Let me tell you briefly part of the stories of two men. One was a highly successful professional. At his prime, he was at the top of his career, both in terms or recognition and in terms of income. He traveled around the country in his private airplane, always had a full appointment book, was recognized by professional organizations for his contributions and served generations of families. He was recognized at civic and cultural events and was sought after as a member of prestigious boards of directors. He and his second wife built a large country estate with many luxuries and a commanding view. They entertained lavishly and invitations to their events were treasured. He had a fleet of vehicles from which to choose and often his automobile was the center of attention in a parking lot. From many different perspectives he was a highly successful man.

The other man was a dedicated small business owner. He worked long hours and reinvested wisely in his growing business. He commanded a specific niche in the market and garnered favor with his customers. He was very civic minded. For decades he served in almost every office available in his service club and in his church. He was a well-known figure not only in his own community, but around the state for his service. He attended state and national conventions and was often the first name on the list of nominating committees. He never achieved the level of income of the first man, but he lived wisely within his income. He didn’t need to be showy in his choice of home or transportation. He, too, was considered to be a success.

Both now live in a nursing home, requiring around-the-clock care. They are no longer able to take care of their own physical needs. They no longer can manage their own business affairs. Family members had to step in and obtain powers of attorney. Care had to be purchased at a very high cost. Family resources have gone to a slow process of decline. One by one their friends passed away or slipped away. Their family members have moved to other zip codes. The majority of their days they have no visitors and when a visitor comes, it is for an hour in an otherwise very long week.

For both men it is hard to determine their state of mind at this point. Their memories don’t work as well as once was the case. Though the afflictions from which they suffer have different names and medical professionals have different names for the causes of their inability to care for themselves, their stories are both stories of aging. They once were on top of their game. They once were on top of the world. They grew old. And their disabilities mounted. And they lost control of things over which they once were masters.

Years ago, when these men were being installed as officers in prestigious organizations and their peers were drinking to their health, no one was thinking of the day when they would need someone to help them eat or get dressed. In those days no one was thinking of the indignity of incontinence and disposable underwear.

Although their stories are unique and distinct to their individual experiences, their present lives could feature in the stories of many other people. It is possible to outlive your friends and experience a kind of loneliness that escapes others. It is possible for even the most physically capable person to become disabled and dependent.

Today is Ash Wednesday. Each year, for one day, some of us are reminded of our own mortality. Time is passing and things will not remain the way that they are. The words are simple: “Remember that you have come from dust and to dust you will return.” We are all made of the same stuff. This human experience is temporary. We are born. We live. We die.

This reminder of our mortality, however, is not morbid for us. While we do not deny the reality of our lives, we live with the understanding that there is more to the story. Often our words fail us when we try to speak of the bigger picture, but we turn to the stories of our people to remind us that while each generation has unique experiences, we all belong to a story that did not begin with our birth. Long before we were born our people lived and died. They experienced pain and triumph, tragedy and success. They experienced the fleeting nature of recognition and honor. They endured the trials of decline and disability. They suffered the crushing weight of grief and loss.

And their story is not over.

We belong to a story that not only began long before our birth, but will continue after our time on this earth has reached its conclusion. None of us gets to choose the timing or manner of our death, but we all will die. And when we do, the incredible love story of God and the people of God will continue. Tales of the nursing home is not the theme of our lives.

One of the things that Ash Wednesday does is to teach us to treasure the time we have been given. In this life we are given love and community and the opportunities for deep relationship with others. Sometimes we are distracted by visions of success - of financial reward, of personal glory, of recognition and acclaim. Sometimes we are tempted to pursue goals that lead us away from life’s real treasures of lasting love and deep commitment. Sometimes we are drawn away from true community in pursuit of perceived glory.

So we need the reminder. Every year we need to be reminded. We are mortal. Our time is limited. How we invest that time is important.

Whether or not your forehead sports ashes today, I pray that you will be reminded that you are beloved of God and you were born to live in love with others.

The ashes are an external sign. They will wash off. It is what goes on in the inside that matters.

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