“For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his love for those who fear him;
as far as the east is from the west,
so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
As a father has compassion on his children,
so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him;
for he knows how we are formed,
He remembers that we are dust.” (Psalm 103:11-14)
As a young person, I didn’t understand this very well – the fact that I am dust, that I am impossibly frail and fragile, and broken, and that my life is susceptible in a thousand ways to crumbling and coming undone. Like most young people, I felt invincible – all 120 pounds of me. That’s why I could set off on a 40-mile journey, on foot, through the forests of central Congo, with a light backpack holding my Lingala Bible, a notebook and a few clothes. No food, no flashlight or anything else one might deem prudent – if not necessary – for such a trek.
I wasn’t big on breakfast in those days, so I only picked at the hearty meal of chicken and rice that Pastor Omanyundu encouraged me to eat before we started out that morning. After 6 hours or more of crossing open grassland, descending into thickly forested valleys, fording small streams (from which I drank desperately without caring about water quality) and climbing out again to cross more grassland, I regretted not filling my belly when I’d had the chance. When passing through villages, which were few and far between on that route, people would exclaim in surprise upon seeing the one white face among the four travelers, “Eh!! Mundele wana akokoka to!? (What!? Is that white man gonna make it?). I took that as a challenge; I had to prove that yes, I could make it. After thirteen and a half hours of walking with only a few short breaks, no longer than 10 minutes each, we did make it, all of us bone-weary and too tired to care if we ate, while our host caught a chicken and hastily prepared a meal. We spent the next two and half days teaching a seminar for a small church that you’d never find on a map, and started the journey back home after a Sunday morning meeting and a good meal. People actually congratulated me – “Eeeeh mundele, oza’makasi, okomi!” White man, you’re strong, you made it! – as we passed through those few villages on the return trip. That adventure definitely won me some ‘street cred’ among the locals and some respect among our churches.
That was over thirty years ago. These days, It’s rare that I feel the need to prove anything. I’m much more reconciled to the fact that yes, I am dust, I am fragile, and that apart from God’s sustaining grace I could easily come undone in any number of ways. Living into my sixties has helped me acknowledge these facts, and living with an incurable blood cancer for the last 12 of these 66 years is a daily reminder. This is not a gloomy, negative thing. It’s a humbling, freeing thing – a reckoning with the reality of my humanity and God’s mercy. It’s not one or the other but both/and. This is what the season of Lent is all about, at least in part.
Lent begins with Ash Wednesday. Ashes smeared on one’s forehead. Dust. If we think of it in the light of Genesis chapter three, it’s a poignant reminder of Adam’s sin, our mortality, and the glorious, only hope we have because of Jesus’ victory over both. As pastor and author Rich Villodas says, “Ash Wednesday is not a day to manufacture guilt. It’s a day to recognize our brokenness, frailty, and trust in God’s love. It’s a day to freely come before God and declare, ‘I am human, I am dust, and I am loved.”
This is a season to press in to the reality of our utter dependence on Christ. Whether or not you observe this literal forty day period or not, we all need Lenten seasons in our walk with God – especially in these days when so much of Western Christianity has rejected the idea of being sheep in favor being roaring lions who crush their opponents with political strength and superiority. The entire New Testament refers to followers of Jesus as sheep, as God’s flock. “Do not be afraid little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the Kindgom.” (Luke 12:32). This is not a temporary, earthly victory won by human means, but an eternal Kingdom. To be sure, Jesus is called “The Lion of the tribe of Judah,” but when the apostle John turns to look at this conquering Lion seated on the throne of the universe (Revelation 5:5-6) what he sees is a slain Lamb. This vision was intended to say something powerful and encouraging to believers who were living in a hostile, threatening political environment, often persecuted and marginalized. God’s power is demonstrated through the weak who trust in Him rather than in their own strength and power. Jesus told Peter to put away his sword – and ultimate victory came through surrender.
This is a season, a blessed opportunity, to humble ourselves, to realign ourselves with eternal realities, with Jesus the Lamb of God. Humility is such a hopeful thing because “God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble.” (James 4:6). Consider these words from the prophet Isaiah:
“For this is what the high and exalted One says—
he who lives forever, whose name is holy:
“I live in a high and holy place,
but also with the one who is contrite and lowly in spirit,
to revive the spirit of the lowly
and to revive the heart of the contrite.” (Isaiah 57:15).
The Lord knows what we are made of, He remembers that we are dust. When we remember it, that dust becomes the fertile soil for His mercy, and beautiful things will result. One day, our dust will turn to glory.
Know This Love 