Readings: Joel 2: 1 – 2, 12- 17; Psalm 51: 1 – 18; 2 Corinthians 5: 20b – 6:10; Matthew 6: 1 – 6, 16 – 21
“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ”
Lent is a time for self-examination, for thinking about our temptations and our persistent failings, for self-discipline. We may decide to give up something that we like or to take on a positive discipline such as attending a Lent Group. Our Gospel reading assumes that those who seek to follow Christ will practise prayer and fasting. They are simply exhorted to do so in secret. Jesus knows how easily our hearts are led astray; how we might be tempted to practise our piety so that others may see how well we are doing.
We’ve just heard Allegri’s wonderful setting of Psalm 51. In the Bible there’s a heading for this Psalm which says “A Psalm of David, when the prophet Nathan came to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba.” David had committed adultery with Bathsheba and when she became pregnant, had arranged for her husband to be killed on the battlefield so that he wouldn’t find out. The Psalm certainly expresses very powerfully the kind of contrition which might follow such an act.
But I listened to the Allegri Miserere for many years before realising at all what the words were. It was only at last year’s Ash Wednesday service here that I connected the music and the Psalm. So my response used to be only to the music. To that soaring soprano solo, set above the Cantus Peregrinus, the most mournful of chants. It’s a bit like listening to a high wire artist – and I suspect it takes courage to do it at all. Will she fall – or will she fly way above us and land safely at the end of the phrase? There is a delicate beauty about the sound which expresses for me the fragility of our human life. We are formed from dust. Our hopes and aspirations, our good intentions can so easily be thrown off balance. How then do we stay on the tightrope? How do we negotiate life without falling into sin when our decisions seldom seem straightforward?
In the recent exhibition of late works by Rembrandt there was a picture of Bathsheba. She’s portrayed at the moment when she has just read the letter from King David summoning her to his palace. It’s the moment before a decision. What should she do? Bathsheba is not a heroine. She doesn’t kill herself or run away or even stand up to the king. She is in a difficult position. Should she betray her husband or disobey her king? Her face shows regret, but she’s also flattered. And to be in the King’s favour can only be good for her family……..
A betrayal, a collusion, a compromise? Perhaps she had no choice. In different circumstances in our own ways we too are implicated in sin. We fall off the tightrope. We can’t help it. We are, after all, made of dust.
The phrase “You are dust and to dust you shall return” comes from Genesis ( Genesis 3:19). It’s part of the curse placed on Adam for disobeying God. But the first time we hear that Adam is dust is at his creation. “then the Lord God formed man (adam in Hebrew) from the dust of the ground (adamah in Hebrew)” (Genesis 2: 7). The word adam means both man, or humankind as well as being the name of the first man, Adam. His name is closely related to the word for ground adamah. So there’s a pun here about our earthliness. Without us having to take it literally, the creation story tells us that God moulds us, as physical beings. We’re intentionally made of earth, we do indeed have feet of clay. But we’re loved dust, part of God’s good creation and made in His image. Our reading from Joel reminds us that God is “gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” and that he “relents from punishing.” (Joel 2: 13)
And the whole of the Bible, from Genesis onwards, charts the story of that love of God for human beings.
“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ”
I don’t know about high sopranos, but I believe it’s true of tightrope walkers that they don’t look down. So instead of focussing on our failings this Lent I’d like to suggest instead that we look up towards Christ. He is the ultimate expression of God’s love for us. In Christ God takes on Himself all the frailty of our human nature. He becomes dust with us and suffers for us. This is powerfully expressed in the hymn ‘My Song is Love Unknown’ which we shall sing later in this service.
The words were written by Samuel Crossman, who had his own difficult path to tread. He was ordained in 1660 but soon found himself on the wrong side of the religious establishment. It was a difficult time for anyone with strong convictions. He had Puritan sympathies, and refused to assent to the 1662 Act of Uniformity and the Book of Common Prayer, so he lost his living as a clergyman. ‘My Song is Love unknown’, published in 1664, is a meditative poem in which we’re invited to own the song as ours, to reflect on what Christ has done. We follow the way of the cross, but pause for self-examination in each verse.
The tune was written in 1919 by John Ireland. Musically sophisticated, it manages to combine both inward reflection and outward declamation. It’s written in a major key, but conveys a hint of melancholy in the distinctive use of downward suspended notes in the tenor part. This movement is emphasised at the midpoint of each verse, mirroring the words. For me, words and tune together both perfectly express the love of God and invite our response.
“O who am I, that for my sake, my Lord should take frail flesh and die.”
Greatly loved dust indeed.
Amen