ASHES TO GLORY

ASHES TO GLORY

 Lenten reflection 8 APRIL 2019 T HESE ARE difficult times. Knife crime here in London, spreading death and fear; the terrible shootings in the Christchurch mosque and the brutal murder of 200 Christians in Nigeria within the last few weeks; and, of course, the confusion, anxieties, deep disagreements and anger over Brexit, seen not only in the Palace of Westminster but also within families and communities across the country. Have we forgotten how to live together? Perhaps this is the fundamental question. Can we be different without those differences leading to a breakdown in relationships? It is often said that tolerance and respect are vital qualities in our society: respect for one another and for the rule of law. It’s true that society needs tolerance and respect for its coherence and nourishment. But tolerance of difference and mutual respect are the fruit of something with far deeper roots. It is these deeper roots that we are neglecting, and this is why the fruit are now in short supply. To find these roots, we must go to the heart of how we understand ourselves as human beings. One of the roots of the Ash Wednesday ceremony, with which we began this season of Lent, is the Book of Genesis – an early attempt to answer our question about how we understand ourselves. Genesis tells us, in its unique way, that the human being is formed from the dust of the earth. The name “Adam” comes from the Hebrew adamah, which means “ground” or “soil”. But Genesis also tells us that God took this soil into his hands and breathed into it, giving it a unique form of life – a life that is made in the image and likeness of God. The rest of creation comes to life through the word of God; only the human person is formed by the hand and breath of God. IN THE VIVID language of Genesis, then, we come from the dust of the earth yet we are enlivened by the breath of God. We all experience both these aspects of our make-up every day. We have great hopes and dreams – dreams of a better life, of a better world, of better relationships; yet we live through disappointment, failure, hurt, anger, resentment. We are capable of the worst cruelties; and we are capable of the most sublime goodness, courage and generosity. This is the drama of our lives: we are dust of the earth yet we are filled with the breath of God; limited and fallible yet always reaching for more. Sometimes we seek fulfilment in the fleeting gratification of wealth or fame or power over others. Yet even when we find ourselves in a blind alley, the breath of God in us is never extinguished. We are always searching for something that will “put things right”. There is another word, this time a Latin word, which also means “the earth” or “the soil”. It is the word humus. And humus is the root of the word “humility”. Humility is that virtue by which we keep hold of a true estimation of ourselves, not deceiving ourselves that we are more powerful or important than we actually are. Humility helps us recognise our need of others, just as it helps us to recognise our need of God, whose breath within us spurs us on to finding those things which God alone can truly give us. “Remember you are dust and to dust you will return.” The words we heard at the beginning of Lent, when the priest dipped his thumb in the ashes and dabbed them on our forehead, are a sharp reminder of these truths. Yes, dust, and left to ourselves we remain just dust. But we are also dust made for eternal glory. Whoever we are, whatever we do, are all called to nurture this humus, this adamah, so that we can grow into our true destiny. Think of the safeguarding of children and vulnerable adults in our parishes and schools: this is clearly the work of providing good soil, free of toxic elements which kill innocence and trust. And evangelisation –  sharing the good news of God – is the work of telling the story of who we really are, from where our lives arise and the destiny we are invited to grasp. This is essential nutrient for the humus we need for our growth, both the soil of our lives and the humility of our hearts. In this way, we are nurturing the soil and the tree of true human growth. It is only this tree which provides the fruit of tolerance and respect. If it is not courageously nurtured, those qualities will recede even further from society, leaving a rough and uncompromising world in which demagogues will thrive and violence will burst out more and more frequently. In the last book of the Bible, in its final chapter, as far away from Genesis as we can get, there is a lovely image of the growth of trees and of virtue: “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also on either side of the river, the tree of life, which bears twelve crops of fruit a year, one in each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations” (Revelation 22:1-2). AND TO RETURN to Ash Wednesday, to Adam and to the adamah, it is no coincidence that when we received the dust on our foreheads, it was traced in the form of the cross, the cross of Christ. He is the one who shares our human state, our dust, and yet also opens the way in which the breath of God within us finds its full expression, its full strength, its full lung-power. When we realise this, in the gift of faith, then we cry out, with that same breath: “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” We give thanks and we serve him joyfully. May this time of Lent, between now and Easter, be a time of joy for us all as we strive to rediscover the nobility and greatness of our humanity and serve it in all we do, as best we can, with sure peace and joy.