Ash Wednesday February 18th, 2026 Worship

One of the things I love about the Seattle Aquarium is their conservation work and their education on the One World Ocean. We were taught about the four different oceans in school, although they have now changed the number in recent years to five, and it always felt like they were these distinct and separate bodies of water. In reality, our ocean is one large, interconnected ocean. These various boundaries and names have political, cultural, and scientific reasons for existing, but that does not negate the fact that this one ocean connects the entire Earth. I know I’m talking about marine biology a lot this week, but I promise there is a point to it! Because, I cannot help but see a similarity to how we try to make sense of our own reality.
When it comes to recognizing our humanity, we are often taught all of these various ways to differentiate ourselves from other humans, whether that be social class, gender, age, nationality, or countless other distinctions. Yet, one of the reasons that I love Ash Wednesday so much is that it is a reminder of our interconnectedness. Despite all the ways that we try to divide ourselves, on this day, we are again reminded that we are created from dust and to dust we shall return. This isn’t a promise which says that I am created from dust, you are created from clay, this person is created from sand, and that person is created from rock. You are from dust and to dust you shall return, and so is everyone else.
While it can be easy to see this as a morbid reminder of our mortality, that isn’t the only way to see the cross of ashes on our foreheads. Instead, I see it as a calling to humility, to rest in the promise that we are the created, not the Creator. That we are connected with everything else that God has created by the very nature of our existence from the dust. We are one world, one creation, one humanity. I don’t say that to diminish the ways that we are uniquely created, but to highlight how we are all impacted by the events in each other’s lives. That is matters here in Seattle what is happening in Minneapolis, in Palestine, and in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. We don’t just pray for those people and places on Sundays to make ourselves feel good, but because we care about the well-being of people all around the world. It’s grounded in a recognition that creation isn’t truly flourishing if only a small percentage is thriving and the rest is crying out in pain and anguish; that we are not separate from any of the other dusty creatures that God has created and called good.
It’s part of why I find the words of the Psalmist today frustrating, because he goes on about being “steeped in wickedness, a sinner from my mother’s womb” (Psalm 51:5). Now, I get that it is an act of humility, a sign that he is not God and needs forgiveness from God, but it draws away from the fact that in the beginning, God called what was created good. It pulls us away from the fact that we were created with care in love and that our very existence does in fact matter. That our presence changes the communities in which we live.
In Lent, we get to take the opportunity to more fully acknowledge the ways that we have turned from God and others, but it isn’t meant to be a punishment or just a reminder of how bad we are. It is, however, an intentional time to turn around, to move forward in a different direction, to fast from self-centeredness and superiority. I love the way that Jesus calls out performing our piety before others in the Gospel that we always read on Ash Wednesday, when we will all walk out of here with an ash cross on our foreheads. Yet, perhaps because we just had a baptism in church, I have a different way of thinking about it this year.
The cross on our foreheads today isn’t to call out our piety before others because we went to church today, but it is a reminder of our belovedness. Of the way that God created us from the dust, breathed to life by the Spirit of God, and called us good from the beginning. It recalls our baptisms, when we were again reminded that we are the Beloved of God. We often forget that we hear the words, “you have been marked with the cross of Christ forever” in our baptismal liturgy. So, each year, we gather again on this day and are given a visible reminder of that cross which dwells on our foreheads, not as a sign of our piety, but of our belovedness. And, as we look around this room, we see that everyone else has received that same reminder too. That we are a part of a beautiful, messy, broken, joyful, inter-connected human system. A community of people who will all die one day, to go back to the dust from which we were created, and who hear the promise through the Resurrection that death isn’t the finality.
Our fasts, then, are meant to help us restore those areas of disconnection. To reach out beyond the margins and boundaries that we or society have created for us. To see others as Beloved children of God too, instead of all the other labels we might be quick to assign to them. This is why I love getting the longer version of the Isaiah reading today too, because it isn’t just a lecture from God about how fasting isn’t just empty motions done to appease God, but there is also a beautiful promise at the end. God talks about how, if these things are done, “Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in” (Isaiah 58: 12). These are the ways that our communities can be built and re-built, connections with one another can be restored, and we can move closer to this flourishing that is desired from God. But, it means seeing these words, that you are dust and to dust you shall return, as something so much bigger than just a statement of mortality, but a promise and a calling back to the interconnectedness that became embodied in us when we were formed from the dust particles; gathered, lovingly formed, and imbued with the Spirit of God.
So, as we begin our Lenten journey today, may you hear the words “remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return,” as a sign of your mortality and your Belovedness. As a promise that you are holy and you are whole. May these forty days be a time of centering ourselves back on the things that matter most when everything else keeps calling for our attention too. May our fasting turn us outward toward our communities and renew our relationship with God, when so frequently we want to turn in on ourselves and disconnect ourselves from the world around us. May we be reminded that these ashes aren’t just something we do to call us to our need for repentance, but through the cross, they also remind us of the promises of God’s grace and forgiveness. After all, we are dust creatures! There are times that we are going to be a little messy, but we are still called the Beloved of God, not despite our dusty creatureliness but because of it.