Dust in the Wind

Ecclesiastes 1:1-18
Ash Wednesday
February 14, 2024
William G. Carter

The words of the Teacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem. Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity. What do people gain from all the toil at which they toil under the sun?

A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever. The sun rises and the sun goes down, and hurries to the place where it rises. The wind blows to the south, and goes around to the north; round and round goes the wind, and on its circuits the wind returns. All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full; to the place where the streams flow, there they continue to flow. All things are wearisome; more than one can express; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, or the ear filled with hearing.

 

What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun. Is there a thing of which it is said, “See, this is new”? It has already been, in the ages before us. The people of long ago are not remembered, nor will there be any remembrance of people yet to come by those who come after them.

 

I, the Teacher, when king over Israel in Jerusalem, applied my mind to seek and to search out by wisdom all that is done under heaven; it is an unhappy business that God has given to human beings to be busy with. I saw all the deeds that are done under the sun; and see, all is vanity and a chasing after wind. What is crooked cannot be made straight, and what is lacking cannot be counted. I said to myself, “I have acquired great wisdom, surpassing all who were over Jerusalem before me; and my mind has had great experience of wisdom and knowledge.” And I applied my mind to know wisdom and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this also is but a chasing after wind. For in much wisdom is much vexation, and those who increase knowledge increase sorrow.

 To the reading of the text, I add two more lines from elsewhere in the book. From chapter three, “All go to one place; all are from the dust, and all turn to dust again” (3:20) and another verse from chapter 12, “The dust returns to the earth as it was, and the breath returns to God who gave it.” (12:7)

 

Texts like that remind me of a song, a song that hit the charts when I was eighteen years old. The band that performed it had a hit, and they were coming to play a concert in the hockey arena in Binghamton. I snared two tickets, one of them for a beautiful young lass. I offered to pick her up in my parent’s Dodge. We would sit in arena seats and listen to a band called Kansas. They would sing to us their classic song, “All we are is dust in the wind.”

It’s a classic rock ballad with a lyrical violin solo and haunting lyric:

I close my eyes. Only for a moment and the moment’s gone.

All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity.

Dust in the wind. All they are is dust in the wind.

 

Same old song. Just a drop of water in an endless sea.

All we do. Crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see.

Dust in the wind. All we are is dust in the wind.

What a strange song for teenagers to swoon to. Back then, we believed we were made of rubber, able to bounce forward as well as bounce back. If there was trouble, they were certain they could get through it. If there was pain, the assumption was they could remain unscathed. The future was wide open. Things were looking up.

Yet the rock and roll arenas were filled with teens holding cigarette lighters in the air, singing along with Kansas, “All we are is dust in the wind.”  Maybe they knew the truth, that life is fragile. Sometimes there is a car crash on prom night. Everybody wakes up from the illusion that life goes on forever, especially for those who push it to the limit. The dream passes before our eyes.

Or you discover you are not a big deal, not anymore, if you ever were. On the first day of the 100-level introductory course at the university, four hundred people are crammed in the lecture hall. It is a far cry from the twenty-four in A.P science in high school. The professor says, “If you can’t find a seat, don’t worry. In two weeks, a third of your classmates will have dropped the course.” Here is the truth: you are a drop of water in an endless sea.

The wise people who put Ecclesiastes in the Bible did so for a reason. They know what we know, that try as we might, we are not as important as we believe ourselves to be. Life doesn’t always turn out as we hope. Things break, people break, plans are scattered. If we live an honest and introspective life, we end up with more questions than answers. So, the Preacher declares, “This is the way it is. I don’t want you to be deceived.”

We don’t know much about the so-called Preacher who composes this book. He claims to be wealthy. He declares himself a worldly success. This anonymous writer describes himself as King Solomon, who lived hundreds of years before him. The Preacher has the palace, the pleasures, the riches, and the concubines.

Yet he doesn’t have it all. He says, “I have wisdom.” And he says, “I don’t have wisdom.” That’s the paradox. He can’t make sense of it all. Probably composing this meditation at the end of his life, the Preacher faces clear limits on what he has done, what he can still do, and what he can understand. He knows his life has an expiration date. “The dust returns to the earth as it was, and the breath returns to God who gave it.” (12:7)

Or as we say in church and synagogue, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

Today, as the first day of Lent collides with Valentine’s Day, many have chuckled at the weird intersection. I sent out a picture in last week’s church e-mail, of ashes placed on somebody’s forehead in the shape of a heart. Others have pointed out it’s impossible to spell “valentine” without spelling “Lent” in the middle of the word. And today, two of you sent me the same poem for these intersecting holidays. It reads, “Roses are red / Ashes are grey / We’re all going to die / Happy Valentine’s Day.”

That might be a little too honest, yet this is the truth. There are limits to our lives. Whether we perceive it or not, the eternal God puts a parenthesis before us and after us. When our days conclude, there will be a dash between two dates. The Preacher says, “A generation goes, a generation comes, the earth continues on.” True enough.

The Gospel would add one thing more. We are dust, yes. But we are God’s dust. We are breathed alive by the same Spirit Set before the One who is the Alpha and the Omega, the first and last, the beginning and the end, our days are remarkably short. Yet our days are known. We are known.

Tonight, we come with all our limitations, mortally aware of our finitude, and what we receive is the mark of the cross. For we belong to God through the love of Jesus Christ. Even if we know the hard truth that none of us will understand it all or get everything done, we can trust the holy God that gathers us here, holds us for a while, and embraces us forever. In life and death, we belong to God. That is all we need to remember. And it is enough.

 (c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.