Ash Wednesday .06                                             March 1, 2006

“Memente mori,” the Latin proverb goes,

         “Remember death.”
When Roman generals rode in parades to celebrate their victories,
         a servant stood with them in the chariot.
And as the general waved to the cheering throngs,
         the servant would murmur in his ear,

         “Remember you are mortal. You too will die.”

Modern people fear death so much
         that we will go to any length to forget it.
We think remembering we are mortal is morbid

         – and without the proper context, maybe it is.
But reflection on our mortality has, from ancient times,
         been considered essential to wisdom,
         essential to living life fully, to living life well.

On AW we remember that we are mortal,
        and that awareness make us value and appreciate
                 our own lives differently,
        and it make us value each other more.

Ted Kooser wrote in his poem, “The Mourners,”

               After the funeral, the mourners gather
               under the rustling churchyard maples
               and talk softly, like clusters of leaves . . .
               They came this afternoon to say goodbye,
               but now they keep saying hello and hello,
               peering into each other’s faces,
               slow to let go of each other’s hands.

The brevity of life makes it special.
And it makes each of us special to each other.
Life is meaningful only if it is made up of real choices.
Without death, we do not really have to make choices.
Having only one limited life to live means our choices count.
Only if choices count, only if they really are choices we make
        from a limited number of opportunities, do we have real freedom.
Mortality is the tragic but essential context for authentic human life.

Not only does mortality make life choices meaningful, it makes life precious.
In Marilynne Robinson’s novel, Gilead,
        when old pastor Ames is approaching death, he says,

      I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens its eyes
      on the world once and sees amazing things it will never know
      any names for and then has to close its eyes again.
      I know all this is all a mere apparition compared to what

      awaits us, but it is only lovelier for that. There is a human beauty

      to it. And I can’t believe that when we have been changed
      and put on incorruptibility that we will forget our fantastic

      condition of mortality and impermanence, the great bright dream

      of procreating and perishing that meant the whole world to us.

      In eternity, this world will be Troy . . . and all that has passed

      here will be the epic of the universe, the song they sing

      in the streets.

Death does not make our mortal life insignificant.
And eternal life does not make our brief temporal lives trivial.
Quite the opposite:

Our mortal, vulnerable condition makes life precious and beautiful.
So what will these ashes mean to us?
They mean life is precious.
They mean we are precious to each other,
         that everyone is valuable.

We have only a little time,
         so must not waste it on anything trivial.
We must devote what days we have
         to what matters, which is growing into the nature of God.
We do that by caring for each other,
         not being sentimental about each other,
         but being genuinely kind and helpful to each other,
         but looking our brothers and sisters in the eye
                  and really seeing them,
         by listening to each other not only with our ears
                  but with our hearts.

We don’t have each other forever.
So we have to drink in each moment,
         pass up no opportunity to do someone good.
We have such a little share of mortal life,
         it is essential that we invest it in the only thing
                 that lasts.

But to invest our mortal life in something that lasts,
        we have to trust that there is something that lasts.
To face our own death, we have to trust
         that we do not face it alone.
We have to believe we are carried through life and death alike,
         but a gracious source and destiny larger
         than life and death put together.

Our expectation of eternity makes all the difference.
The destination of our journey makes a difference
         for how we travel, what we do along the way.
If we don’t trust eternity to be gracious,
         we cannot face death.
We are desperate to distract ourselves from our mortality,
         and in that desperation we use, abuse, manipulate,
                  and exploit each other.
But if we trust that the eternity toward which we are headed
         is gracious, and loving, and beautiful,
         then we are free to appreciate, cherish,
                  and delight in each other.

We dare to remember death only if we remember
         the field in which it is set, if you will
         the ocean in which life and death float together.
One of my favorite theologians, John Dunne, an old man,
         now in his last years, reflects on Gilgamish
                  and how the death of his friend
                  sent him on an epic quest for eternal life.
He reflects on St. Augustine and how the death of his friend
         sent him on an epic quest for eternal life.

This leads Dunne finally to reflect on his own

         “journey in time” and “hope for eternity.”
He wrote a song about it. It goes:

         “O Lord, go with me
         and be my guide,
         in my most need
         be by my side:
         if you are guiding me
         I shall not want,
         if you are guarding me
         I shall not fear,
         though I am walking
         in the valley of the shadow
         of my dying,
         you are walking with me,
         and when I am not
         you will have taken me.”

When we trust the mystery,
         when we trust that infinity is beautiful and good,
                  we can face anything.
Instead of hiding from mortality
         with distractions,
         we can face mortality in a way
         that will sharpen our senses,
         deepen our experiences,
         inspire our compassion.

When we have the courage born of ultimate trust,
        that is trust in the Ultimate,
        we can invest our mortal, transitory life
        in the stuff of eternal life,
        and that is godly life,
        life the way God lives it,
                  in generosity, creativity, and grace.

                                                       Amen.