…But Dust

Sometimes it is millimeter by millimeter 
Sometimes mile by mile
Occasionally year by year
Or chapter by chapter
Or stage by stage
And then sometimes it is all at once
The final departure
Or whimper
Or last (silent) breath
The deal is
Most often we don’t get a choice
Letting go comes on its own terms
What we can do
Is rail and curse and deny and resist
With fists clenched
With faces scowled
Or what we can do is receive
With open hands what has been given
Acknowledging the shortcomings
Making amends with regret
Counting well-earned and serendipitous blessings
Giving thanks for the gifts
The many, many gifts
The many, oh, so many gifts
In response to the incantation, “You are but dust, and to dust you shall return”
We mutter often reluctantly yet resolutely the ultimate gratitude
Let it be, God, according to your love

On the occasion of Ash Wednesday, March 5, 2025

I found the “quiet point” flower bed in the organic garden section of Edwin Warner park here in Nashville one very early spring day, a  day before the gardeners had removed the fall debris and begun to prepare the garden for planting.

The hands are those of my mother recorded in her 96th year of life.


Discover more from Gathering the Fragments

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.

Comments

15 responses to “…But Dust”

  1. Ruth Ann

    The picture is special! Thanks for sharing.

    1. Sharon

      Thank you. My mom was a one-of-a-kind mom.

  2. Paul Black

    Bishop: this message is so timely for me as yesterday was the 11th anniversary of my father’s passing. While there is hardly a day that goes by but what I think of him and pose the question, “What would Dad do in this situation?” when facing a new situation in life, I also rejoice in knowing that he, my mother and my brother await the day for a family reunion when I, too, will make that journey home. Thanks for such a great reminder and imagery that accompanies it.

    1. What a powerful naming, Paul, and the communion of saints that surrounds you and nurtures you every day.

  3. Letting go comes on its own terms …
    what we can do is receive
    With open hands what has been given

    So good. So true. Thank you for sharing these beautiful words and images.

    1. Sharon Brown Christopher

      You’re welcome, Beth.

  4. J KEITH ZIMMERMAN

    Thank you, Bishop Sharon, for the marvelous poetic thoughts punctuated with the photo of your mother’s sainted hands. A powerful image of both the temporal and the eternity, and the gift of both.

    1. Sharon Brown Christopher

      Keith, Temporal/eternal…yes. Thank you.

  5. gpatlc

    You have visually and poetically reminded us that letting go is integral to the movement of faith. Thank you for this encouragement during the Lenten journey.
    Terry

    1. Sharon Brown Christopher

      Thank you, Terry.

  6. Susan Ruach

    I love the picture of your mother’s hands!!!!!!

    1. Sharon Brown Christopher

      🥰

  7. hdaughenb

    Bishop, the photo brought to mind another edition of “Fragments” in which you quote your mother, “I feel like I am the last leaf left on the tree.” Placed with your poem this photo and your mother’s words remind us that aging can be beautiful. David Brooks in one of his books writes about the two mountains of life. The first one being about career, individuality (both personal and community), and personal ego. The second one about values, ethics, relationships, and building community. You have described climbing the second mountain and shown, once again, how we might be able to make out of the two mountains one peak. We (I) need this in these days of chaos. Thank you so much!

    Howard

  8. Sharon Brown Christopher

    Howard, This “meat” from Brooks is so nourishing. Thank you. And it reminds me of Richard Rohr’s seminal work on the two halves of life.

    1. Howard

      Yes, indeed! Brooks in his book, “The Second Mountain,” actually quotes Rohr several times.

      Howard

Leave a Reply to hdaughenbCancel reply