You know that scene in Star Wars where Luke Skywalker is flying his little X-wing fighter into the Death Star and he has to find the exact spot to destroy it, and instead of using his fancy high-tech instruments, he trusts the Force to guide him, and he ends up saving the Galaxy? Well, don’t try that at home.
I learned that back when I was in third grade. Ridgewood Avenue stopped at Adams Elementary School on one end, and at the other end, four blocks away, it stopped at my house, 435 Edwards Street. It was a straight shot from the school to my house, downhill.
So, one day as I was riding my bicycle home from school, I got it into my head that if I coasted perfectly straight and closed my eyes, I would end up at 435 Edwards Street. I knew nothing of the Force, since it was years before George Lucas would even imagine Star Wars. But, in my mind, there was no reason why this wouldn’t work. So, I closed my eyes and coasted toward home.
A telephone pole jarred me into reality.
When you were growing up did anyone ever tell you that if you put your mind to it, you can do anything? And do you remember when you learned that that’s a bunch of hooey?
We all have limitations. Our school years alone teach us that. Everybody can’t be class valedictorian. We can’t all become the homecoming queen, or the star of the basketball team. And for those who seem to breeze through it all effortlessly with the wind filling their sails, it’s simply a matter of time before they, too, are confronted with the reality of their limitations.
It’s just not true that if you put your mind to it, you can do anything. Learning to live within the limitations of our lives is a primary task of growing from a child to an adult.
Since I turned 70, I’ve been thinking a lot about how the limitations I’ve learned to live with in my life are changing and how they will probably continue to change even more.
The world that we once commanded in all its fullness gradually shrinks for us as we age. Surely a senior citizen’s worst day is the one where they have to relinquish their car keys, knowing that for the rest of their lives they will be dependent upon other people for something as simple as picking up a loaf of bread.
In all this thinking about growing old, I’ve had a revelation. In the past, it’s seemed to me that growing older is primarily about loss. I think a lot of people see it that way and that’s why they spend so much time pushing against it. Few people like to admit to being old and they will resist the notion for as long as they can. But I’m thinking that’s not the way I want to grow old. It’s my hope that I will do a lot more than resist and resent it.
During the first half of life, we discover what the possibilities of our lives are. But the second half of life is about accepting our limitations. It’s about finding peace with our humanity.
And that’s the point of Ash Wednesday. It’s a day for all of us, no matter where we are in our life’s journey, to remember that a time will come when our hearts will stop beating, and our brains will shut down. It’s the ultimate limitation, the one that not one of us can expect to escape.
364 days a year, we may pretend that we are faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. But not today. Today we remember that we’re all going to die.
That’s the message of Ash Wednesday. We’re all going to die.
Some people may fight against that reality. Some run from it. Others face it with fear and trembling. Or they resign themselves to the inevitability of death as the sad reality of their lives.
But we gather on Ash Wednesday to face the ultimate limitation of our humanity in the presence of God, standing in community with our brothers and sisters in Christ all around the world. We come because God invites us to rest in his grace. We can be at peace with who we are because we can be at peace with who God is.
Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. Hearing those words and receiving a cross of ashes on your forehead can feel a lot like riding a bicycle with your eyes closed and being jarred into reality by a telephone pole. Or hearing those words and receiving a cross of ashes on your forehead can feel like falling into the arms of our God who is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.
