According to the second chapter of Genesis, God forms humankind from the “dust of the ground.” That’s kind of startling when you think about it. The creativity of an Amadeus Mozart, the compassion of a Mother Teresa, the brilliance of an Albert Einstein, the faith of young Nazarene woman named Mary—all springing forth from plain old dust!

And just in case we ever lose sight of that fact, God includes the substance of our creation in our name. In Hebrew, the word for ground is adamah. Thus, in a subtle play on words, God forms Adam from the dust of the adamah.

From dust we came and to dust we shall return. But why dust? Dust just seems so … well, ordinary and commonplace. Don’t you think a being who bears the very image of God deserves to be fashioned out of something more noble? If we had been formed out of gold or silver, for example, wouldn’t we hold each other in higher regard?

Then again, maybe the point is not what we came out of, but what came into us. The way Genesis describes it, God takes a handful of ordinary, commonplace dust and breathes life into it. Without the breath of God—that is, without God’s Spirit—we are little more than particles and specks of lifeless, inanimate debris. But with God’s Spirit, our humble beginnings take on wondrous possibilities. The dust of adamah becomes Adam.

As I am fond of saying from the pulpit, “That’ll preach!” For if God can breathe life into mere dust, and turn the commonplace into the purposeful, then there’s no telling what God’s breath might make of us next.

That which seems worn out and dusty can suddenly blossom with new potential; that which seems barren and fruitless can suddenly spring forth with new growth. How can I be so sure? Simple. God’s Spirit has never ceased breathing into us!