From dust and to dust we go, Father.
And yet we think we are outside of time.
We boast in our tasks and deeds and plans.
We construct and promise and work as if we are kings.
Forgive us, for we are still dancing around Babel.
We grab our flesh friends – our dust brothers and sisters, and build.
We do not build with humility – knowing our hands only move because you allow them to, but we build with pride.
We plan with expectation.
We still create in order to be a god.
We build our tower of Babel and say, “Let us ascend to heaven.”
Your patience is great.
Your kindness stretches farther than Oceans.
For we deserve death for our silly sin.
We deserve the grave for our Babel hands.
But you have granted us glory and grace.
You have made your dust people a forever people.
You have extended your mercy to cover our folly.
Forgive us again.
May we forsake our towers.
May we know that you alone are King.