Our Glory and Our Dust: The Paradox of Being Human.
The Vitruvian Tension: A Man Stretched Between Two Truths. Episode 18, Psalm 103:14 from the series “From Dust to Eternity”
The Glory of Our Frame and the Inconvenience of Our Frailty
Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man is an image you’ve probably seen before—a sketch of a man with arms and legs outstretched, simultaneously fitting inside a circle and a square. It’s one of the most famous symbols of human potential and proportion, a perfect synthesis of science, art, and philosophy.
But look closer, and you’ll see something else—a spiritual paradox.
The man spans the circle around him, as if reaching for the heavens, yet he is confined by it as well. He is both glorified and grounded—stretched between the reality of greatness and the inevitability of limitation.
This is the tension we all live with. If we understand and believe that God made us—both our frame/structure/form/substance and the dust that follows when we die—we must also hold these two truths in tension. They are self-evident.
And this is the very tension David holds together in Psalm 103:14 when he writes:
“For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust.” —Psalm 103:14
What is the Meaning of This?
This means that God understands both our strength and our frailty. He knows we are sturdy and glorious. We have a frame. We have form. Substance. We are some thing.
And yet, we are also fragile and fading. We rust. We’re dust.
Those readers who are Anglican or who have attended an Anglican Burial service liturgy, may remember the somber sentences spoken over the body or the ashes of a loved one at a funeral service. The priest says boldly, almost as if there were no irony at all,
“All we go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!”
Even though we are dust, we are singing a song of praise! We used to be upright. We used to sit or walk. We used to travel, marry, have business, build homes, and make love to our spouse and have children together. And now we are dust. Alleluia!!!
Do you see the two realities in tension?
The Power and the Glory
David, like all good poets, knew how to hold two opposing ideas in tension.
The Bible (and David himself!) speaks in high and lofty terms about humanity.
Psalm 8 says we are made “a little lower than the angels” and crowned with glory and honor.
Psalm 139 declares that we are fearfully and wonderfully made.
Genesis 2:7 tells us that God formed us from the dust—but then He breathed His own life into us. After that, we were living souls!
We are not accidents. We are not mere animals. We are God’s masterpiece—the pinnacle of His creation. We are the Crown of God’s Creation.
The Bends and the Breaks
But our frame—how we are formed, our life— does not last forever. Bones weaken. Strength fades. And the years of standing, sitting, walking, and the rest of it catch up with us. Even the most glorious frame eventually slows, bends, and breaks.
That’s the paradox of human life. We are majestic, yet we are mortal. We are strong, yet we are passing.
And David knows this—which is why he reminds himself (and us): “For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust.”
Dust Happens
Dust. Dirt. Ashes. David isn’t being poetic here—he’s being brutally honest.
No matter how strong we feel today, in time, we are still dust.
Ecclesiastes 12:7 puts it plainly: “The dust returns to the earth as it was.”
On Ash Wednesday, we hear these sobering words: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
Our bodies bear the marks of fragility—illness, aging, weakness, and weariness. The Bible is as clear and transparent about this as you might expect from a Book. It is brutally honest.
Warning!! The Following Contains Descriptions Which Could Cause Some To Feel Nauseous. Intended for Mature Audiences Only.
Please exercise caution when reading this section.
Even the Preacher, (commonly understood to be Solomon) the sage and often “sadder but wiser” writer of Ecclesiastes, describes the progression of age in vivid metaphors. Read what can only be described as the downward path we all travel until we reach the dust.
(The biblical text is found in Ecclesiastes 12:1-7. This is a faithful rendering of the lost list of metaphors used.)
Here is what happens inevitably on our long, slow march…
Diminishing light and joy. The days feel darker, as if the sun, moon, and stars have faded; clouds return again and again, bringing weariness instead of refreshment.
Trembling hands and weakened posture. The keepers of the house tremble (unsteady hands), and the strong men are bent—stooped backs and failing strength.
Loss of teeth. The grinders cease because a few teeth weaken, fall out, and chewing becomes difficult.
Fading eyesight. Those who look through windows are dimmed—vision blurs, and clarity is lost.
Loss of hearing. The doors on the street are sounds which have become muffled, conversations harder to follow. The once-busy grinding of the mill (daily activity) fades to a whisper.
Sleep disturbances. The elderly wake easily, rising at the slightest sound of a bird, yet true rest is elusive.
Weakened voice and fading music. The daughters of song are brought low, the voice quivers, singing is faint, and speech loses its former strength.
Increased fears and anxieties. Heights become frightening, and the streets seem full of dangers; fragility makes one cautious and hesitant.
Graying hair. The almond tree blossoms hair turns white like almond blossoms in bloom.
Slowed movement. The grasshopper drags itself along—once quick and nimble, now sluggish and slow.
Diminished desire. Appetite, ambition, and passion wane—former drive for life fades.
Approaching death. The silver cord snaps, the golden bowl breaks, the pitcher shatters, and the wheel is broken, the fragile thread is cut, and the body returns to dust while the spirit returns to God.
This paraphrase is faithful to the poetic weight of Ecclesiastes and makes the signs of aging clear, vivid, and all too close. (Check out the text here, if you dare.)
Nevertheless We Trust
For those who read the long litany of aches, pains, challenges, bends, breaks, and turnings in the passage above, Psalm 103:14 is a godsend. Why?
Because None of this escapes God’s attention. None of this lessens His compassion. None of this makes Him love us less.
David’s point isn’t to depress us but to anchor us in reality.
God knows both our frame and our frailty—and He holds both in balance. Read again verse 14.
For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust. —Psalm 103:13-14
Look closely at the psalm, verse 14:
The Hebrew word for “frame” (yetser) means formation, design, structure—God knows how we are put together.
And the Hebrew word for “knows” (yada) goes beyond intellectual awareness—it means intimate, experiential knowledge.
God knows us because He made us. Like an artist who remembers every brushstroke, like a sculptor who recalls every curve of the clay, God knows us inside and out.
God knows us like a father knows his child.
A parent knows their child’s gait, voice, and mannerisms.
A father remembers the scar on his son’s knee from that disastrous slide into third base.
A mother knows her daughter’s freckle that resembles a tiny broccoli bloom.
The Mirror Moment: Standing Before the Truth
Here’s a challenge.
Stand in front of a mirror. Look yourself in the eye. And say this aloud:
Listen carefully. The God who made you knows you inside and out. He understands your weaknesses, your limitations, your frailty. He remembers that you are dust.
You don’t have to pretend to be stronger than you are.
You don’t have to hide your struggles.
God knows, and He loves you anyway. His grace is sufficient for you, for His power is made perfect in weakness.
What would happen if we really believed this?
It would change everything. We wouldn’t feel the need to perform for God. We wouldn’t feel the need to hide from others. We wouldn’t live in fear of being seen for who we really are.
We are fully known—and fully loved.
Conclusion: The Freedom of Being Known
Psalm 103 is a song of God’s benefits, and one of the greatest of all is this: He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust.
That truth changes everything.
It means we don’t have to strive to impress God or hide our weaknesses, because He already knows us fully and loves us still.
It means His expectations of us are not crushing, but compassionate, measured by His grace rather than our performance.
It means we are free to come before Him as we are, not as we pretend to be.
And this should shape the way we treat others, extending the same understanding and mercy that He extends to us.
We are dust, but dust breathed into life, known, cherished, and redeemed.
So today, let that truth settle deep in your soul. Rest in it. Live by it. Worship because of it. And bless the Lord, O my soul, who knows our frame and remembers that we are dust.
The Anglican is the Substack newsletter for LeaderWorks, where I share insights, encouragement, and practical tools for clergy and lay Christians. I’m also an author of over a dozen books available on Amazon.
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