Remember man that you are dust. And unto dust you shall return.
And so it is.
I begin this Lent with personal and difficult reminders that we are but dust.
I did receive a cross of ashes on my forehead on Wednesday, the day of the horrific school shooting in a high school in Florida.
On Thursday morning I helped with a funeral of an old parishioner and friend. A former FBI agent.
His funeral was poorly attended.
He had a nice official police escort to his burial place.
Police cars and motorcycles.
Several State Trooper vehicles.
Other than that and the hearse, there may have been 3 other vehicles that traveled to witness his interment.
On Thursday afternoon I learned of the death of our church organist. She was only a few years older than me. Her only child is the age of my children.
Shock and a heavy heart have been my companions this last 24 hours.
I will help with her funeral on Monday.
The words I used to hear when I received the ashes on my forehead on Ash Wednesday weigh heavy.
Over years the words have morphed into something different.
The emphasis is not on death, but on living the Gospel.
So, life. And hope.
Forty days in the desert.
Easter will come.