The Abyss of Dust
Simone Riva - We would remain dust forever if the Mystery had not stooped down to us, becoming man. Who are we, if God has decided to keep us company?
"The ashes remind us of the hope to which we are called because Jesus, the Son of God, mingled himself with the dust of the earth, raising it up to heaven.
And he descended into the depths of dust, dying for us and reconciling us with the Father," Pope Francis said in his message for this Lent. Perhaps we have become accustomed to the initiative taken by God. Perhaps we think that these are just evocative, poetic images—literary games—and so we have an excuse to find all the necessary alibis to do it ourselves.
In fact, on closer inspection, a God who decided to "mix himself with the dust of the earth" is inconvenient, very inconvenient. The more imaginable it is, the better. The more it remains an empty container, the more we can fill it according to our thoughts.
To avoid these reductions, however, the Mystery became man, to the point of descending "into the abyss of dust." He reached us at the point where we cannot cheat, because we are cornered by our need and our fragility.
There are many things that seem to have the power to take our breath away. They oppress, they tighten, they leave us no escape. And when all our plans and defenses are shattered, then we can assess what is left standing.
This is why the Son of God descended to the lowest depths of our dust: to free us at last from the fear of what in us is a dead end. As the Holy Father said last Wednesday, "If we receive the ashes with our heads bowed in order to return to the memory of what we are, the Lenten season does not want to leave us with our heads bowed but rather urges us to raise our heads toward Him who rises from the abyss of death, dragging us too from the ashes of sin and death to the glory of eternal life."
The sudden appearance of His initiative in our lives, which bears the name of Mercy, is the only road to freedom that allows us to start over again, embracing all of us, dust included.
What a difference compared to the mania of imposing our projects and our interpretations, perhaps even accusing those of others. This Lent is a good challenge—like every Lent—that goes straight to the heart of every question: Who am I? Who am I if God has decided to keep me company even at the lowest point of my humanity? Who am I if no one is able to lift me up even in my most poignant need? Who am I if not even the dust I will end up as will have the last word?
The author has not revised the text and its translations.
