The Good News in a Cross of Ash

For out of [the ground] you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return. ~Genesis 3:19b

These are the words spoken on this day, during the imposition of ashes. Words that remind me of my very real mortality. That no matter how much moisturizer, exercise, healthy eating, nor my socio-economic status, education, faith life, etc., change the truth that I am growing older. I will die. 

Generally, I don’t like to dwell on that fact. I’m in that age group where I probably should have some sort of will, but don’t. Because I like to believe that I am too young yet. While there’s the possibility of accidental death, that won’t be me. I’ve got years and years and years. Right? 

Maybe. Maybe not. But either way, at some point I will die. The water in my body will evaporate, that which remains will turn to dust. And nothing can stop that. 

I am dust. To dust I shall return. 

And while a rather in-my-face statement, for me it is not a frightening statement. For I know that my Redeemer lives. 

For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his. ~Romans 6:5

It’s not just ash – dust –  rubbed on my forehead and words affirming my mortality spoken. Those ashes are in the shape of a cross. And in that cross is the implicit promise of Christ as my redeemer. 

If I keep Christ central in my life, I can face my fears. My fears of my mortality. My fears that I am not enough. My fears of being forgotten. Maybe you too have variations of those fears, or others that stalk you.

But in facing our fears, in trusting that in Christ we are claimed as children of G-d – forever, then those fears no longer run the show.

One of the things that fears do is make us cling to things. For some, buying things makes them feel alive. For others, in being able to have things it provides a sense of assurance of being alive. For others, having the right things means feeling like they are keeping up with the Jones’. At least for that one moment.

But stuff only gives us a fleeting feeling of enoughness. Too often what stuff actually does is get in the way of our relationship with G-d. So much stuff there’s no room for the Holy Spirit. 

What is a classic Lutheran truth of faith is that in letting go, we find. That is having less, we discover abundance. That in no longer hiding behind things, we realize we’re standing in the light of G-d.

One of my Lenten practices is to intentionally let go of things. I invite you to join me for your own intentional practice. If you us Facebook, you can join Giving it Away for Lent, where we share scripture, articles, and other helps, as well as what we’ve let go of in our own homes.

Come and see.

Baptized into a Death Like His

In 2006, post-Youth Gathering in San Antonio, Texas, we had some free time on our hands. This was because there are limited flight options when traveling to or from Fairbanks, Alaska. So in the cool of an air conditioned theatre, we took in the newly opened Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, the much anticipated sequel to the surprise break out hit of PotC.

There's a lot I've forgotten about that movie (something something Davy Jones' Locker, something something over the top fight scene, something something Keira Knightley's plump lips) but I've never forgotten this opening scene. (If possible, watch at least the first minute of the clip before reading further.)

While the whole audience burst into cheers when Captain Jack burst forth from his 'escape pod', I was bursting into giddy cheers for a whole other reason. It was a quintessential scene of resurrection. Life from death - and in the waters (of baptism) no less! I was experiencing theological palpitations!

To summarize the scene: here is a coffin, one of many, floating out on a sea. A raven pecks at it; the sound like the knocking on a door, booming with the hollowness of a tomb. Then that knock is answered. (Granted, in a way a bit unfortunate for the raven, who is now nevermore.) And from the gunshot hole, an arm, then the entire splintering of the lid. The music during all of this is perfect - eery and forlorn, then as Jack breaks free, swelling with triumph. He has returned - and mischief with him.

Then we learn in a practical, if ghoulish way that Jack wasn't alone in that coffin. He was sharing the space with someone long dead, reduced to bone. Again, this twining of life and death.

Romans 6:1b-11 is also that twining of life and death; in our Christ crucified there is not one without the other.

And it's not just resurrection following death-death, but also resurrection following death in baptism. As the opening words in our Order of Holy Baptism say:

"In baptism our gracious heavenly Father frees us from sin and death by joining us to the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. We are born children of a fallen humanity; by water and the Holy Spirit we are reborn children of God and made members of the church, the body of Christ. Living with Christ and in the communion of saints, we grow in faith, love, and obedience to the will of God." (p. 227, Evangelical Lutheran Worship)

In in this new life, we don't always know where we're going, but trust that Christ does. (Not dissimilar from Captain Jack's non-north pointing compass.)

We are claimed, changed, and a completely new course is charted. What are some of the unexpected places you've been since being baptized into Christ death?