Ashes and Attention: What Lent and SST Teaches Us About Time and Flourishing
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Updated: 6 hours ago
“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” — Psalm 90:12
Today is the beginning of the Lenten season.
Across the world, foreheads will be marked with ash and the ancient words will be spoken: Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. It is not exactly a Hallmark sentiment. I used to hate it. What a downer. I see it differently these days.
Lent (and other related rituals) may invite us to live deeply with intention…so that we can flourish every day of our lives.
Last night at our Compassion Circle, which we do on Zoom, we spoke about this very thing. About returning to dust. About being human. About dying.
One participant shared that a friend had died recently. “It reminded me,” he said softly, “to make every day count.”
And when I asked him what that meant, how did he think he could make very day count, he didn’t hesitate. “It means to love people. Especially this one,” he said as he put his hand on his wife’s shoulder.
It struck me that without knowing it, my compassion circle friend was describing what psychologists call Socioemotional Selectivity Theory — SST for short.
The theory, developed by psychologist Laura Carstensen at Stanford, proposes something both simple and profound: when we perceive our time as limited, our priorities change. When we believe we have endless time, we chase novelty, information, expansion.
But when we become aware that time is finite, we shift toward what is emotionally meaningful. We invest in relationships. We forgive more quickly. We savor.
In other words, when we remember we are dust, we start to be intentional about loving better.
SST helps explain why older adults often report greater emotional well-being. They are not naïve about loss; they simply become more intentional. They prune what does not matter. They focus on connection. They stop postponing joy.
The Romans had a phrase for this: memento mori — remember you will die. Victorious generals, parading through Rome, were sometimes accompanied by a servant whispering this reminder in their ear. Not to depress them. To ground them. To keep triumph from turning into arrogance. To remind them what truly matters.
Lent is the Church’s version of that whisper.
Progressive Christians often see Lent as a season of awakening — an invitation to clear away illusions and align with love. The ashes are about honesty. We are fragile. We are finite. And precisely because of that, our choices both short-term and long-term matter.
Conservative Christians tend to emphasize repentance — turning away from sin and back toward God’s holiness. They hear in the ashes a call to humility and moral seriousness. There is a bracing clarity in that view: life is not trivial, and neither are our decisions.
Though they frame it differently, both streams hold something vital: our lives are accountable and precious and each choice makes a difference.
SST adds a psychological lens to this spiritual wisdom. When we live as if time stretches endlessly before us, we drift. We delay reconciliation. We put off courage. We assume we will eventually say the important words.
But what happens when we take seriously that we return to dust?
Maybe we call our sister or brother.
Maybe we apologize.
Maybe we show up to help another in their hour of need.
Maybe we invite our neighbors in to sit at the table.
Maybe we choose depth over distraction. I see this with John a lot. How earnestly at this stage of life he yearns for meaningful connection and conversation.
At Compassion Circle, as we held the reality of mortality, something surprising happened. The mood did not sink. It clarified. There was tenderness in the room. We felt our common humanity — that beautiful self-compassion truth that we are all fragile, all temporary, all longing to matter. We shared all the beautiful stories of kindness we had seen or been part of that week. We celebrated life.
And from that awareness came resolve. At least for me.
Make every day count.
But how?
Not by frantic bucket lists. Not by squeezing productivity from every hour. SST reminds us that flourishing is not about doing more; it is about loving more intentionally. Embodying our values.
The research shows that when time feels limited, people prioritize close relationships and meaningful goals. They experience greater emotional regulation and deeper satisfaction. They stop chasing applause and start cultivating presence.
This sounds remarkably like how the Bible describes Jesus.
When his own time grew short, he did not launch a publicity campaign. He gathered friends around a table. He washed feet. (John keeps threatening this with our friends.) He spoke of love. “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:35).
Lent grabs our attention the same way.
The ashes say: You will not be here forever. So love now.
For us in Cashmere, in Wenatchee, in our small circles of neighbors and community meals, this is not abstract theology. It is daily practice. It is noticing the lonely man at the edge of the table. It is staying curious when someone disagrees. It is refusing to waste precious days in resentment.
The Romans whispered memento mori to restrain pride. Lent whispers it to awaken love.
Socioemotional Selectivity Theory tells us that when the horizon shortens, the heart sharpens. We become clearer about who matters. What matters.
Last night, as we closed the circle, I realized something: remembering we are dust is not morbid. It is merciful. It frees us from trivial pursuits and returns us to the only thing that survives us — the love we give.
My father, despite having some flaws that I concentrated on way too much, tried to remind me of this when he visited once. I was frantically trying to pick up the house, wash dishes, dress the kids in clean clothes that actually fit, complain about my weight and not knowing what to make for dinner.
My father just watched. Eventually he said something like, “June, maybe we should take another visit to the museum you have here in town. Go look at those bones [they did used to have them] down there.”
His words didn’t shake me all at once, but it did get my attention. Maybe he added a few words to remind me to consider what’s the most important thing to attend to each day.
Relationships, being present. Not to get all flustered and uptight and drive everyone in my orbit a bit crazy by being overly concerned by what society thinks is important. And we did leave it all and go to the museum where the lesson did sink in a bit better.
Today, as the Lenten season begins, perhaps the question is not the common one of “What will I give up?”
Perhaps it is:
If my time is precious — and it is —How will I love today?
How might we journey together to the good life by being aware of time, priorities, and how to make each day count.. consider how we will love others today?
Steve Jobs reportedly did what he called "a daily mirror check" for 33 years. Jobs looked in the mirror every morning and asked: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" He considered remembering that he would die soon as the "most important tool" he ever encountered to help him make big life choices. I'm not sure he was the most relational guy in the world, but in her eulogy for her brother, Mona Simpson noted that in his final hours, Jobs looked at his family members before looking over their shoulders and saying, "Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow."
On their deathbeds people care most about love and relationships and frequently regret not expressing their feelings and not staying in touch with friends.
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