We’re to become dust, says my Lord.
The value of dust? Next to nothing.
Lowly and compliant as a sandal print.
Tramped on, kicked around, beaten down.
Jesus became dust – stripped and spat upon,
mocked and rejected, a carcass hanging from a nail,
far from God’s glory as a man could get.
To unite with God, apparently,
we must choose to become exactly
what God is not – a mote of dust,
(the perfect counterweight);
dust because God is immaculate;
because He is majestic, singular;
because God is dynamic, creative, alive!
To unite, o seeker, with the living
God Eternal, we must choose to die
beyond any hope
of resurrection or salvation.
O child of God, from your dust-clotted throat
sing now, sing – we are not we but one.