“Dust, Not Plastic”

Ash Wednesday

February 14, 2024

Isaiah 58:1-12

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

One of the commentaries for Ash Wednesday pointed out that everything in creation returns to dust. The plants, the animals, the stones, even metal eventually becomes dust. And all I could think in my contrary mind was… “not plastic. That stuff will last forever.”

As we begin another Lenten season, this is a powerful thing for us to remember. We are not plastic. Sounds obvious enough, but it’s important. Plastic parts are made with molds—each one exactly the same as the last. Each one made to work and be perfect. And, because it’s plastic, each one made to last—sort of.

We, on the other hand, are made from dust. Dirt. Clay. Like a potter that gently works the piece into something new and fragile. Something special. Something unique—every piece a work of art. But every piece one that will, given time, turn again to dust.

We are susceptible to hardship. We break. We cry. We bleed. We get hungry. We feel pain and loss. We love. We rejoice. We celebrate the little things. We give birth. And we die. Some might suggest that, given all those possibilities, God could have—should have—done better. I mean, God could have made us plastic and perfect so that we last forever.

I haven’t seen the movie, “Barbie,” but I’ve read enough about it to know that in many ways, it reflects the very reality we focus on today. It all starts in BarbieLand, where various Barbies and Kens exist. At the evening’s dance party, Barbie stops the party with the question, “Do you ever think about dying?” That begins a variety of changes in her perfect life. She falls from her roof rather than gently descending into her perfect car. Her feet—go flat. She visits the ‘weird Barbie,’ who thinks the issue might be with the girl who plays with Barbie. She says she needs to go into the real world to fix what is going wrong.

Among a variety of experiences and an effort to keep the corporate world from putting her back in the box, Barbie gains an appreciation for the real world. But with that appreciation comes a stark warning—one that we know all too well. As Barbie’s creator, Ruth Handler, says in the movie, “Humans have only one ending. Ideas—[and plastic]—last forever.” Barbie is given the opportunity to become human. To be fragile. To be imperfect.

In that opportunity comes the opportunity to celebrate each day with an energy that recognizes that it might be the last. Because being a creature means being complex. Unique. In the movie, Barbie clings to the hope of life’s complexities—love and heartbreak, excitement and grief—more than she fears the end. I feel confident in your ability to guess the ending and her choice. Because being human is infinitely better than being plastic.

We tend to forget that when we’re bogged down by real world challenges. The flooding and earthquakes, drug overdoses and cancer diagnoses, racism and transphobia, aging and accidents. Sometimes I wonder if we really need any additional reminders of our fragility. We see it every day. But I think that the ashes are more than a reminder of our mortality. I think that hearing the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return” is a blessing, not a curse.

You were not smashed into a mold by a machine. You have been lovingly created by the hands of God. And to be reminded of our mortality is an opportunity to celebrate the miracle of life, itself. There’s a Jewish saying that encourages one to have a piece of paper in each pocket. In one pocket, the paper says, “For you the universe was created.” And in the other pocket, the paper says, “You are dust.” Both are true, and both are blessing.

Yes, life is difficult. And life is glorious. And bodies are complex. And bodies are miraculous. Lent is a time designated to life. The word ‘lent’ means ‘spring.’ And even though our journey through Lent will lead us to the cross and death and despair, it doesn’t leave us there. The hope we have isn’t in lasting forever. We’re not plastic. Our hope is life abundant. Life filled and fulfilled. Life redeemed. Life restored. The Lenten journey doesn’t end at the cross. It ends at the beginning—an empty tomb and a risen Christ.

Dust formed. Spirit breathed. Life uncontained. This is us. We are dust. Not plastic.

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE