, just remember to keep telling yourself what kind
of thing it is, starting with the most insignificant. If you’re fond of a jug,
say, ‘This is a jug that I’m fond of,’ and then, if it gets broken, you won’t
be too upset. If you kiss your child or your wife, say to yourself that it is a
human being that you’re kissing; and then, if one of them should die, you won’t
be undone emotionally.” (Epictetus, Enchiridion, 3)
That sounds harsh, doesn’t it? But he is not saying never love,
never rejoice. He is saying that even in
the midst of our joy, we must not lose sight of our true nature. We must not deceive ourselves into thinking
that joy lasts forever, or that our lives last forever. Remembering that we are mortal, seeing the ever-present
specter of death in our lives, this for Epictetus is at the heart of a balance
in life that allows us to truly enjoy the good things while not being
overwhelmed by the nasty bits. This,
because of the bottom line fact that we are mortal, and none of us gets out of
here alive.
That may strike you as deeply wrong, coming from the mouth
of a Christian minister. After all,
doesn’t Jesus offer us life everlasting and joys forever more?
But denial of death, self-delusion about our mortality and
frail nature, is at the heart of most abuses of religious faith, whether
Christian or otherwise. Our society tries
to hide death from us, especially from the children, and so most of us grow up thinking
that somehow we and our loved ones are immune, and that death is an abnormality,
an aberration, a stranger that we simply do not want ever to meet. Our funerary practices put this denial of
death onto steroids: when we have
caskets, we rarely have them open before the funeral, and more and more we have
the sanitized and clean process of cremation and small, tidy urns. I am not saying we sholdn't do this; Elena and I are planning to have our ashes immured in the Trinity Garden Columbarium. All I am saying is that the tidiness of all this comes at a cost of losing our connection to death as a part of our natural process.
And even though the words are in our Prayer
Book rites, we more and more rarely cast dirt onto the remains as we bury them
and say “ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
For many, even the idea of a funeral is just too damn depressing: better, we think, to have a happy, glad
“celebration of life,” perhaps with copious alcohol in the park, rather than a
rite that acknowledges that death has occurred and admits grief at our loss. The goal seems to be to deny that death has
occurred. But denial of death by its
very nature is also a denial of life honestly lived.
I prefer our Prayer Book rite, with its hope for the
resurrection coupled with honest grief and sorrow at our loss. The words of the commendation of the soul to
God says it all: “Thou only art
immortal, the creator and maker of humankind; and we are mortal, formed of the
earth and unto earth shall we return.
For so thou didst ordain when thou createdst me, saying: Dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou
return.’ All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song”
and we say this in funerals even in the middle of Lent—“‘Alleluia, alleluia,
alleluia.’”
Remembering that we are mortal is part of recognizing our true
natures. Epictetus also taught, “If you
want to be a good person, start out by admitting you are wicked.” He is not saying beat up on yourself and say
“mea culpa” even though you haven’t done all that much bad. He is saying, “be honest about your good and
your bad tendencies and actions.” This
is why those words “dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return” appear that
Genesis story about human defection from God.
It is why they appear not only in our funeral rite, but also in the Ash
Wednesday rite, when we are invited to observe a holy Lent by examining our
lives, forsaking our misdoings, and making amends for the wrongs we have
done.
One of the great blessings I enjoy serving as a parish
priest here in Ashland is that I am called upon to help many people through
hospice care and end of life, and lead their funerals. It has helped me to accept my own mortality,
and the frailty of those whom I love.
And that not by way of morbid gothic death-fascination, but by way of
authentic joy and hope, even in the midst of death and failing. As the Rite I funeral service says, “in the
midst of life, we are in death” and “if we live, we live unto the Lord, and if
we die, we die unto the Lord.”
In the name of Christ, Amen.
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