Dust to Dust, Embracing The Human Tribe: An Ash Wednesday Prayer

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

- Traditional Ash Wednesday Liturgy 

It has always bothered me that the good news of Christianity is anything but the "good news that will cause great joy for all the people (As Luke's gospel put it)." 

No, for too many the Christian message has become at best a point of contention, at worst an excuse for tribalism. It has become news that "is good for me and my group, but not so good for you." With the you being sinners of all sorts—non-believers, liberals, homosexuals, immigrants, conservatives, fundamentalists—whoever is in those "other" groups. Or, perhaps more often, this good news for all people becomes news that is "fine for you, just don't push it on me." With the you in this case being the Jesus freaks, Catholics, Pentecostals, liberals, Baptists, Lutherans, conservatives, Evangelicals, whoever those people are gathering for their so-called worship every week and neglecting to engage with the rest of us (which, by the way, is just fine with us).

I suppose it is natural. It is only human that any news to be shared would also have the potential to divide. For anything we might call "news" must certainly contain some form of knowledge to be transmitted as content. And wherever knowledge exists as such, there is also the shadow side of knowledge—as power to be exploited. Indeed, good news is hard to find! Even the good news. For it's not good news if I am certain of it and you have to agree with my certainty. Then it is dogma, then it is the letter of the law, which Paul tells us will surely convict us all in the end. 

No, good news cannot be about your certainty. But it can be about your convictions. Paul's words in Romans 8 come to mind, 

"For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." 

What a beautiful sentiment. Paul is convinced of these things! See how that strikes you as a the reader? He's not imposing anything upon you, simply sharing a deep conviction of his own and holding forth a lovely list, enumerating the many obstacles which he believes to be nothing before the all-powerful love of God in Christ. He is making a proclamation. He is sharing news, but he is doing it in a way that does not impose.

No, the good news cannot be an imposition. It cannot play on power dynamics. It cannot be something that I have and you need, that I know properly and you know mistakenly, that I will share when I think you are ready, that I have and you don't! What is good about that? Jesus never talked like that. He announced freedom and forgiveness and healing. He announced the kingdom of God. Period. His words were not held as power, but given as gift. 

(Of course some will say, "But, but what about when he said he was 'the way and the truth?' What about when he said that no one comes to Father except by him?" To which I would simply ask "what was that way that Jesus was?" It was a way of humility and peace, a way of submission, yes even submission unto death—that was the way! In fact, Philippians tells us that "[even Jesus] who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited." So yes, of course he was the way, and is the way, and his life showed the fullness of that submissive, giving, way.)

Today is Ash Wednesday. Today is the day that many Christian churches begin a slow, solemn march toward the sorrow of Holy Week and its surprising, culminating celebration, that highest day of good news sharing in the church—Easter Sunday. It is fitting, then, that we would begin this season in humility, that we would at least attempt to avoid the haughtiness of a certainty that would set us apart and remember our humble place within the great tribe of humanity. 

"You are dust and to dust you shall return."

For who can hear the ancient Ash Wednesday reminder without a full recognition of our exact equal footing with every other person who ever was and ever will be? Who can hear these words without the stark realization of our true standing before that which transcends all of the here and now? Who can hear these words and draw any lines between themselves and another?

Perhaps we can take a cue from this stark reality, this "bad news" reminder with which we start the Lenten season. Perhaps this news, stunning and humbling as it is, could be the template for how to speak of our Easter convictions without turning them into lines that divide.

What would it be like to "know" the good news of resurrection in the same way that we know our ultimate fate as dust? Could we hear it like that? Could we "know" it while holding our place of equal footing with others (therefore not judging or rating others in their standing before God)? Could we hold the good news of the gospel in a fundamental way, a way that joins us to one another, a way that allows us to see that we are all in this together, to actually believe that we are ALL the body of Christ, just like our Sunday school teacher said? 

What would it be like to hear the good news of Jesus as such? It might, rightfully, seem as if we were starting to achieve that dream that Jesus had for us, that vision and prayer he had that we might "be one as he and the Father are one."

Hmm... Could that be true for us, mere dust that we are? Why, to hold the story of Easter like that? It might start to actually sound like it was good news "for all the people." Even more, we might start to act like it.