“Remember you are dust, and to dust you will return.”

This is the phrase that churches all around the world told their parishioners on Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday kicks off the Lenten season, the 40ish days from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday. According to a handout from my church, the aim of Lent is threefold:

1. To meditate on our mortality, sinfulness, and need of a savior.
2. To renew our commitment to daily repentance, both during Lent and all of life.
3. To remember with confidence and gratitude that Christ has conquered death and sin.

With that in mind, I want to offer a sobering reflection on mortality.

A Tale of Two Pictures

The photo above shows my great-grandfather Clarence (“Pa”) with his three brothers William, Robert, and Frank. Pa was born on May 27th, 1928 and Frank was born December 29th, 1931. So, this picture must have been taken between 1932-1933. We see children with all their lives ahead of them, brothers who would all grow into adults with careers and loved ones, and experience many joys and disappointments.

The picture below shows the same brothers roughly 30 years later. At this time, Pa would have been married, had two sons, and a grandson either just born or coming soon.

I never knew Uncle Bill or Uncle Bob. They died before I was born. I am grateful that I had a relationship with Pa. I know that there aren’t many people who have met their great-grandparents, let alone remember them. Pa past away December 05, 2006 at the age of 78.

On that day, Frank, the baby from the first picture, became an only child. Uncle Frank buried his three brothers. He too joined them in death in February of 2020.

The Sad Reality

These pictures point to the truth beneath every picture: eventually one person will have lost every other person and be the last one living.

Every school or team picture.

Every wedding photo.

Every family picture at Christmas.

Every selfie with my wife and son.

There will come a day when all but one will remain. And then the one will become zero.

Consider the passage of time in the pictures below.

God willing, one day my dad will be the one holding his great-grandchild.

“As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him. For he knows what we are made of, remembering that we are dust. As for man, his days are like grass- he blooms like a flower of the field; when the wind passes over it, it vanishes, and its place is no longer known” (Psalm 103:13-16).

“So remember your Creator in the days of your youth: Before the days of adversity come, and the years approach when you will say, ‘I have no delight in them’ . . . For the mere mortal is headed for his eternal home, and mourners will walk around the street; before the silver cord is snapped, and the gold bowl is broken, and the jar is shattered at the spring, and the wheel is broken into the well; and the dust returns to the earth as it once was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it. ‘Absolute futility,’ says the Teacher. ‘Everything is futile.” (Ecclesiastes 12:1-8).

Memento Mori.

Remember that you will die.

You are dust, and you will return to dust.

May we carefully number our days so that our hearts become wise.