Sermon: He Remembers That We Are but Dust (Psalm 103:8-14)

Dave Johnson

Sermon: “He Remembers that We are but Dust” (Psalm 103:8-14)

Ash Wednesday—March 5, 2014

In the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

When I was a youth minister in the mid-90’s, I was at a youth ministry conference and met Dave Hope, the bassist of the progressive rock band Kansas. Dave had experienced a radical conversion to Christ, and was really kind and personable. I was fascinated by some of his stories about the band, including how their big hit, “Dust in the Wind” (from their 1977 album Point of No Return) was written. Originally the melody of “Dust in the Wind” was a finger picking exercise their lead singer and guitarist, Kerry Livgren, developed to warm up before a gig—but his wife complemented the melody and suggested he write lyrics for it, so he did:

I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment’s gone

All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity

Dust in the wind, all they are is dust in the wind

Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea

All we do crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see

Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind

Don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky

It slips away, and all your money won’t another minute buy

Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind

It’s not exactly a pick-me-up of a song, but it’s hauntingly beautiful and poignant, and it ties in with Ash Wednesday, during which we are all reminded during the imposition of ashes: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (BCP 265)—which echoes God’s words to Adam after the Fall (Genesis 3:19).

1 Similarly, in Dead Poets Society, the powerful 1989 film about an English teacher named John Keating—played by Robin Williams—there is a scene in which on the first day of school Mr. Keating leads his class to the main hallway of the school and tells them, “We are food for worms, lads. Believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die.” He then beckons the students to examine closely the old photographs in the trophy case—group shots of various sports teams from that same prep school from the late 1800’s—and continues: “I would like you to step forward over here, and peruse some of the faces from the past. You’ve walked past them many times, but I don’t think you’ve ever really looked at them. They’re not that different from you are they? Same haircuts, full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they are destined for great things, just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make of their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because you see, gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils.” Remembering that we are dust, that one day we may indeed be fertilizing daffodils, is sobering. No matter how rich or smart or beautiful or wealthy or strong or ambitious or clever or famous we may be—we can’t outmaneuver death—we will all return to the dust from whence we came, no exceptions.

But while the fact that we are dust and will return to dust is true, as we are reminded every year on Ash Wednesday, it is not very good news.

So where’s the gospel?

The gospel can be found in Psalm 103, which we read earlier in this service:

“The LORD is full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger and of great kindness. He will not always accuse us, nor will he keep his anger forever. He has not dealt with us according to our sins, nor rewarded us according to our wickedness. For as the heavens are high above the earth, so is his mercy great upon those who fear him. As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our sins from us.

2 As a father cares for his children, so does the LORD care for those who fear him. (and here it is…) For he himself knows whereof we are made; he remembers that we are but dust” (Psalm 103:8-14, BCP 733-734).

The psalmist describes the fact that God “remembers that we are but dust” not as a reminder of our mortality, but as an expression of the compassion and mercy of God—and that indeed is very good news. Some people give up things for Lent—and that can be helpful, as in the case of a six-year-old boy named Billy who told his parents, “This year for Lent I’m giving up explosives!” Thank you, Billy .

When it comes to giving up things for Lent, others can only go so far, as a friend of mine years ago told me, “I’m giving up drinking for Lent…but I’m also giving up Lent for St. Patrick’s Day.”

But the heart of Lent is not what we give up for God, but remembering what God in Jesus Christ gave up for us.

At his incarnation Jesus Christ, the One who created us from dust, emptied himself of his divinity and took on the dust of human flesh.

In his earthly life, Jesus experienced what you and I experience—hunger and thirst, joy and sorrow, temptation and stress, fun moments and awkward moments—all of it.

And throughout his earthly ministry Jesus, remembering that we are but dust, expressed mercy and compassion to everyone. He spoke words of life and hope. He befriended the friendless, accepted those others considered unacceptable, and healed those others considered beyond healing.

And Jesus didn’t stop there. Although he could have, Jesus chose not to outmaneuver the one thing none of us can outmaneuver, death, but in taking on the dust of human flesh, humbled himself even death on a cross (Philippians 2:8).

On the cross Jesus stopped breathing, turned cold, and died—and his body was taken down from the cross and buried—as we read in Psalm 22, a prophetic psalm about the death of Jesus that we will read during Holy Week—“you have laid me in the dust of the grave” (Psalm 22:15, BCP 611).

And in his death Jesus atoned for all the sins of us dusty people, no matter how dusty, no exceptions—as Paul wrote in today’s passage from his Second Letter to the Corinthians—“For

3 our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:21).

In other words, the One who remembers that you are dust remembers your sins no more.

In 1555, one of the leading figures of the English Reformation (and one of my heroes), Bishop Hugh Latimer, was imprisoned and condemned for his belief that we are saved entirely by the grace of the One who remembers that we are but dust—or as we prayed at the beginning of this service “it is only by (God’s) gracious gift that we are given everlasting life” (BCP 265). As Bishop Latimer awaited his execution (he would be burned to dust at the stake in Oxford on October 16, 1555), he wrote the following in a circular letter to fellow Christians:

“Dearly beloved, cast yourselves wholly upon the Lord, with whom all the hairs of your head be numbered; so that not one of them shall perish without his knowledge…Believe that he is our merciful Father, and will hear us and help us…Die once we must; how and where, we know not…but as he rose again the third day, even so shall we at the time appointed of God…and we shall be caught up into the clouds, to meet the Lord, and to be always with him. Comfort yourselves with these words…God be merciful unto us all!” (Sermons and Remains of Hugh Latimer, p. 444).

And that is the good news of the gospel on Ash Wednesday—the One who remembers that we are but dust in indeed “merciful unto us all.”

And when Lent is over, we will celebrate again what happened with Jesus on the third day after his death, when he fulfilled what the prophet Isaiah spoke seven centuries earlier, “Shake yourself from the dust and rise up” (Isaiah 52:2).