Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
‘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. 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. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
‘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. 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.
‘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. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 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.
‘Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.’
My wife, Christa, has complained about the dust in our house for years – as though it was any more prolific than anyone else’s dust. I never wanted to give her complaints much credence – mainly for two reasons. The first is that her main theory revolved around the dogs – who become MY dogs, of course – whenever there’s a problem like the copious amounts of hair they leave laying around, especially at this time of year; or the damn dog dander she deduced must certainly be the source of our abundance of dust. The second reason I never wanted to give her complaints much credence is because, as soon as I did that, I would have a dust cloth in my hand and a chore to do.
Well, a few months ago, we had the privilege of having a new furnace installed at 3872 Redbird Trail. I say it was a privilege because we were never without heat, nor did we have to worry about our pipes freezing, enduring a cold night’s sleep, or anything like that. Ours was a pre-emptive home improvement based on the prediction of the technician who did the regular, seasonal maintenance on our decades-old furnace and warned us that, sooner rather than later, we’d be replacing the unit whether we wanted to or not.
Anyway, when they dismantled the old furnace to install the new one, they found the sheet metal ductwork that sat on the ground in our crawl-space, had completely rusted and rotted to nothing but dust. Our old, dying furnace, which had a terrible filter system to begin with, was literally sitting on the ground, in its own dust, and had been blowing said dust up, into and throughout our house, for God knows how long.
Now this revelation was both good and bad. The good news was that our dust problem wasn’t the fault of MY dogs, after all. The bad news, of course, was that Christa had been right. The dust in our house was apparently more prolific than anyone else’s dust; and what’s more, I had been perfectly comfortable living in denial about that, pretending that it couldn’t possibly be true.
I got a call from the paper last week wanting to know about Lent, generally. The writer wanted to know about what we do and about why we do what we do, as a church who seems to make our way through the season of Lent more deliberately than some other flavors of Christians do. I feel like that’s true – that we do Lent a bit more deliberately around here than some others – but I didn’t know anyone else had noticed, so I was pleasantly surprised by the chance to talk about it.
So, of course I told her about our midweek Wednesday meals and worship. I told her about Holy Week prayer vigils and other worship services like Good Friday and Maundy Thursday, where we’re used to celebrating “First Communion” with our young people, stripping the altar, sometimes washing feet. And, of course, I told her about tonight – this Ash Wednesday stuff – where we begin all of it together with a smudge of dust and ashes on our foreheads. I even told her about how some of us get our ashes imposed in the columbarium – surrounded by the ashes of those who’ve gone before us – and she seemed particularly interested in that.
And I told her that, generally, for me, Lent – as a spiritual discipline – is about acknowledging that life in the world is hard. I think we do ourselves and the world around us a dis-service when we pretend having faith makes everything easier all of the time. Like, yeah, “God is good all the time and all the time God is good,” as some like to say. But God never promised there wouldn’t be suffering and struggle and hardship and adversity along the way.
I think too many people believe that too many of us believe that, because of our faith, we don’t or shouldn’t have to suffer or struggle or ENDURE, what so many out there in the world suffer through, struggle with or ENDURE, in this life. But looking around this room, I know that you and I know, that this couldn’t be further from the truth of our experience.
There is divorce and cancer; addictions and diseases of all kinds.
There are floods and wildfires; mass shootings and war; chemical spills and spy balloons.
There are racists, homophobes, and bullies.
There is sin and shame and sadness and regret that get the best of us, too much of the time.
But, rather than see these ashes on our foreheads and the beginning of another Lenten walk as an act of despair or self-flagellation; as a “woe-is-me” kind of fatalism, or some navel-gazing resignation to the sin that surrounds us, I’d like to invite you to let all of it – these ashes and these Lenten days – be an honest, brave, faithful, defiant, hope-filled engagement with the dust that covers us in this world.
This is an opportunity to acknowledge that the dust of our sin and struggle can feel – and be – heavier some days; and more-so for some of us than others. And it’s an invitation not to ignore that dust – as some of us are wont to do.
It’s an invitation to see it, to name it, to wear it, even – the dust and ashes of our sin and struggle – not pride-fully or with some sort of false humility, either. But so we might acknowledge and proclaim that none of us is alone in this.
And all of this is a chance to do as Jesus suggests and expects us to do:
We pray. We give our offering. We fast, perhaps. We put our faith, our time and our treasures, not in earthly, mortal, temporary things that rot and rust – but into the hands and heart of God. And these things we do – these exercises of faith – these acts of discipleship – are not meant to be chores. We don’t do them because we have to. We do them because we get to. We don’t do them because they will clean or clear away all the dust the continues to pile up among us. We do these things – we practice our faith – we live as disciples – precisely because we cannot clean or clear away any of it all on our own.
All of this is an exercise in trusting and proclaiming that the hard stuff won’t win; it won’t last forever; the dust and despair never get the last word, because God has… God does… and God will always have the last word.
Here and now we remember that we are dust … so much dust … and that we will be again, someday.
But here… now… and in the days to come… we are invited to hold out hope … so much hope … that God makes beautiful things out of the dust; that God can’t wait to redeem whatever is lost, to fix whatever is broken, to heal what is hurting, to find what is lost, to raise what is dead, even – through the love we know – and the life we share – in Jesus Christ, our Lord
Amen
