Ashes to Ashes. No Kidding.

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.’

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Some years we need Ash Wednesday more than others, it seems to me. We always need it, don’t get me wrong – this day that marks the beginning of this season; this season when we lament and repent; these days when we acknowledge and confess our sins; when we are reminded of our mortality by these ashes on our heads; when we hear this simple, profound – sometimes sad and scary – promised refrain: “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

But this year … today … because of all that’s transpired and is still unfolding in Ukraine, I hear those words … that warning … this ominous, woeful promise – “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return” – and I think, “No kidding.”

As we watch, again, but somehow anew, this war unleash itself with all the fear and anxiety and uncertainty that that kind of violence and evil and inhumanity and sinfulness heap upon our hearts and minds and souls and spirits… with all of that swirling around and within us, this very timely, obvious reminder is hard to deny, difficult to dismiss, impossible to ignore: “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

And many of us don’t need the global calamity of a war to find this reminder timely. “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” It comes by way of the diseases that sicken us – “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” (No kidding.) It comes by way of the sins that burden us – “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” (No kidding.) It comes by way of the grief that has found us this past year – “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” (No kidding.)

These reminders of my mortality are relentless and many, these days. I’m not sure I need this smudge of ashes on the ever-increasing real estate of my forehead to be reminded, yet again. Thank you very much. (My oldest son turned 18 today, which is its own kind of mortality reality check, I have to say.)

But last night at 11 o’clock, I was watching Anderson Cooper, live from Lviv, Ukraine, interview Clarissa Ward, live from Kyiv, Ukraine. (These journalists who hurry into war zones are a special kind of crazy courageous, if you ask me.) Anyway, at 11 p.m. here, it was 6 a.m. there – and already Ash Wednesday, in Ukraine. And Anderson Cooper and Clarissa Ward were having perfectly ashy conversation, if you will.

They talked about the war games of closing off air spaces and attacking civilians; about sanctioning oligarchs and elites; about marching, launching, upping the ante in this “continued bloody onslaught”; about striking and hitting civilian targets; about how all of this could or would likely get much worse, sooner rather than later; that we are facing a potentially major humanitarian disaster in the days ahead. Another reporter, Jim Sciutto, even got Biblical and called it all a “David and Goliath conflict,” in which the math does not add up in support of the Ukrainians. And, of course, it’s all layered with the not-so-existential-again threat of nuclear war.

“Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” No kidding.

But just as Clarissa Ward wondered about the what, the when and the how of a 40-mile column of tanks and armory and heavy Russian weaponry cutting off and laying siege to the capital of Kyiv – where she was standing as she spoke, remember – she said without a hint of irony – “and God only knows what will happen next.” And just as she said it … no kidding … the church bells somewhere near to her location started to chime, as if the Holy Spirit herself had blown in to affirm the truth of what she had just said: “and God only knows what will happen next.”

I’m not saying it was a miracle. The clock in that church’s bell tower had just struck 6 a.m. But it was Ash Wednesday, remember. Which is why it got my attention, moreso than it did Anderson and Clarissa, I have to say. They didn’t miss a beat.

But those church bells ringing, on Ash Wednesday, in the midst of that conversation – and all of their grim reporting – in the very valley of the shadow of death? – sounded like a measure of truth and hope to me … and, I hope … for anyone else who heard them ring, on their TVs, or in their homes or hospital beds, in their bunkers or bomb shelters, in their tanks or trenches, too. “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

See, these ashes we wear on our foreheads and these words we hear from Jesus and the promises we read in Scripture remind us that we need not fear the sin and death that send us running and reeling, dodging and denying, scurrying and scared and sad so much of the time.

Instead, in the midst of it all, Jesus calls us to tend our faith. We practice our piety, faithfully and quietly – not before others, in order to be seen by them. We give our offering without expecting applause or accolades for being generous. We pray, we fast, we worship, we learn, we serve.

And there’s more. We love our enemies and we pray for those who persecute us. We love the Lord our God with all of our hearts, minds, souls, and strength. And we love our neighbors as ourselves, too. All of which is a little easier, I think, when we remember more often that we are all dust – each and every one of us – and to dust we shall return.

And we live this way, with hope, in spite of these ashes and all they represent – but because of them, too, these damned ashes. Because it is by way of ashes … dust … dying … and death that God does God’s best work, remember.

Our God looks forward to repairing what is so broken in our lives and in this world.

Our God has plans to redeem the ashes and the stain of our sinfulness.

Our God promises to breathe life into the dust and dirt of our dying.

Because our God makes beautiful things – even out of the dust from whence we’ve come and of the dust we will one day be again.

No kidding.

Amen

Blessings and Woes

Luke 6:17-26

He went down with them and stood on a level place, with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. And all in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power went forth from him and healed all of them.

Then he looked up at his disciples and said: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets.

“But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.”

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This litany of “blessings and woes” reminded me of the conversation I had with the High School youth a couple of weeks ago when we tied ties together as part of our series of Sunday school classes I call, “Stuff I Never Learned in High School.” Other than almost learning how to tie neck-ties (some of us learned it better than others), we also talked about wealth and poverty and income inequality, a bit – all connected to The Rich Man and Lazarus, another story Jesus teaches about later in Luke’s Gospel.

The theme of that story is a common one for Jesus – all of this stuff about wealth, poverty, equity and justice, I mean – whether it comes in the form of the Beatitudes in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, as they’re called in Matthew’s Gospel… these “blessings and woes” from his “Sermon on the Plain,” as it’s called in Luke’s version of the story, or in parables like the Rich Man, dressed in purple and fine linens, and his poor neighbor, Lazarus.

Well, my conversation with the youth was sparked by a tweet I’d seen earlier that week by Nina Strohminger – a professor at the prestigious Wharton School of Business, at the University of Pennsylvania. Her tweet caused quite a stir in certain circles, back in January. This is what Professor Strohminger posted on Twitter:

“I asked Wharton students what they thought the average American worker makes per year and 25% of them thought it was over six figures. One of them thought it was $800k. Really not sure what to make of this.”

(She added that the real figure was something like $45,000/year. Others have disagreed, saying it’s more like $53,000/year.)

Whatever the case, WOW. And WOE – as in “woe to you Wharton School of Business” – as Jesus might have tweeted in reply.

It’s shocking … obscene perhaps … maybe even sinful, by some standards … that so many students at an Ivy League university, studying business, would be so misinformed; so out of touch; so sheltered as to think the average bear in their own country makes anywhere from two to sixteen times more than is actually the case.

(It may be telling that a single year’s undergraduate tuition at Wharton is nearly $55,000 which is about $1,500 more than what the actual average American worker makes in a year, depending upon whose math you believe.)

Again, WOW. And woe, indeed.

And I don’t mean to make more of this than is fair or necessary. These were undergrads, I think … maybe even Freshman … I likely would have answered wrongly in one direction or the other when I was 18, too.

But it’s meaningful and faithful to wonder about this when you also consider that the likes of Warren Buffet, Elon Musk, Donald Trump and two of his kids, along with governors, CEOs and powerful people of all kinds, at the highest levels of society, have connections to places like Wharton and the University of Pennsylvania. These are the kinds of leaders who have and who do and who will influence public policy at every level. These are leaders we should hope and pray have their hearts and minds and life’s work in-tune – not just with the rich and the full and the laughing, as Jesus might put it – but also that they would be in touch with the poor, the hungry, the weeping, and the hurting among us, too.

And so should we, as followers of Jesus.

Which is why all of this makes Jesus, and his sermon full of blessings and woes, speak to us, too, about recognizing our place and privilege in the world; and about how all of this is an invitation to be aware of and compassionate about the social, cultural, political, and economic location of all God’s children in the world around us.

“Blessed are you who are poor … But woe to you who are rich…”

“Blessed are you who are hungry now … Woe to you who are full…”

“Blessed are you who weep now … Woe to you who are laughing…”

“Blessed are you when people hate, exclude, revile, and defame you … “Woe to you when all speak well of you...”

See, I’m under the impression that Jesus promises blessings for those who are poor, or hungry, weeping, and persecuted, because that’s what Jesus and the grace of God do: they offer hope for those who need it most. And because God’s grace promises to redeem the poor, the hungry, the weeping and the persecuted in the end and at all costs.

And I’m under the impression that all of those “woes” are meant to do more than simply shame or scare whoever finds themselves rich or full, smiling or living their best life. I think Jesus wants those people to remember that they have been – or recognize that they could be – on the other side of things at any given moment, “but for the grace of God,” as they say.

And, of course, this is all so relative, right? You and I don’t have to have attended an ivy league school or make six figures in a year – or more – to live in an ivory tower by someone’s estimation. So, Jesus wants all of us to live differently in light of this Truth. And, because he’s Jesus, he shows us how to do that, however subtly, when, as Luke’s gospel tells us ‘he went down with them [that day], and stood on a level place.”

This little bit of stage direction from the writer of Luke’s Gospel may or may not have been intended for much, but when you know the rest of the story it can mean a whole heck of a lot. “He went down with them, and stood on a level place.”

Jesus’ whole life, ministry and existence was about coming down … lowering himself … becoming less than … not out of pity, but with compassion. Not feeling sorry for, but standing in solidarity with. Not because so many are helpless, but because he could be so help-ful. Jesus was never far off and far away, but always drawing near and coming close to see who needed what most, when, and how. And he calls us to do the same.

And I don’t mean to rain on our Super Bowl Sunday parade – I plan to be watching and eating and drinking my way through it all with the rest of you. But I’m not sure there’s a more timely example of our culture’s priorities and excess than everything we’ll be up to collectively this afternoon and evening.

So, let’s notice who’s in the stands in the stadium tonight and wonder about who’s on the sidewalk out front, too.

Let’s acknowledge that those amazing commercials cost an average of $6.5 million per 30 seconds – over $12 million a minute – while politicians and corporate America pretend to feel sorry, scared and helpless about the boogey-man of inflation.

And let’s not forget about the racial drama behind the scenes of it all, either … about who’s on the field, who’s coaching (or not) from the sidelines, and who’s sitting up high in the suite seats, behind the glass.

Blessings and woes… blessings and woes… blessings and woes…

The life of Jesus – and all of his preaching, teaching and healing – are about his stepping into the swirl of blessings and woes that make up this life as we know it. So, let’s be convicted by what he has to say this morning. Let’s wonder about how full we are, ourselves. Let’s be aware, too, of how little others have in this world, about how much more we could share, and about how we would, could, should come down more often to help level the playing field for those who need it.

Because whether we’re in Wharton’s School of Business or in Sunday School at Cross of Grace… whether you’re a millionaire or making minimum wage in middle America… Jesus calls us all to be mindful of the poor, the hungry, the weeping, and those in need, among us. And he invites us to trust God’s promise – and give thanks for the good news – that we will be blessed when all are blessed by the blessings that come – to us and through us – for the sake of the world, when we follow his lead.

Amen