Category Archives: Homilies

The Wind beneath your wings.

Once there was a bird who loved to fly. But one day, while she was high up in the air, it began to rain, and her feathers became so heavy that when she tried to land, she crashed and broke her wing. Eventually, she healed, but there was a problem. Every time she wanted to fly, something inside stopped her from leaving the ground. Day after day, her fear and anxiety held her down. She forgot who she was.

But one day, a strong wind came, caught her, and lifted her high into the sky. Terrified, the bird had no other choice but to open her wings.

And that’s when she remembered how to fly.

We all have moments like this in our lives. When we are frozen. When we forget who we are. Like when a bill arrives and you have no idea how you are going to pay for it.  Or, when someone at home has an addiction. Or we have to deal with controlling boss. Or when we forget to complete a school project.  Or a medical situation just drops into our lives, one that we never would have imaged we’d have to deal with. What are we supposed to do? We forget how to be happy. We’re overwhelmed. We have no idea what it means to ‘go in peace’.

But God remembers. And God gets to work.

Not by taking away our problems, our fears and anxieties. But by reminding us of who we really are. By being that strong wind that will life us up… just like that little bird.

That’s exactly what happened to Abraham in our first reading from Genesis.  We know the theological meaning here – a foreshadowing of the sacrifice of Jesus; a testimony to Abraham’s faith – but let’s be real: what was dinner like that night at Abraham’s home? Imagine his stress, his anxiety, his confusion when he looked into the eyes of his son. He must have questioned why that whole episode had to happen in the first place.

We’ve all been there. Struggling with God’s plans. Maybe it’s your Lenten journey this year.  The prayer, the fasting, the almsgiving. We might think: “Ugh. Here I am trying to make through today, and I’m also supposed to not eat meat, to be diligent in prayers, to give my money away to a charity.” Like that little bird, we’re frozen.  We know what we’re supposed to do, but we just can’t.

Abraham reminds us that God always has our best interests in mind. We need to remember and trust God through not only the blessing of what we can do, but maybe even more so in our greatest losses, our greatest disappointments, our broken dreams.

You can’t help but hope that the student marches in Parkland to protest gun violence are going to make a difference. That out of a horrible event, our nation will be changed for the better. The same with the Dreamers, as our Cardinal Cupich has spoken about quite a bit this week. Both reminders that God provides us the gift of hope in the moments of our greatest despair.

Maybe that’s why we read the Transfiguration in today’s Gospel. Our destiny, our “destination” – a peek into heaven. For just a brief moment, God’s provides a strong wind to get us in the air again. We see the promise of our own resurrection, our life in the presence of Jesus the Lord. He flew first, through death into new life. He showed us the way.

The sacrifice of Isaac happens at the beginning of Abraham’s life. Yet he is promised so much for doing what God asks him to do. Through his effort, the nation of Israel begins.

Imagine all the wonderful things God has in store for your life after you – like Abraham — face your difficult moments. To know that your problem is not the end of the story.

That’s’ the promise of Easter. That’s the reminder of Lent.

The great Billy Graham, who passed away this week, once said, “I’ve read the last page of the bible. It’s all going to turn out alright.”

May that be the wind beneath our wings this morning.



Ash Wednesday Homily (for students)

Blake Sheldon. Jennifer Hudson. Adam Levine. Miley Cyrus. The Voice. The judges. Last season. Even if you don’t watch the show, you’ve seen the commercials. Blind Auditions. A nervous singer on a dark stage, judges facing the opposite way, towards the audience.

Talk about stress. I bet it takes a lot of courage to be willing to be judged like that on national TV. Imagine how that must feel? If the judges like what they hear, they hit a red button, and the chair spins around in approval. A sign lights up beneath their seat. “I want you.” Wow.

We’ve all had anxious moments like those singers, haven’t we, when we wanted so badly to be chosen? Will the coaches choose me to start on varsity? What if my chemistry project doesn’t get chosen? Will I get accepted to my first choice of colleges? What if none of my friends show up after school?

Sometimes we are chosen. But sometimes we are not. Let’s face it: sometimes we are not at our best. Maybe we let ourselves down, took a few shortcuts, maybe started doubting ourselves. The mystics and psychologists tell us that if we dig deep enough, we’ll always find some stuff we are not proud of. That’s the core of what St. Ignatius refers to as a ‘loved sinner’ in the Spiritual Exercises. It sounds something like this….

How could anyone choose me? Why would any of those judges’ turn around for me?

When I was in high school, I used to think Lent was a sort of blind audition for God’s attention. A dark obstacle course, controlled by a God facing the other way. I used to think… if I pray, if I fast, if I abstain – just like what Jesus’ asks us to do in Matthew’s Gospel today – maybe God will judge me favorably. Love me a little more. Maybe bless me a little more.

But to paraphrase that great philosopher Dustin Henderson from Stranger Things, “Sometimes, my total obliviousness just blows God’s mind.”  No, it took a few years for God to teach me one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned. That there is nothing any of us can do during Lent – or any other time — that will get God to love us any more than He does right now. You can’t earn God’s favor. During the next 40 days, we’re all called to look with humility on our sinfulness… but the intent is to change our actions, our hearts, our minds — not God’s.

What am I saying?  It’s simply this: before you were born, before you even knew what an audition was, God had already hit the red button. His chair had already turned around. The creator of the universe is calling out your name, a smile ear to ear, despite your failures, your sins, your flaws. That’s what Jesus did, ransomed our sins through His death and resurrection. An economy of grace. Not an economy of merit.

You know, those Blind Auditions are only the first few episodes. The rest of the season continues with the Battle Rounds, the Knockout Rounds, the Playoffs. The real work begins after they singers have been chosen.  Just like us.

Imagine the bottom of God’s judging chair not saying “I want you”, but “I need you.”  To serve the poor, to go to confession, to defend the marginalized, to honestly repent,  to get involved in your parish, to help out with our school service programs, to go to Mass… these are the most important ‘acts’ you will ever perform.  That’s what the ashes mean. You are marked by God. To do great things.

But unlike The Voice, you’re not up on a stage all alone. As the Prophet Joel instructs the Israelites in our first reading, “call an assembly; gather the people, assemble the elders….”  So, too, with us. Just look around.

If the #Me Too movement has taught us anything, it’s that one courageous voice, multiplied by thousands – millions — can and does make a difference.

Just like the ocean of neon, our student cheering section, dressed so colorfully behind the basket at the Jesuit Cup. E Pluribus Unum. We all could feel the love. And win or lose, your cheers did not stop. And that’s the type of solidarity and support our world so desperately needs today. Are you up for the challenge?

C.S. Lewis said it best, of course.  He almost always does.

Even though our feelings come and go, God’s love for us does not. A love not wearied by our sins, or our indifference. A love quite relentless in its determination to heal us… at whatever cost to us… and at whatever cost to Christ.

Christmas Eve Homily 2017

“How can this be?”

I can remember asking that same question when I first heard about on-line shopping. No cash needed. I remember asking that question when somebody explained to me what a GPS system was. And when I was told I could now adjust the thermostat in my house with an app. Or when I could lock my car from 20 feet away.

“How can this be?”

Now if you’re under 25, you’re probably thinking “What’s he talking about?” But for those of us who are a little older, all these things that we couldn’t even imagine a few years ago are now part of our daily lives, thanks to technology.  Like Charles Kettering quote about the Wright Brothers “They flew right through the smoke screen of impossibility.” Think of how different your life would be without MRI’s? They can see inside you now! Laser surgery? Even without e-mail?

So tell me,… why is it that when we think of all the other unquestioned impossibilities in our lives, we give up so easily?

We say, I just can’t forgive that person. I’ll never get rehired in my line of work. I’ll never lose that weight.  I won’t be able to beat my addiction. I’ll never get a good medical report. I’ll never get over the loss of my mother… my father… my son…  my daughter…  my wife…  my husband. That’s impossible.

But today’s Gospel has a different message for us.  One of the most amazing messages we will ever hear!

When the angel Gabriel tells Mary “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you,” he’s talking to us as well. Nothing is impossible with God. Most people thought that God becoming man – the Incarnation – was impossible. They thought rising from the dead was impossible. Miracles were impossible. Unconditional love was impossible.

And they were wrong. We are wrong.

You know, that word “overshadow” in the original Greek means “to envelop in a haze of brilliancy.” Well, God has enveloped your life “in a haze a brilliancy,” too. Sound impossible? Think for a moment how many people are happy to see you, depend on you, who love you so much. You are a bright light to your friends and family, to all gathered here today. God has made your light possible, your life possible. You are living proof that miracles happen.

Winston Churchill thought many things in his life were impossible. He was held back a grade during elementary school. When he entered high school, he was placed in the lowest division of the lowest class. Later, he failed the entrance exam to the Royal Military Academy — twice. He was soundly defeated in his first effort to serve in Parliament. He finally began his political career as Prime Minister at the age of 62.

When asked if he ever doubted he could do the impossible, Churchill replied, “No. My attitude always was to never give up, never give in, never, never, never, never.” Shouldn’t we be even more trusting in God’s providence, knowing all the miracles Christ has woven into our lives?

Scripture tells us that when they lowered a paralyzed man down to Jesus through the roof on a stretcher, Jesus told him to rise because his sins were forgiven. When he did, the doubters were amazed. How could this be? They didn’t believe Jesus could do the impossible.

So why are we still doubting? If Christ can make the lame walk, imagine the miracles he can work in your life? Sometimes I think we are guilty of thinking God is too small. We are not dreaming enough.

Where do you need to start believing? In your ability to forgive someone from years ago? Physical healing? Getting straight “A”’s? Think about it: If technology can do so much, imagine how much more God can do for you when you ask in prayer, when you receive the Eucharist, when you follow Him, when you believe.

Today let’s not ask God “How can this be?” I mean, Mary has already asked that in her youthful insecurity and unknowing.

No, maybe let’s pray a new prayer this Christmas season…

“Lord, I know you can make the impossible possible. You’ve done it before. You can do it again. I know nothing in this life is perfect – starting with me – but you make all things new.  Give me the grace to face the uncomfortable situations, the harsh realities, the impossibilities in my life, knowing You are by my side. Help me to stop doubting, and start believing that You can change all things – because You have changed all things. I’m not asking for a perfect ending to my journeys. I’m asking to begin to learn to trust You as Mary did. And may my trust begin today.”





Report Cards and New Resolutions.

Well, we made it — our Church year is over! That was fast one, wasn’t it? You might not have even realized it, of course, with Thanksgiving and Black Friday this week. Yes, this is the last Sunday of the Church year. It’s sort of like our New Year’s Day. It’s a chance to look forward, of course, but also an opportunity to look back. A chance to consider some questions like… was it a pretty good year in matters of faith, or not so good? Were we good disciples, or mediocre ones? Did we stay on the good path, or did we stray all over the place?

Think about it. If you had to give yourself a report card measuring how well you followed Jesus this past year, what grade would you give yourself? And maybe more importantly, what New Year’s resolution are you going to make in order to keep those grades up?

That’s a tall order, I know. But seeing as our Gospel today — one of the few places in the New Testament where Jesus tells us how we’ll be “graded” – is about evaluating our experience, maybe we should give it a try.

I mean, we get “graded” all the time, don’t we? Like at our jobs. About how well we work with co-workers who don’t do their fair share. Company policies that make little sense. Customers who act rudely or who are completely unreasonable. Bad hours. Low pay. Managers who don’t understand. Everyone agrees to be evaluated – that’s how we get better. I bet there are many people here this morning who evaluate others!

Now, business wisdom tells us that when we look out over our works places, we just need to focus on what is most important. And what’s most important? Well, many would say that your primary responsibility is to do what you can to make your boss happy.”

Don’t worry about all the other stuff going on — the office politics, cliques and gossip. Simply try to do what your boss expects of you. And nine times out of ten, your evaluation will take care of itself.

And maybe that’s what the Solemnity of Christ the King is all about. A day on which we are reminded to focus on what is most important. Indeed, that’s why Pope Pius XI instituted this feast in 1925 as a response to growing secularism and nationalism in the aftermath of World War I. But it’s not the same as the work place. For Jesus is not just some kind of “boss”. He’s not someone that we have to serve grudgingly. He’s not someone that gets to tell us what to do because we have no other options for income. He’s definitely not someone we simply “work” for nine-to-five and then forget about until the next day.

No, this solemnity celebrates a king who doesn’t tower over us, but loves us. Who doesn’t control us, but invites us into a deeper relationship with him. Who doesn’t rule through intimidation or fear, but through compassion and mercy. Who doesn’t seek to exact revenge, but forgives and forgives and forgives again.

In other words, our primary response to that kind of love, to that type of leadership from our King, is to love others in the same way. Everything else will take care of itself. To treat the poor, the orphaned, the widows, and the foreigners in the same way we would want to be treated. The way that God treat us.

That’s contagious, isn’t it? Who wouldn’t want to do the same? So, let’s get back to the report cards. How did we do this past year, based on what St. Matthew just explained to us?

“I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.”

Or, another way to ask that today might be — how kind were we? How compassionate? Did we show mercy? Were we as forgiving as with people in our lives as they were with our lives? Were we as generous and as loving as we could have been, as much as we appreciate generosity?

Now, I have a confession to make. I did not make the honor roll. I think I need to hit the books (that is, learn to love) a little better. My sinfulness took me away from God this past year, and in order to do better, I’m going to need some help. Maybe you can relate?

But there is no need to travel far to find assistance on this. Remember our first reading from Ezekiel, when God says “I myself will look after and tend my sheep?” That’s the consolation I need. When we are lost – when we are not getting good grades – God will find us. God will give you the strength to get all your homework done. He’ll be with you through every test. You will be a straight A student.

See, Ezekiel went around trying to change people during the Babylonian exile. He makes it clear that Yahweh himself will from now on take over the shepherding of this people. Not a conquering power. Yahweh will seek out the lost and bring back the strayed, just like Israel’s return from exile and resettlement in the Holy Land.

“The injured I will bind up; the sick I will heal.”

By finding the lost, by healing the sick, by saving them from the darkness, the cloudiness, by giving them rest, by bringing low the proud and the foolish who appear to be winning… this King will take care of them.

Shouldn’t we trust God do to the same? Starting this Advent, with a clean slate, looking ahead to the next twelve months?

I think I just found my New Year’s Resolution.






Finding your keys.

Have you ever considered that everyone (well, almost everyone!) has some sort of key chain?  In this time of division in our world, I’d like to think of all our keys as a sort of common bond we all share. Whether that be at home, at work, as school, our keys allow us to function in the world, to complete our story.  Maybe that’s why we feel so lost when we lose them.  We’re all united on that point!

And if you really think about it, you’ll discover that as you grow older, as you grow wiser, when you work harder, as you get better at your job, maybe even a little luckier in life, your key ring fills up. But that’s not random chance. Maybe you worked hard to secure the loan, getting the down payment, maybe your parents trusting you with the key to the house, maybe your family’s safety deposit box, maybe your resume.

But here’ the bottom line: At some point along the way, despite your shortcomings, someone judged that you were ready for a key.

Do you remember how that felt? For me, every time I’ve received a key, even with the burden of responsibility, I felt both chosen and excited.  Chosen to be a good steward, and excited about all the possibilities.

It’s the same for all of us. Being chosen like that gives us the strength to become a fine homeowner. A great wife or husband. A great driver. A hard-working student who earned that locker. In a way, that fuels our identity to places we could not have imagined.

Like in our 1st reading today from Isaiah.  God is basically saying “Eli-a-kim, you thought you would remain a simple servant, but I have chosen you for greater things. I’m giving you the keys to this earthly kingdom. You will be the father to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, and to the house of Judah. You can do this.”

Same with Peter in our Gospel. Jesus is saying, “You thought you were simply going to follow me around as a faithful disciple, but I have chosen you for greater things. Here are the keys to the kingdom of heaven.”

Here’s my point: neither Eli-a-kim or Peter asked to be chosen. Scripture tells us there were times neither one acted like mature, responsible people, fit to be chosen. Just like us. Sinners in need of forgiveness.

But Jesus did chose Peter – impulsive, cowardly, unorganized, confused – as the “rock” our Church is built on. Metaphorically, Peter’s key chain just got a lot heavier.

Well, that’s all fine and well, you might ask. But what have I been given? Did Jesus leave me any keys?

Here’s the good news. He did. We have been given the keys to our salvation. Through the Sacraments.  Through the Eucharist.  Through Sacred Scripture. Through the Magisterium. And just as important, through everyone sitting around you. We can do nothing alone. We belong to a faith community – our source of grace and peace. Our keys. Nothing like the keys of St. Peter – or, his successor, Pope Francis – but an important set of keys nonetheless.

Through our faith, God is telling us we are ready. We are responsible enough to go forth and spread the good news. It’s why we come here – to celebrate the fact our Heavenly Father has chosen us, and to look ahead at what we can do together.

To feel confident and chosen to stand up to hatred, white supremacy, sexism. To work for immigration reform. To make our marriages work. To get through that job loss, that medical diagnosis, that first step to admit you need help with that addiction.  To do something for our brothers and sisters in Houston and southeast Texas as they continue to suffer the effects of the devastating flood.

God believes in you. Rejoice and be glad – we’ve been given the keys we need to build the kingdom of God.  That’s one thing we have in common this morning in this most fractured world – and it may well be the most important thing for us today.

Our opening Collect today sums it all up perfectly, I think. Perhaps we could sit with these words of our Liturgy in the days ahead, discerning our Catholic responsibilities, turning the keys that set us free.

O God, who cause the minds of the faithful to unite in a single purpose,
grant your people to love what you command and to desire what you promise,
and that, amid the uncertainties of this world,
our hearts may be fixed on that place where true gladness is found.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever.



A long time ago, before we had refrigerators, people used icehouses to preserve their food. They had thick walls, no windows, and tightly fitted doors. In winter, when the streams and lakes were frozen, workers cut out large blocks of ice and hauled them to the icehouses, and then covered everything with sawdust. Usually, that ice would last well into the summer, keeping everything inside cold. Mainly meat and dairy, as well as lots of other important things, piled one on top of the other.

Once, a man lost an expensive watch in an icehouse. He searched all morning, carefully sifting through the sawdust, shifting through all the items on the shelves, but he could not find it. Others searched as well, but they couldn’t find it either.

Later, a young boy heard about what had happened and slipped into the icehouse by himself. About 5 minutes later, he emerged with the watch.

Amazed, the man asked how he found it.  “Well, I closed the door,” the boy replied, “…lay down in the sawdust, and I didn’t move. Everything was cold, black, quiet… and that’s when I heard the watch ticking.”

I need to keep that story in mind. Too often, I’m moving around the shelves of my life, returning e-mails, writing, running errands, trying to figure out money problems, not being present. Way too busy to hear a watch ticking. Way too busy to hear the poor, the immigrant, the sick, the lonely, the abandoned, the broken. I can’t hear Jesus, the most important voice, the most important ticking.

You know, there are only three times that we hear God the Father speak in the New Testament — Jesus’s baptism in the River Jordan, the Last Supper, and here at the Transfiguration.  And I never really paid attention to this one phrase — when God speaks specifically to Peter, James and John, proclaimed both in the Gospel and the 2nd reading today — “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him!”

God is asking Jesus’ three closest companions –  Peter, James and John – to listen to His son. The same three who will follow Him to Calvary. Even though I thought they were listening, He’s asking them to lie still in the sawdust and shelves. Not to tell people about what they have seen, but stop, pray, and consider the glory of God.

It’s as if God is saying that it’s only through listening that we’ll see our lives infused with this incredible Divine presence. That God’s grace surrounds us, always waiting to transfigure our day. Our brokenness, our problems, our discouragements — all put in perspective when we hear God calling out to us “You are my beloved son — You are my beloved daughter.”

We can transfigure our lives by laying still and listening for God. There’s so much good in the world – so many watches ticking out there – we just need to go find them.  Maybe that means deleting an app or two, and adding one that lifts our hearts to God. Or not chasing a Facebook, Twitter or Instagram link.  Or pausing during your summer vacation to thank God for just how blessed you have been.  Or even as you wait in the doctor’s office to hear if you need surgery or not.

It’s as if this Feast of the Transfiguration is asking us to catch our breath for a moment, as Peter, James and John did. Let’s find God in the cold and darkness. Let’s hear the good news.  Let’s leave the judging, the busyness, the planning for just a moment, and find God again in our busy lives. Let that be the Spirit that drives us to feed the hungry, fight injustice, stand with the immigrants, work for health care. To be compassionate to all those suffering.

It’s as if we are being challenged in our readings today to lie still and hear the ticking of God’s heart.  Maybe that’s your prayer after Communion in a moment, your quiet place where the Holy Spirit will say to you on this Feast day — “Rise, and do not be afraid.”

You can do this. We can do this.

We can all find our loving God, hidden in the cold, the darkness, the silence of our lives, if we just lie still and listen.

Ash Wednesday Homily for High-School Students.

Have you ever been really lost? I mean… way, way, way off course?

Many, many years ago, I spent a summer in South Central, Los Angeles volunteering to serve the families affected by gang violence. I lived in a rectory of a vibrant Church, and I met many wonderful people. But it was a rough area. My first week, as I was lying in bed with the window open, I heard a gun fight right behind the church. Then, someone ran right past me down the alley. I could hear him huffing and puffing.

Like all volunteer programs, we got a break day, and so we decided to head out to the California beaches about 20 miles away. This was Los Angeles, after all, and we were young, scrappy and hungry. So we hopped in a car and, with a general idea of where to go, and we were off.

Now, if you’ve been out there you know there are some long, straight roads… and we just kept driving and driving, talking and talking.

I’m not good at geography, but I remember growing more and more confused as I saw hills and mountains getting closer.  When we finally pulled over, we ask this a man where the beach was. “Dude,” he said, “the Pacific Ocean is about 60 miles that a-way.”

We were way off course. When we had left our neighborhood onto the main road, we should have taken a left, not a right.

That wouldn’t have happened today, of course. No, today I have an iPhone and GPS. Google Maps. Now if I take a wrong turn, it doesn’t yell at me, or make me feel bad. No, with incredibly patience, it whispers in my ear… “rerouting”.

It’s amazing how that works, isn’t it? Analyzing all that traffic history, collecting thousands of real-time data points from people travelling, projecting how long it will take to get me where I need to be. The safest route.

Like Lent, if you think about it. Like when you fail, when you miss the mark, when you sin against God and neighbor – and end up feeling guilty, anxious or depressed. You might be feeling like that right now. You feel way off course. Truth be told, we all do at times.

But today – Ash Wednesday – if you can look beyond your guilt, your shame, your suffering, you’ll realize that God is showing you a new way. You’ll realize that Jesus will take you right where you’re at – on that dead end street, in that relationship heading south, in a group of friends that at times seems like they are not moving — and patiently suggest the right path, a solid blue line.

Imagine God’s voice for a moment…

“I know you’re lost. I know you’ve sinned. I know you’re not the person you want to be.”


“You might feel terrible right now, but I won’t let your guilt destroy your identity.”


“You are not the sum total of your sins.  A contrite heart is My delight.”


“Come travel safely with me.”


“I only desire prayer, sacrifice and almsgiving.”

You are on the fastest route.

There are many ways, of course, to find your right course. After all, it’s been done many times. Like maybe stop using foul language, to stop eating when you are not hungry, to stop trying to be funny at the expense of others.

Just another way of saying “fasting…” from today’s Gospel.

Or maybe for you rerouting means a little more solitude. In your room, in Church before you receive the body and blood of Christ. Taking a break from your racing mind going on and on about your GPA, about college, about co-workers.

That’s “prayer…”

Or, maybe committing a few dollars to our mission collection, or giving up Starbucks for 40 days and donate the money you saved.

That’s “almsgiving…”

You know, our Catechism says that the call of Jesus is “radical reorientation of our whole life, a return to God with all our heart, a turning away from evil with the desire and resolution to change our life with the help of God’s grace.”  That’s our promise.

So this morning, let’s re-imagine what those ashes on our foreheads will mean. Let’s see them for what they are — a sign. A sign that says we trust in our Tradition, our community, our GPS system.

The same Tradition that guided C.S. Lewis and his favorite book Sacred Scripture. The same Tradition that gave us Pope Francis and Gregor Mendel. The same Tradition that gave directions to Dorothy Day, Flannery O’Connor and St. Thomas Aquinas.

A Tradition that reminds us, again and again, that we have been saved by Almighty God.

We finally made it to the beach that day. And I promise that if you open your hearts and listen very carefully to the Lord this morning, you will make it to your destination.

“Repent, and believe the Gospel.”

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”