“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return.”

This last Ash Wednesday service was almost ruined because of an overflow of mortality.  Our Children’s Minister called me, “Have you seen the downstairs bathroom?”  Two inches of filth greeted me at the bathroom door.  In seven hours, our cute church on a hill would host its first Ash Wednesday service.  I did not want to be the one to tell them to hold it, or even worse, “If it is yellow…”  I saw the puddle creeping out into the hallway, and I wanted to walk away.  I wanted to go about my day and ignore it.  If I claimed ignorance no one would know.  I dreaded dealing with that puddle.

But looking back, I see that the ceremony and the clog are more similar than not.  In the industrialized world, plumbing is taken for granted.  We assume water will run.  Our showers will be hot, and my lawn uniquely deserves to be watered.  But hundreds of thousands of people die every year because of dirty water.  What is the most dangerous contaminate?  Our own waste.

Our own waste likewise is hazardous to our spiritual health.  Death and decay are occurring whether we want them to or not.  We have a problem.  But, we trudge through our days hoping we don’t have to think about that growing puddle.  As my pastor smeared ashes on my forehead, he reminded me of where I came from, and where I am going.  I believe decomposing to dust isn’t my final destination, but there is something calming and honest about naming the bad guy in the room.  I will waste away.

On Ash Wednesday, Roto-Rooter saved my life.  The plumber worked for four hours and had to bring in multiple machines.  The sound was deafening in the downstairs hall.  At seven o’clock, the sanctuary was packed with squirming families.  They were reminded they came from dust.  There were dozens of trips to the bathroom.