Called to the Desert: Sacred Dust
Into the dirt he plunged his unsullied hands. Ferociously and intently they raked the soil into a dirty mound. Though this clump was unformed, the maker had a vision. In this moment, the artist, one whose very presence pervades heaven and occupies earth, focused singularly on this raw pile.
In silence the shapes began to form under the sculptor’s steady hand. Though his words had commanded light to shine and summoned order from chaos’s dark void, his fingers fashioned this masterpiece.
From the dust, adamah, the maker molded man, adam. Lifeless this oeuvre of dirt lay upon the material from which it was shaped. With a coursing gust, however, the very spirit of the artist rushed into the sculpted clay. Adam, the man of dust, became nefesh, a living being. Formed from earth, animated by heaven.
The sculptor gazed upon his marvel. His hands, caked in dust, grasped the adam’s shoulders, and lovingly the silent shaper declared, “It is very good.”
From dust we were formed. Sacred hands sculpted our frame. Holy breath spirited into our lungs. The stuff of earth and the life of heaven, we are. For the renown of our maker, we live.