Even the Children

Matthew 6:1-6; 16-21

Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.

²So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. ³But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, ⁴so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
⁵And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. ⁶But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
¹⁶And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. ¹⁷But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, ¹⁸so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
¹⁹Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; ²⁰but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. ²¹For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Even the Children

Let us Pray:

Lord,

Today we remember we are dust

And that to dust we will return

But not yet

Not today

So teach us, Lord, in the time that we have

In the gift of life you give

To make the most of our dusty selves

In the name of the one who came as a human

Who came as dust

To show us the way

Amen

Elizabeth-Anne Vanek has a wonderful poem about Ash Wednesday.

About dust.

She writes,

You thumbed grit into my furrowed brow,

Marking me with the sign of mortality,

The dust of last year’s palms.

The cross you traced seared, smudged skin,

And I recalled other ashes

Etched into my heart

By those who loved too little

Or not at all.

We are dust.  We all have dust in our lives. Places where we have loved too little…places we have been loved too little.

People we have loved too little…or not at all.

And we hide those secrets in corners of our lives to collect dust.

Those places we haven’t cleaned in a while. Those corners of our lives that lay dormant, that we don’t dare open the door to for fear that letting light shine upon that dust will reveal our true nature, somehow.

But, it’s ironic really.  We fear shedding light on the dust of our lives, those places that we let lie, for fear that people might see us for who we are; and yet, we are dust!

We are.

Even the children.

I remember in seminary a few years back at Ash Wednesday services.  A classmate of mine had recently, just weeks before, had a baby boy.  Beautiful baby boy.  And she brought him forward in services as we were all being anointed with ashes.  And on that lovely, bald little head, was marked the sign of the cross in ashes.

It was a stark symbol.

This little one, who had barely learned to breathe, was reminded that he, too, for all his potential, for the whole life ahead of him, was dust as well.  And to dust he will return.

And as we were walking out of church that day, I noticed a classmate crying.  I went up to her and put my arm around her, and she turned to me and said, “Even the children, yes?  Even the children…”

Yes.  Even the children.

We are all dust.  We all have dust.  No one can escape it.

W. H. Auden, another one of my favorite writers reflected on this reality.  This season, Lent and the celebrations that lead up to it, “celebrate the unity of our human race as mortal creatures, who come into this world and depart from it without our consent, who must eat, drink, defecate, belch, and break wind in order to live, and procreate if our species is to survive.  Our feelings about this are ambiguous.  To us as individuals, it is a cause for rejoicing that we are not alone, that all of us, irrespective of age or sex or rank or talent, are in the same boat.”

We’re in the same boat, even the children.

And it seems a little counter-intuitive on this day, a day when we literally wear our faith on our brow, to read this section of Matthew where Jesus warns us about practicing our pieties in front of other people.

But frankly folks, this is not piety.  This is reality.  And it’s not something to despair over.

We are dust, yes, but we are beautiful dust.  Even the children.

We will return to dust, yes, but we are promised that that is not the end of it, that there are more surprises to be had.  Even for the children.

But not one of you will walk out of here without a smudge on your brow, a sign that we are all indeed in the same boat.

The boat of the savior who loves us enough to become dusty, just like us, to show us once and for all that this eating, drinking, belching, defecating life, though dusty, is redeemed and beautiful in the hands of a God who loves.

Loves us all.

Even the children.

Especially the children.

Amen.