|
|
Ash Wednesday, 9 February 2005 |
Matthew 6:1 "Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. 2 "So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 3 But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. 5 "And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 6 But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you... 16"And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 17 But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 18 so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. 19 "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; 20 but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (New Revised Standard Version) Lent Begins Anew “She comes back to tell me that she’s gone. As if I didn’t know that! As if I didn’t know my own bed.” So sings a mournful Paul Simon in his 1985 release, “ Graceland.” He sings of a man, lost and lonely, struggling to make sense of life in the midst of his sorrow, from the wreckage of broken relationships. He sings that it is not necessary when you are in pain for someone to point out the obvious. I feel somewhat the same as Lent begins again this year. More than three years after the fact we live with the effects of the tragedy of September 11, 2001. We live in a world of broken relationships, not only with our enemies, but also with longtime allies of the United States in Europe and Asia, who don’t see eye to eye with our nation’s foreign policy. We live with the daily news of shattered lives in Iraq, in Palestine, in South Asia’s devastating Tsunami, on the streets and in the neighborhoods of our own cities and towns. Our world seems more shattered and broken than we would like to admit. We are no longer able to hide our heads in the sand and hope that danger will pass us by. We have daily death as our companion. Against this backdrop our service begins on this Ash Wednesday as we hear the chilling words spoken as ashes are smeared on our foreheads, “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return!” Do we need this reminder of the fragility of life? Have we not been bombarded with images that make the denial of loss and death nearly impossible? Are there not other words that might be spoken better suited to the occasion? These are the thoughts that cascade through my consciousness as I enter with earnestness the season of repentance and renewal called Lent. How can I forget that I am dust, now more than ever? Yet I need both to speak and to hear these words now. They are a reminder of what is, and a promise of what will be. These words, along with the cross of Christ on our brows, represent both warning and promise. Connected to What Is Past Lent is a time when we strip away all of the frills to get at the basics of what it means to be Christian. This has its roots in the ancient purpose of Lent, largely forgotten, though some are rediscovering this meaning. Lent was in its earliest form a time when those preparing for Baptism at the great overnight Easter Vigil worship event (a service that lasted from Sundown to Sunrise, and was the primary festival of the early church). Those preparing for Baptism would, as part of their final preparation, leave behind all of the things of this world that got in the way of their relationship with God. They spent time in fasting, prayer, serving the poor and other disciplines of the Christian life, (things that other Christians did year round, not just during Lent). They went through final instruction in what being a Christian was all about. They prepared for lives of loving service in the world. So the text from Matthew for tonight speaks clearly to them. We do not do such preparations in order to be seen by others, thereby gaining something for ourselves, even status. We do such preparations to rid ourselves of all things, to empty ourselves. We do this in order to be filled by God in Christ. We do these things, not to be miserable, but rather in joyful anticipation that by giving ourselves we will be truly found. We do these things not as phony hypocrites, but rather in order to be real about our origins and our destiny. We are called to rediscover who we are as God’s people. We are called to face our fears and our failures with courage and dignity, relying on God’s love and mercy. We are called to be God’s children. God does not need us to hear the words of confession the come out of our broken human spirits and our Sin. We need to speak these words as a reminder to ourselves of our link with our human past. For the ashes on our foreheads remind us that, like Adam and Eve, made from the dust of the ground, we too have our origin with God’s power to create. We are in this world because of a God who loved us and formed us. Just as surely, we die in that same moment we are connected to Adam and Eve, for we also share in their rebellion, and their judgement. Like our primordial parents, we will return to the dust of the ground as evidence that we will not endure in the world forever. During Lent we learn anew to face this grim reality with truthfulness and courage. Connected to God’s Future In the words of our spoken confession, in the discipline of Lent, there is another reality, just as real as death, that we also face, now not with shame but with renewed hope and joy. It is the reality of God’s love and forgiveness. It is the present and future re-creation that God is working in us at all times, especially during Lent. The sign of the cross on our foreheads serves not only to remind us that we are dust, but also as a reminder that God has a claim on us in Baptism. We do not know all of the particulars of our final destiny in Christ. We do know that we belong to Christ, and the ashen cross is a reminder of that as well. This is something I did not fully understand until I served in a rural parish at the start of my ministry. There, one day, I happened upon two ranchers, separating cattle that had been mingled from their separate fields by a tree falling on the fence between them. The ranchers were examining their flocks, but rather than arguing about which cow was whose, they were laughing, telling stories, and generally enjoying the experience. They were good neighbors to be sure. But they were also smart ranchers. They had each “tagged” their cattle with a bar code on an ear tag. (It was a high tech, and more humane practice than the older institution of “branding” them with a symbol burned into their skin.) They knew which herd each cow belonged to, even the littlest. The sign of the cross we wear on our foreheads on Ash Wednesday is not there only one day a year. It is the cross that is burned on our foreheads by the fire of the Holy Spirit to mark us as God’s own lambs in Baptism. We show it once a year to remind ourselves that we belong to God. We remind ourselves that we die, daily to sin. We remind ourselves that Jesus resurrection is our future. We will return to dust, but God is not finished with us. We renew the Baptismal covenant of God in this season of repentance, renewal and rejoicing. We all will be cleansed in the Vigil’s Baptismal Flood. In preparation, we too, shed the things of this world and make room for God to full us, empty though we may be. Though the process may be painful (death always is, after all), it will ultimately lead us to light and life in Christ. So we repent, we are renewed in Christ, and we rejoice in the marvelous future of God that unfolds around us, even in the midst of our all too broken and dying world. How we prepare is a matter of what it is in our life that we need to give over to God, and what it is that prevents us from being the servants of Christ year round that we are called to be. It may be that fasting, prayer, and charitable works are enough for you, but they do not seem adequate for me. I yearn for Peace with my brothers and sisters, even my enemies. I yearn for an end to hostility, at home and abroad. I yearn for what only God can give, and only my pride now prevents. The good news is that my past, with its connection to the brokenness of all humanity, and my future, connected to God’s redemptive love, come together during this season of Lent, as they come together at all times for the followers of Jesus Christ. Perhaps, like Paul Simon, we do not need to be reminded of the obvious. Or maybe, just maybe, it is just this sort of return to the obvious that we all need. For the tone in “ Graceland” changes. At first it seems as though Paul Simon is singing about a pilgrimage to Elvis’ home in Nashville. Then he sings, “I’ve reason to believe we all will be received in Graceland.” We discover, regardless of what the author intended, that the brokenness gives way to hope in a land of grace where God will welcome all of us home. Lent marks again the earnest journey home for us, God’s flock. Wear your brand in humility, but never in shame. For it is the obvious reminder of God’s love and claim on you. Rev. Dr. Luke Bouman, |
|
(top) |