Rewilding Lent

Originally given at Westminster Presbyterian Church (Trenton, NJ)

Genesis 3: 19

 “you are dust and to dust you shall return”

We will hear this refrain again and again this evening . It is our Ash Wednesday mantra; our sacred chant to remember our mortality.

This phrase comes from the third chapter of Genesis. After Adam and Eve eat the fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, God tells Adam, “By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground for out of it you were taken; you are dust and to dust you shall return”

Now I don’t know about you, but for a long time, I understood God’s words here as a threat. God’s words here in Genesis sounded similarly to me as the perennial favorite of parents, “I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it.”

For most of my life, these words were a stark warning concerning God’s sheer power over the forces of life and death. A reminder that we come from nothing, and we will go back to nothing.  These words are a harsh command for humility and penance 

“you are dust and to dust you shall return”

Somber,  blunt,  and, honestly, terrifying

But don’t worry though. That’s not the kind message I’d like to share with you all today. 

This evening, I’d like to offer a different perspective. One that is hopefully much more tender and lifegiving. Friends, God’s words from Genesis are not a warning and they are not a threat.

Instead, they are an invitation: An invitation to live into our creatureliness and our interconnectedness to the world around us.

God reminds us of our origins, beckons us to return to our bodies, and invites us into relationship with our more-than-human neighbors. Like Simba’s dad in the lion King, appearing in the clouds imploring Simba to Remember who he is-- God encourages us to remember who we are and what we are.

While many versions of the Bible translate God’s words in Genesis 3 as  “you are dust and to dust you shall return”, a better translation of it would actually be “you are from the soil, and to the soil you shall return” In fact, the same word in Hebrew that is translated here as “ash” actually comes from the same root word of Adam’s own name. The name Adam comes from the Hebrew word “Adamah” which means soil, ground, land, or earth. That fertile, loamy soil that is teeming with life and ready to share its abundance with the rest of creation.

Adam, the first human, was named after the very thing he came from. And his name literally means “earthling” or “soil being”

But why does this matter? Why does it matter if the word is ash or dust or soil or even dirt? How and why is God’s declaration of our earthiness dven important.

These words of God tell us of our inherent connection to one another, to all other living beings, and to all of creation.

 It is a profound reminder of our radical connectedness. Of our kinship with one another

God’s words remind us that the same iron molecules that swirled and spun amongst the stars at the dawn of creation now carries oxygen throughout our body. That the same atoms that kept made up the woolly mammoth’s warm coat may now very well rest in your little pinky toe. God’s words remind us that the very same water that Christ was baptized in all those many years ago may very well have been used to brew your coffee this morning.

God’s words to Adam then—and to us now—teach us and remind us that we are not as singular or isolated as we might think. Everything about us has been reused and recycled in by creatures who lived and died eons before us.

Not only ar ewe connected to the creatures who came before us but we are also connected to those who will come after us to. After our time on this earth is over, our molecules will be the building blocks of future generations of flora and fauna. Our atoms may one day find themselves in the massive branch of a giant sequoia or in the vibrant hues in a peacock’s feathers.

We are connected to all of creation in ways that are so much more profound than we could ever possibly imagine.

And Not only do God’s words remind us of our radical kinship with the world but they also invite us to lean into and embrace this beautiful tapestry of creaturely relationships. We are invited to re-wild ourselves.  To, as one scholar puts it, to rehabilitate our identity as kin within a larger field of family relations.

We not invited into a romanticized version of a relationship with creation but a real and tangible one. A dirt-under-our-nails, sticks in our hair, and sweet berry seeds in our teeth kind of flesh and bone relationship. A relationship that honors both the wisdom and unpredictability of our fellow creatures

And This lent is a great opportunity to practice re-wilding ourselves. To commit to practices that connects us to our non-human neighbors.

It’s traditional that during lent we fast from different forms of indulgences. Instead of giving up chocolate or coffee or scrolling on Instagram, I’d like to invite you to consider trying some earth centered Lenten practices.

Here are some examples! Take what works for you and leave behind the rest.

If fasting is a meaningful practice for you during lent, try fasting from consumerism and fast fashion.

Consider a low or no buy month/ week

• Is this something that will end up in the trash in a few months? Or will I actually use this long term?

• Is this product something you get this second hand at a thrift store or a local buy nothing group

Or, if you’re like me, and like to try adding a practice during lent, here are two possibilities

Maybe try cultivating a habit of noticing

• What bird songs do you hear? (I love using the Merlin app from Cornell University’s ornothology department to identify bird calls!)

• What kinds of trees are in your neighborhood or the park?

• What are the aspects of the world around you

Try growing something

• Whether that be a small houseplant or a tomato plant, give it a try! Any greenery rooted in soil can help us reconnect to the earth from which we were created.

If these options didn’t necessarily speak to you, that’s totally fine! What may resonate with your neighbor may not resonate with you, and that’s okay.

And like with all practices, it’s a practice. It means we’re doing over and over again with grace for ourselves when we mess up. As pastora Karen says, (say it with me!) it’s not about perfection but about adoration

So Friends I pray that this lent may be a time of reflection and renewal. Of fumbling through new practices and having the courage to try again. And I pray that this lent we might gain a fuller and greater knowledge of our creatureliness and kinship with all of creation. Amen.