Covid deathsYesterday, President Biden publicly commemorated the 500,000 people who have died of COVID-19 in this country alone. It’s a staggering number, and yet as the stories keep coming and the number goes up, I get numb to the reality of it.

Because I am not a nurse or some other front-line worker, because I don’t walk into the risk daily, because I have the option of staying home and keeping some distance, I forget how vulnerable they are, and how they walk into danger each day.

One week ago was Ash Wednesday. Our church was to have a drive-by Ash Wednesday service, but with the winter storm, even that was cancelled. Ash Wednesday is my favorite religious service of the year. Call me weird, but there is something deeply moving about being reminded of my impermanence. That’s what the experience is all about for me; ashes being put on my forehead, the words recited, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return.”

For me those are not ominous words. They are words that shake me into awareness. I will return to dust. It’s not an “if,” it’s a “when.” And the “when” can be any time. It’s the luck of the moment that I am still here. Some of my friends, through no fault of their own, are not still here. Others, through no good works of their own are still around.

The Lenten season this year runs right through the COVID season. I want to pay attention to my own impermanence. I want to appreciate the impermanence of those around me. I want to find ways to celebrate that for today, we are here together.