From Dirt to Dirt

I remember years ago, my theology professor was explaining the significance of doctrine creatio ex nihilo, which states that God created the world out of nothing and wasn't hindered by pre-existing material like we are.  He illustrated the concept with a story about a man who was frustrated with all the suffering and evil in the world.

The man went up to God and said, "What kind of show are you running here?  There's so much violence, injustice, ignorance, suffering, and evil in the world."
"Do you think you could make it better?" asked God.
"Absolutely," the man said, to which God most charitably and politely responded, "You're welcome to try."
So the man rolled up his sleeves and reached down to the ground to start making some bricks and God said, "Nope, stop.  Get your own dirt."

So of course the man realized if he was going to remake the world, he was going to have to use God's dirt to do it.

"And the LORD God formed man (h'adam) of the dust of the ground (h'adamah), and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life and man became a living soul." (Genesis 2:7)

Now imagine this whole business about salvation. God looked at us and, in the words of Wordsworth, his heart was grieved by "what man has made of man."

 So God effectively said, "What kind of show are you running here?  There's so much violence, injustice, ignorance, suffering, and evil in your souls."
"Do you think you could make them better?" we asked him.
"Absolutely," God said and naturally we offered, "You're welcome to try ..."
There's a stillness in the air and then with something like a knowing wink, we tacked on, "... but get your own flesh."

So of course God realized if he was going to remake humanity, he'd have use our flesh to do it.

"And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us" (John 1:14)

During the Triduum I look at all the wonders he did with the meager flesh we gave him back at Christmas.  God's a minimalist who knows you can always do more with less.  Look at how simultaneously rich and spartan the New Testament is.  Think about it, flesh and blood, bread and friends, water and wine, wood and nails were all he needed to save the world.  He even used the fallenness of our flesh, which tempted and ultimately betrayed him, as the means to save us.  To look at what he did with what we gave him, turns the question back on us.  Now that we see how in the right hands the world can be remade simply using "flesh," what are we doing with all our closets, pantries, homes, libraries, forests, friends, talents, wealth, intelligence, health, suffering?  What are we doing with this "dirt" he gave us?