FAST from judging others
FEAST on Jesus within them
FAST from emphasis on differences
FEAST on the unity of all life
FAST from apparent darkness
FEAST on the reality of Jesus the Light of the world
FAST from thoughts of illness
FEAST on the healing power of God
FAST from discontent
FEAST on gratitude
FAST from anger
FEAST on patience
FAST from worry
FEAST on enthusiasm
(from my pastor’s homily for Sunday, 2/21/10)
It is no good asking God to work in your life if you are not willing to be honest with him, or yourself, about the mess he has to work with. You have to see a problem before you can get it fixed. You cannot put something in order until you see how far it is out of order. When someone has made a mess of his finances, and the credit card companies are chasing him and his checks keep bouncing and the electric company has turned off the lights, he has to find out how much money he has and how much money he owes to whom, before he can ever get out of debt. He has to face the facts.
We have to see the disorder of our lives if we are ever to accept God’s ordering. And more to the point, we have to see the problem clearly before we will know whom to ask for help. The less we know about ourselves, the more likely we are to be Pelagians, people who assume they can get themselves out of trouble without bothering God for help—and, were we honest about it, without submitting to his will. The best cure for Pelagianism is reality.
Letting someone smear ashes on your forehead while telling you that you are dirt is, of course, a statement that you have seen and accepted the facts about yourself. It is a sacramental enactment of something that is (we hope) going on in your heart. That is the obvious meaning. But I think the imposition of ashes also dramatizes St. Paul’s remark in 1 Corinthians that “since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. As in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.” It has two movements: one corresponding to “As in Adam all die” and the other corresponding to “In Christ shall all be made alive.”
To see this, we will have to use the original, pre-“inclusivized” version. In Latin, it goes, “Memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris.” In the traditional English version, it goes, “Remember, O man, that dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return.” The modern versions have all eliminated that “O man,” unwisely assuming it to be sexist and exclusive, rather than, as we shall see, a statement of the most extraordinary inclusion in the history of the cosmos.
The meaning of the rite depends upon the multiple meanings of man. In that word is the Christian hope conveyed. Without it, the declaration is simply a statement of an unchangeable reality, a declaration of hopelessness and despair. The removal of man in the modern rites eliminated the crucial allusions, or at best made them needlessly distant and obscure. The liturgical effect is to eliminate the hope that alone makes the facts—that we are dust and to dust we shall inevitably return—bearable.
(from “The Dust of Adam” by David Mills)