It is also, most certainly, our end. "You are dust," said God to Adam, before tossing him out of the Garden of Eden, "and to dust you shall return" (Genesis 3:19).

But now, scientists tell us, dust is also a dramatic part of daily living. With every breath we take, we suck in tens of thousands of particles. Although we can't see it, each of us walks the earth in a cloud of dust, shedding fragments of skin and bits of lint as we move through each day.

Science journalist Hannah Holmes suggests that by age six, our children have consumed at least a cup and a half of pollen, pesticides, lead, dander, and fibers. A cup and a half of the minuscule pieces of our crumbling world.

Mothers of the church, we know that you work hard to keep your houses clean, and we appreciate your efforts. But the battle against dust can never be completely won.

In her book The Secret Life of Dust, Hannah Holmes tracks the enormous dust streams that pour across from Saharan Africa, fertilizing South American rain forests. She also reports that our every human action produces tons of the stuff, from tire dust to the invisible clouds that arise from cooking, vacuuming, gardening, and powdering baby. A whole dust food chain lives off it, mites to cockroaches, and their dying and decomposing bodies add to the mess. (Bill Marvel, "Book It," American Way, August 15, 2001, 64)

Dust. It's downright disgusting.

Jesus knew full well that we live in a dusty world, and he prayed at the Last Supper that God would protect his followers in the midst of this earthly mess. "They are in the world," he said to his heavenly father, "and I am coming to you" (John 17:11).

We disciples are not yet in heaven, not yet in a dust-free environment with Jesus and God the Father. We have not made the trip that Jesus anticipated when he looked up to heaven from this polluted planet and offered passionate prayers for the followers he would be leaving behind.

We are in the world. Period. We ARE dust, up to our necks in dust, breathing dust and eating dust, day after day after day. It's who we are. It's what we consume. It's where we live.

And that presents problems.

One reaction to the horror of September 11 was a desire to run away, to get away from it all, to move to Montana, or Canada, or Australia. Many wanted to flee to a place where they wouldn't have to face the madness of modern life, or breathe the dangerous dust of a stricken and shaken society. For those living near "Ground Zero" in New York City, the carcinogens being released by the smoldering ruins of the Twin Towers were a very real concern.

This flight reaction is reasonable, since there is so much we want to escape in our dusty world. There's the constant flow of filth that frustrates us as we try to keep ourselves morally clean. There's the tempting trash that tantalizes us, and thwarts our attempts to use our time and money wisely. There are the seemingly solid structures of the world that project the illusion that the physical world is all there is: The real is what we can touch and hold and own and consume. What you see is what you get.

But Jesus looked up and saw another reality. He looked beyond dust, to a spotless heavenly destiny.

Pure paradise.

This is not to say that Jesus overlooked the gritty world we live in. He knew that the earth was solid and real -- a place of matter, dust, physicality, carnality -- and he was painfully aware that it could be dangerous to our health. Certainly the cross of Calvary was a very physical danger to HIS health.

But Jesus also knew that this dusty world was limited. Someday it would end. The flower withers, he said, moth and rust consume, the thief steals. Every human life is going to come to an end, and sometimes it's going to be from dust-related causes -- from lung diseases such as silicosis, caused by the inhalation of sand particles in the desert, or from the cancer that arises from secondhand smoke.

Jesus knows all about mortality, and so he looks up at the Last Supper and prays that God will give us "eternal life" (v. 2). He asks for God to deliver us from the grit and grime of day-to-day existence and usher us into a perfectly pure paradise, one in which we are no longer beset by the dusty temptations, frustrations and illusions of this world.

Just think, Moms: A world without dust. Sounds pretty good, doesn't it?

This prayer of Jesus is a powerful prayer, full of intriguing possibilities. And it makes me wonder: Why don't we talk much about "heaven" anymore? Why has the hope of paradise dropped out of most Christian conversations?

Columnist Philip Yancey reminds us that historically, every age before our own assumed an afterlife, disagreeing only on the particulars of how best to prepare. Egyptians filled their burial chambers with treasures and equipment for the dead to use. Christian saints are remembered on the day of their death, not the day of their birth - remembered on the day their life in paradise began. Victor Hugo described himself as "the tadpole of an archangel" … yes, the tadpole of an archangel. But nowadays, laments Yancey, we get much advice on becoming the best possible tadpoles, but little on how to prepare for metamorphosis. (Philip Yancey, "What's a Heaven For?" Christianity Today, October 26, 1998, 104)

Yes, so much of Christianity has become a brand of spiritual self-help, designed to turn us into healthy, happy tadpoles. But that's not our destiny -- we're supposed to become full-grown frogs! No, archangels! Or, more precisely: Saints!

Whatever. The point is that our destiny is not to be found on this dusty planet. Our true citizenship is in heaven, and our final destination is pure paradise. Knowing that Christ has gone to prepare a place for us in the Father's house (John 14:2), we need not anguish over the ultimate significance of our existence. We are given value not by our earthly earnings or accomplishments, but by the love of God - the love of the God who has created us and who wants us to spend eternity with him.

Heaven, you see, is not so much a place as it is a relationship. It's a relationship with God. Eternal life, says Jesus to God in today's passage, is a life in which disciples will "know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent" (v. 3). It is an existence in which each of us deeply and intimately KNOWS the God who has created us in his own image, and the Christ who has come to save us from our sins. The key to this relationship is a willingness to believe in God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit -- to trust that nothing in all creation can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:39).

The path to paradise is a personal connection, one we call faith.

Even when Jesus is using the most descriptive concrete images of the architecture of heaven - saying "In my Father's house there are many dwelling places" -- he still bases his description on the language of a faithful relationship. He makes clear that the way to enter this wonderful heavenly home is to "believe in God" and "believe also in me" (John 14:1-2).

While we may not know what heaven looks like, we now know what it feels like: It feels like an intimate, loving and eternal relationship with the one true God. Jesus reminds us that we "do not belong to the world" (v. 16), just has he himself does not belong to the world. Instead, each of us belongs to God, and our true citizenship is in nothing less than pure paradise. As Jesus prays to God at the Last Supper, he makes it very clear that he is "not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours" (v. 9).

They are yours, says Jesus -- my disciples are yours. What a powerful and profound comfort this is. When we are gripped by the temptation to put our faith in a pile of ragged, wrinkled and dirty dollars, we are God's. When we are choking on the frustration of life in a dusty, dead-end job, we are God's. When we are fooled by the illusions of a culture that attaches ultimate significance to youth, power and beauty, we are God's.

True happiness is going to be found only in a relationship with God. Complete contentment is going to be ours only in the place called paradise. Instead of playing the tadpole games of this world, we should be getting ready for metamorphosis.

The change is coming, but until that time, Jesus is going to pray for our protection, pleading, "Holy Father, protect them in your name." He wants us to remain safe, secure, and united as a community of faith -- to "be one," as he and God the Father are one (v. 11). Our journey home has been planned and plugged into God's Palm Pilot, but until that day, the Lord is going to protect us and preserve us from the despair and the discouragement and the divisiveness of the dusty world we live in.

Our true identity, you see, is of another world. Strip away the dirt, and you'll find that each of us is an alien -- a resident of earth, for now, but ultimately a citizen of heaven. We may be working, playing, and living here today, but we belong somewhere else. We are in this world, but not of this world. We're other-worldly.

We're paradise people. Destined for nothing less than a dust-free existence. Amen.