Two weeks ago I started a new work-out program. The very first night was a fitness test – and that alone was enough to almost induce vomiting. I guess when you let yourself get as out of shape as I have, working out becomes a reminder of just how fragile and frail we all are. We live in the midst of a culture that is in a constant battle to overcome the reality that we are all falling apart. The fitness industry is now a $17.6 billion industry in the United States according to the IHRSA , and over $11.8 billion was spent on cosmetic surgery in 2008 according the ASAPS. The cold reality though is that even regular exercise and healthy diet can add, at most, about 4-years to the average person’s life – and cosmetic surgery, well I couldn’t find anything to link Botox, lipo, or augmentations to a life-span increase. Let’s face it – we are all falling apart.
Owning our frailty is not something we do well. The acknowledgement that we are all dying is, to many people, morbid, gloomy, and fraught with grief and pain. One could point to the achievements of man in the areas of medicine, science, and technology, or look at the pythonic vault of knowledge man has collected, and argue that man is in fact becoming greater and greater. Whether “greatness” is predicated on health and beauty, or on achievement and advances, is throwing the proverbial baby out with the bath water. In the end, beauty fades, health fails, and advancements become outdated (just try to keep up with Apple – I dare you.) Even the greatest amongst us fade out and die.
Happy thought – I know.
But it can be a thought that is liberating, inspiring, and challenging. Last night I had the honor of participating in my first ever Ash Wednesday service at our church. Foreign in the churches I grew up in – the observances of Ash Wednesday and the Lenten season seemed too liturgical, too “Catholic” for me to be concerned with. Age and experience once again prove the ignorances of my youth.
Ash Wednesday is both a poignant reminder and celebration of our frailty. As a pastor I was privileged to mark the foreheads of many in our congregation while reminding each of them, “From dust you are, and to dust you shall return.” In reminding them, I was myself reminded that just like everything else, God turns our world upside down and our perceptions inside out. We are fragile. We are frail. We are from the dust, and to the dust we shall return.
That idea is one that is repeated over and over in scripture. In the Genesis creation story, we are told that God shapes man with his own hands from the dust of the earth, filling this dirt-formed vessel with His very breath of life. After the fall, God reminds all mankind that they are nothing more than dust, and one day their bodies will return to dust. All throughout the Old Testament we are reminded that we are nothing more than clay in God’s hands, vapors in the wind, and ashes that will return to the earth. Even the New Testament carries on the theme – we are the dust of the earth, nothing more than fragile earthen vessels. The picture painted by scripture is not abstract – it is real – we are fragile.
Now here is the kicker – As the people of God, we have reason to be glad, thankful even, for our frailty.
In my weakness I am reminded that God is my strength.
In my frailty I am reminded that God is my defender.
In my fragile temporal state I am reminded that God is my hope for eternity.
In my acknowledging that I am nothing more than dust I am reminded of God’s desire for humility.
Even my impending death, be it 50-minutes or 50-years from now, serves as a reminder that my very life is a gift from God. The fact that life is temporary gives me reason to rejoice in God and to cherish each moment He gives me. The finite nature of life leaves no time for enduring anger or bitterness, and gives strong motivation for making a difference with the time I have. That difference may be as small as being the best father I can be, or as grandiose as solving a major world issue – but whatever it is – each moment I have is one that is to be lived to the fullest through the grace and strength of God.
Accepting and celebrating my frailty frees me to live. It frees me to live a life unencumbered by the desire to succeed in worldly terms. It frees me to live a life unbound by the desire for acceptance and fame. It frees me to live a life untethered to manufactured definitions of beauty and perfection. It matters not whether I am the fastest, strongest, handsomest, smartest, wealthiest – because it all fades. All I have is who God created me to be, and all I can do with real success is what He created me to do.
I am fragile. I am frail. I am dying – and strange as it may seem – I thank God for that. From dust I have come and to dust I shall return.
Reblogged this on farther up and commented:
Posted this last year… reminded tonight of our awesome frailty