Why are we here? Does it feel as if we’ve done an about-face? On Sunday we had a mountain-top experience: the veil parted and we glimpsed Jesus’ divine nature, even as we hoped that God would work God’s transformation in us. Then, our story took a turn as we came down from the mountain and back to ministry with God’s people – right to the depths! We sang our last “alleluias” until Sunday March 27th. All the paraments and my vestments have again changed color, from festive white and gold to solemn purple. The flowers are gone from the altar. We entered in silence. And here we are engaging in this ancient liturgy of taking on ashes and confessing our sins. Have we suddenly heard God’s call to repent, to care for the poor, to pray, and to fast? Is that why we sophisticated, twenty-first century people have come together to participate in this ancient rite?
For this rite that we share today is truly an ancient rite, whose origins are lost in the traditions of the earliest Israelites. The Hebrew Scriptures give us several prominent examples of communal rituals of prayer, fasting, repentance, and the use of ashes. For example, after Job was rebuked by God he confessed, “Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.” Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel all call the people to return to God and to express their repentance by dressing in rough plain clothing and putting ashes on their heads.
Indeed, in some ways our liturgy today is similar to that of Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement.1 Still today, even those who do not regularly attend synagogue services pay attention to the call to join the “solemn assembly,” confess their offenses against God, and express their hope to be inscribed in the Book of Life for another year. For us Christians too, Ash Wednesday is day of “solemn assembly,” a day of special prayer, of fasting, and repentance. But for us, Ash Wednesday is also the beginning of Easter. For the earliest Christians, Ash Wednesday marked the beginning of the intensive preparation for Easter that newcomers to the faith observed. For us too, Ash Wednesday turns us toward Jerusalem, the Cross, and the Empty Tomb.
Like the ancient Hebrews and the early Christians, we begin our journey toward the place of Jesus’ death and resurrection with a pointed reminder that we too will die. All our lections remind us of our mortality. Our psalm especially reminds us of who we are in God’s sight: “For he himself knows whereof we are made; he remembers that we are but dust. Our days are like the grass….” And why do we want to hear this reminder? Because it is the truth. Despite all the “age-defying” cosmetics that American manufacturers serve up, all the promises of immortality, all our attempts to hide death, we know that “we flourish like a flower of the field” that is scattered by a puff of wind. We know that our lives are uncertain, that no one of us knows how much time we have left, that we cannot live forever, and that the time to amend our lives, to wake up to God’s reality, is now. Rabbi Eliezer would tell his students that everyone should repent the day before death. “But Rabbi,” one of the students asked, “how can anyone know when that day is?” “Exactly,” said the Rabbi. “That is why we should repent every day of our lives.”
The ashes remind us of our mortality, and that’s important, but death is never God’s last word to us. The ashes are also a sign of hope, a gift. Traditionally, our ashes were made by burning the palm fronds from last year’s Palm Sunday. Even as we hear “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return,” we also hear the first few notes of the Easter to come.
And, yes, we are urgently called to repent and to fast, to acknowledge our “wretchedness,” i.e., our weaknesses and faults and all the ways in which we fall short of God’s expectations. And, yes, we are fallible human beings unable to live up to our own best standards, let alone God’s standards. Yet we do not cringe before an angry vengeful God ready to strike us down for the slightest provocation. Instead, we hear again that, although God cares deeply for justice, God is merciful and loving. We hear that, although we cannot save ourselves, God takes the initiative to rescue, heal, and save us. The psalmist reminds us that: “The Lord is full of compassion and mercy/ slow to anger and of great kindness…. For as the heavens are high above the earth,/ so is his mercy great upon those who fear him.” The prophet Joel repeats that refrain. “Return to the Lord, your God,” he exhorts us, “for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love….” Joel also reminds us that what God really desires of us is change of heart, transformation, or conversion. “Rend your hearts and not your clothing,” he commands us. Don’t just make a show of taking part in rites and rituals. Deeply commit yourself to God. Let God continue to change you into the people God created you to be, into the people who, by God’s grace, are becoming more and more like the Jesus we saw on the mountain, more and more like the Jesus we encounter in Jerusalem.
As we travel the road to Easter once again we also remember that we are members of a Body, that we are deeply bound to one another, and that we need each other to be completely God’s people. As we hear in the call of the prophet Joel, all the people are to be gathered into a “solemn assembly.” No one is exempted, not newlyweds, not the elderly, not even babes in arms. St. Paul similarly called the entire Christian community in Corinth to be reconciled to God, so that as a community they might reflect Christ’s saving power to the world around them. We too are members of one another, and what we do on this day, or any other day in the church, we do together. We may pray in secret. We may seek God in the silence of our private spaces. We may take on certain helpful spiritual practices. Even so, our salvation is never a private affair. Our repentance and renewal is always corporate. Jesus did not die to save me. He was crucified under Pontius Pilate for us and for our salvation. And thanks be to God! Because our repentance and renewal are corporate, because we are members one of another, we are not dependent solely on our own spiritual resources. Lent calls us to uphold and support one another, to encourage each other in Christian formation and transformation, to relearn and deepen our faith and practice together, and to build up our common life in this place.
In the end it is God who calls us together this day. God calls us to remember our mortality, deepen our faith, and strengthen the bonds among us. We have come to begin a solemn and serious season. For the next forty days we can practice simplifying our lives by letting go of those activities and things that draw us away from God, by engaging in more intentional private and corporate prayer, by serving others, by acknowledging our shortcomings, and by seeking and practicing forgiveness. We can begin to see God at work in all aspects of our lives, not just in our time spent here. We might think of Lent as a time for all of us to be on retreat, a time for us to lay aside our self-preoccupation, and pray about how we might truly love God and our neighbors more deeply. Keeping a good Lent ultimately means drawing closer to God and to one another, taking on those practices that will enable us to see our lives from a fresh perspective.
Why are we here? We are here to begin the journey that leads us to Jerusalem and beyond. We are here to receive ashes that can change our lives. Perhaps the ashes we receive today will awaken us to the truth of God’s transforming power. Perhaps we can hear ourselves in Edward Hays’ Lenten Psalm:
Come, O Life-giving Creator,
and rattle the door latch
of my slumbering heart.
Awaken me as you breathe upon
a winter-wrapped earth,
gently calling to life virgin Spring.
Awaken in these fortified days
of Lenten prayer and discipline
my youthful dream of holiness.
Call me forth from the prison camp
of my numerous past defeats
and my narrow patterns of being
to make my ordinary life extra-ordinarily alive,
through the passion of my love.
Show to me during these Lenten days
how to take the daily things of life
and, by submerging them in the sacred,
to infuse them with a great love
for you, O God, and for others.
Guide me to perform simple acts of love and prayer,
the real works of reform and renewal
of this overture to the spring of the Spirit.
O Father of Jesus, Mother of Christ,
help me not to waste
these precious Lenten days
of my soul’s spiritual springtime.2
I wish you a most holy and blessed Lent.
1. Daniel Clendinen, “A Day of Ashes and Rituals of Renewal,” Journey with Jesus, accessed on Feb. 20, 2012 at http://www.journeywithjesus.net
2. Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim (Notre Dame, IN: Forest of Peace, 2008), 185.
Showing posts with label Ash Wednesday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ash Wednesday. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Why Are We Here?
Why are we here? What are we doing here? Why all of a sudden have all the paraments and my vestments changed from green to purple? Where are the altar flowers? Why did we enter in silence? And why are we engaging in this ancient liturgy of taking on ashes? Have we suddenly heard Jonah’s call to the Ninevites and decided to copy their response?
Perhaps we have done just that. The donning of sackcloth and ashes by the Ninevites is only one of many examples in the Old Testament of collective rituals of prayer, fasting, repentance, and the use of ashes. Indeed, Daniel Clendinen reminds us that in some ways Ash Wednesday is akin to Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement.1 Still today, even those who do not regularly attend synagogue services hear the call to join the “solemn assembly,” confess their offenses against God, and express their hope to be inscribed in the Book of Life for another year. For us Christians too, Ash Wednesday is day of “solemn assembly,” a day of special prayer. But for us, Ash Wednesday is also the beginning of Easter. For the earliest Christians, as we will hear shortly, Ash Wednesday marked the beginning of the intensive preparation for Easter that newcomers to the faith observed. For us too, Ash Wednesday marks our first step on the road that leads us to Jerusalem, the Cross and the Empty Tomb.
Like the ancient Hebrews and the early Christians, we begin our preparation for the remembrance of Jesus’ death and resurrection with a poignant reminder that we too must undergo death. All of today’s readings speak in one way or another of our mortality, but our psalm most particularly reminds us of who we are in God’s sight: “For he himself knows whereof we are made;/ he remembers that we are but dust. Our days are like the grass….” And why do we come here to hear this reminder? Because it is the truth. Despite all the “age-defying” cosmetics that American manufacturers serve up, all the promises of immortality, all our attempts to hide death, we know that “we flourish like a flower of the field” that is scattered by a puff of wind. We know that our lives are uncertain, that no one of us knows how much time we have left, and that apart from God we have nothing. We know, or we are reminded yet again, that “to dust” we shall indeed return. Are we ready to hear that reminder? As a Lenten discipline, consider meditating on this question: how would I live my life if I knew that Easter Sunday would be my last day on earth?
Important as it is, the reminder of our mortality is never God’s last word to us. We also hear today the loud call to repentance and fasting, to acknowledging the ways in which we fall short of God’s expectations. But we do not repent without hope. There is good news here. We do not cringe before an angry vengeful God ready to strike us down for the slightest provocation. We do not expect to be cast into hell for deviations, great or small, from God’s law. We know that we are preparing for Easter. And so, we hear again that, although God cares deeply for justice, God’s nature is one of mercy and love. We hear that, although we cannot save ourselves, God is always ready to rescue, heal, and save us. The psalmist reminds us that: “The Lord is full of compassion and mercy/ slow to anger and of great kindness…. For as the heavens are high above the earth,/ so is his mercy great upon those who fear him.” The prophet Joel repeats that refrain. “Return to the Lord, your God,” he exhorts us, “for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love….” Joel also reminds us, that what God really desires of us is change of heart, transformation. “Rend your hearts and not your clothing,” he commands us. Don’t just make a show of taking part in rites and rituals. Don’t take God’s mercy for granted. Deeply commit yourself to God. Most important, let God continue to change you into the people God created you to be.
Finally, we prepare for Easter by acknowledging once again that we are members of a Body, that we are deeply bound to one another. As we hear in the call of the prophet Joel, all the people are to be gathered into a “solemn assembly.” No one is exempted, not newlyweds, not the elderly, not even babes in arms. St. Paul similarly called the entire Christian community in Corinth to be reconciled to God, so that as a community they might reflect Christ’s saving power to the world around them. We too are members of one another, and what we do on this day, or any other day in the church, we do together. Our repentance and our salvation is never a private affair. Our repentance and renewal is always corporate. Jesus did not die to save me. He was crucified under Pontius Pilate for us and our salvation. Because our repentance and renewal are corporate, because we are members one of another, we are not dependent solely on our own spiritual resources. Lent calls us to uphold and support one another, to encourage each other in Christian formation and transformation, to relearn and deepen our faith and practice together, and to build up our common life in this place.
To help us to remember our mortality, deepen our faith, and strengthen the bonds among us, the church offers us Lent as a time for simplifying our lives through fasting and abstinence, engaging in more intentional corporate and private prayer, serving others, studying our faith and history, and acknowledging our shortcomings. We might think of Lent as a time for the whole church to be on retreat, so that we might take stock of who and where we are, lay aside our own self-preoccupation, and ponder how we can more truly love God and our neighbors. Keeping a good Lent ultimately means drawing closer to God and one another, preparing ourselves once again for the renewal of our baptismal covenant, and looking with hope toward our celebration of the mystery of Jesus’ redeeming death and resurrection.
As we start down the road that leads us to Jerusalem, we do so trusting that we are already saved and deeply loved. Frail and mortal as we are, sinful and ungrateful as we are, isolated and mistrustful of each other as we are, we still trust in the glory that awaits us. In his wonderful sermon for Easter, fourth century bishop and preacher John Chysostom will invite us all to the feast, no matter how well we have kept Lent:
Let us all enter into the joy of the Lord!
First and last alike receive your reward;
rich and poor, rejoice together!
Sober and slothful, celebrate the day!
You that have kept the fast, and you that have not,
rejoice today for the Table is richly laden!
I wish us all a holy and blessed Lent, and I look ahead with hope to a joyful celebration of Christ’s glorious resurrection.
1. “A Day of Ashes and Rituals of Renewal,” Journey with Jesus, accessed on Feb. 20, 2012 at http://www.journeywithjesus.net
Perhaps we have done just that. The donning of sackcloth and ashes by the Ninevites is only one of many examples in the Old Testament of collective rituals of prayer, fasting, repentance, and the use of ashes. Indeed, Daniel Clendinen reminds us that in some ways Ash Wednesday is akin to Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement.1 Still today, even those who do not regularly attend synagogue services hear the call to join the “solemn assembly,” confess their offenses against God, and express their hope to be inscribed in the Book of Life for another year. For us Christians too, Ash Wednesday is day of “solemn assembly,” a day of special prayer. But for us, Ash Wednesday is also the beginning of Easter. For the earliest Christians, as we will hear shortly, Ash Wednesday marked the beginning of the intensive preparation for Easter that newcomers to the faith observed. For us too, Ash Wednesday marks our first step on the road that leads us to Jerusalem, the Cross and the Empty Tomb.
Like the ancient Hebrews and the early Christians, we begin our preparation for the remembrance of Jesus’ death and resurrection with a poignant reminder that we too must undergo death. All of today’s readings speak in one way or another of our mortality, but our psalm most particularly reminds us of who we are in God’s sight: “For he himself knows whereof we are made;/ he remembers that we are but dust. Our days are like the grass….” And why do we come here to hear this reminder? Because it is the truth. Despite all the “age-defying” cosmetics that American manufacturers serve up, all the promises of immortality, all our attempts to hide death, we know that “we flourish like a flower of the field” that is scattered by a puff of wind. We know that our lives are uncertain, that no one of us knows how much time we have left, and that apart from God we have nothing. We know, or we are reminded yet again, that “to dust” we shall indeed return. Are we ready to hear that reminder? As a Lenten discipline, consider meditating on this question: how would I live my life if I knew that Easter Sunday would be my last day on earth?
Important as it is, the reminder of our mortality is never God’s last word to us. We also hear today the loud call to repentance and fasting, to acknowledging the ways in which we fall short of God’s expectations. But we do not repent without hope. There is good news here. We do not cringe before an angry vengeful God ready to strike us down for the slightest provocation. We do not expect to be cast into hell for deviations, great or small, from God’s law. We know that we are preparing for Easter. And so, we hear again that, although God cares deeply for justice, God’s nature is one of mercy and love. We hear that, although we cannot save ourselves, God is always ready to rescue, heal, and save us. The psalmist reminds us that: “The Lord is full of compassion and mercy/ slow to anger and of great kindness…. For as the heavens are high above the earth,/ so is his mercy great upon those who fear him.” The prophet Joel repeats that refrain. “Return to the Lord, your God,” he exhorts us, “for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love….” Joel also reminds us, that what God really desires of us is change of heart, transformation. “Rend your hearts and not your clothing,” he commands us. Don’t just make a show of taking part in rites and rituals. Don’t take God’s mercy for granted. Deeply commit yourself to God. Most important, let God continue to change you into the people God created you to be.
Finally, we prepare for Easter by acknowledging once again that we are members of a Body, that we are deeply bound to one another. As we hear in the call of the prophet Joel, all the people are to be gathered into a “solemn assembly.” No one is exempted, not newlyweds, not the elderly, not even babes in arms. St. Paul similarly called the entire Christian community in Corinth to be reconciled to God, so that as a community they might reflect Christ’s saving power to the world around them. We too are members of one another, and what we do on this day, or any other day in the church, we do together. Our repentance and our salvation is never a private affair. Our repentance and renewal is always corporate. Jesus did not die to save me. He was crucified under Pontius Pilate for us and our salvation. Because our repentance and renewal are corporate, because we are members one of another, we are not dependent solely on our own spiritual resources. Lent calls us to uphold and support one another, to encourage each other in Christian formation and transformation, to relearn and deepen our faith and practice together, and to build up our common life in this place.
To help us to remember our mortality, deepen our faith, and strengthen the bonds among us, the church offers us Lent as a time for simplifying our lives through fasting and abstinence, engaging in more intentional corporate and private prayer, serving others, studying our faith and history, and acknowledging our shortcomings. We might think of Lent as a time for the whole church to be on retreat, so that we might take stock of who and where we are, lay aside our own self-preoccupation, and ponder how we can more truly love God and our neighbors. Keeping a good Lent ultimately means drawing closer to God and one another, preparing ourselves once again for the renewal of our baptismal covenant, and looking with hope toward our celebration of the mystery of Jesus’ redeeming death and resurrection.
As we start down the road that leads us to Jerusalem, we do so trusting that we are already saved and deeply loved. Frail and mortal as we are, sinful and ungrateful as we are, isolated and mistrustful of each other as we are, we still trust in the glory that awaits us. In his wonderful sermon for Easter, fourth century bishop and preacher John Chysostom will invite us all to the feast, no matter how well we have kept Lent:
Let us all enter into the joy of the Lord!
First and last alike receive your reward;
rich and poor, rejoice together!
Sober and slothful, celebrate the day!
You that have kept the fast, and you that have not,
rejoice today for the Table is richly laden!
I wish us all a holy and blessed Lent, and I look ahead with hope to a joyful celebration of Christ’s glorious resurrection.
1. “A Day of Ashes and Rituals of Renewal,” Journey with Jesus, accessed on Feb. 20, 2012 at http://www.journeywithjesus.net
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Your Father Will Reward You
Some years ago, a writer identified the ten reasons why Ash Wednesday is better than Christmas. What, you don’t believe me? Listen. [Read Tens Reasons.] Do you think I’m being blasphemous? Here we are at the beginning of a holy and solemn season. The service began in silence. We’ve changed all the hangings from green to purple. We’re beginning that slow and certain journey deeper into the great mystery of our Lord’s resurrection. “So, Mother Leslie,” you might ask, “Why are you cracking a joke?”
Well, to begin with, you may be the only ones who care. Those who don’t believe couldn’t care less about what we’re doing this evening. They’re just going about their life as usual, whatever they normally do on Wednesday evening. Those who are only concerned about themselves just continue chasing whatever will give them the next high. But we religious people, we face a great temptation on this evening, and most days in this church: we are tempted to substitute religious performance for relationship with God. This is an especially great temptation for Episcopalians, since we value liturgy so much, and, of course for priests in particular, since we have to lead it and always want to get everything just right. We are tempted, all of us, to think that when we have executed the required ceremonies, preferably with elegance and grace, that we have done what God wants us to do.
Is elaborate ceremony what God wants of us? “No, no, no,” shout the prophets. Don’t we hear that “no” clearly in our reading from Isaiah this evening? We hear in no uncertain terms that mere fasting, if it is not accompanied by a change in the way we treat others, is worthless. “Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high,” God thunders. More to the point, the true fast, the fast that God really wants is not ceremonial, but, in Isaiah’s words, is “to loose the bonds of injustice” and “to share your bread with the hungry.” No, my friends, fasting or any other well-executed religious performance is not what God wants of us.
We hear the same message from Jesus in tonight’s Gospel reading. Actually, I don’t feel so bad about having begun with a joke, because our Lord also has used humor, or more accurately, exaggeration to get his point across. With great humor he offers an elaborate parody of the key religious practices of his day, alms-giving, prayer, and fasting. Jesus was originally speaking to his disciples. In his recounting of this speech for his community Matthew has couched it in terms that they can understand. But we can easily imagine Jesus saying something similar to us. “Look,” he might say, “that person over there is making a great show of putting a hundred-dollar bill in the collection plate, while the people next to hin want all their neighbors to know that not only do they tithe, they give twenty percent of their income to the church. Meanwhile, the folks over there are praying so hard, I can hardly hear myself preach. They may mean well, but really! And the folks up here must surely have been fasting all day. They’re certainly making sure that everyone knows how miserable they are.”
Yes, Jesus has parodied religious performance in this speech, but he does so in order to teach us a deeper lesson. Before we consider that deeper lesson, let’s consider what Jesus is not saying here. Alms-giving, prayer, and fasting were and still are key elements of Jewish religious practice, as they of our practice. In fact, alms-giving, prayer, and fasting are practiced in just about every religious tradition. Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and many others regularly give to the poor, pray, and fast. Jesus is not saying that we are not to do these things. Indeed, the church specifically recommends that we pay extra attention to these areas of religious discipline during Lent. Nor is Jesus saying that these disciplines should be pursued only in private. Jesus was as well aware as anyone of the importance of corporate worship, observance of communal fasts, and efforts to alleviate poverty and injustice.
The question that Jesus poses to his disciples, his first-century followers, and us is “Why are you doing these things?” What is our motivation? What do we hope to get out of taking on these practices? What reward are we expecting? Are we looking for the approval of others? I suppose that could have been motivation in the first century, but surely not for us. We know that most people on the other side of the red doors couldn’t care less about our prayer, fasting, or alms-giving. Although one writer does suggest that we ought to be more public rather than less public about what we do, so that others may know that there are still some people of faith around. Well, then, are we motivated to engage in spiritual disciplines out of a desire for the satisfaction of thinking that we did what’s expected, fulfilled all our obligations? Perhaps so, although, again, in the twenty-first century there surely is little social pressure on anyone to do anything remotely spiritual. Whatever the source of that motivation, it’s probably internal.
No, says Jesus, our motivation for doing anything in the way of prayer, fasting, and alms-giving should be to obtain God’s reward. Ah, here is the question I’ve been wrestling with. What is the reward of my “Father who sees in secret?” There’s a future-oriented answer to this question, which is that the Father’s reward is acceptance into the kingdom of heaven and the grant of eternal life. But is my reward for faithfulness only pie in the sky when I die? I don’t think so. As I’ve been wrestling with this question, I’ve come to realize that there’s a much deeper reward for engaging in our three-fold practices. And not only in Lent, but at least in Lent, our tithe of the year so to speak. As they were and are for Jews, ourselves, and everyone else, our traditional Lenten observances, as well as other spiritual disciplines, are signs and aids to inner growth and transformation. And so our reward for keeping them, in a word, is deeper friendship with God, deeper participation in the community of love that is at the heart of God. Through prayer we gain a deeper sense of God’s great love for us. Through fasting, we gain a deeper sense of how dependent we are on God for all that we have in this life, and through alms-giving we gain a deeper sense of the needs of God’s other children, our sisters and brothers in the world. As we reach out to others, and especially to the “neighbors we have from you,” as we have been singing this Epiphany tide, we are strengthened in our ability to fulfill the promises we made to God at our baptisms and which we reaffirm with every baptism we witness. Through prayer, fasting, and alms-giving ultimately we are rewarded with more complete growth into Christ, more complete transformation into the people we were truly created to be.
Lent is a solemn and penitential season. During these forty days we are asked to consider our sins and shortcomings, all the ways in which we have missed God’s mark. But Lent is not a sad season. Lent is a gift from God. It is a time when we may begin drawing closer to God. Most especially it is a time when we may, through prayer, fasting, and alms-giving, begin to know the depth of God’s love for us, made known to us in Christ Jesus, and the yearning of God to draw us into that blessed community of love. I wish you a holy and most blessed Lent.
Well, to begin with, you may be the only ones who care. Those who don’t believe couldn’t care less about what we’re doing this evening. They’re just going about their life as usual, whatever they normally do on Wednesday evening. Those who are only concerned about themselves just continue chasing whatever will give them the next high. But we religious people, we face a great temptation on this evening, and most days in this church: we are tempted to substitute religious performance for relationship with God. This is an especially great temptation for Episcopalians, since we value liturgy so much, and, of course for priests in particular, since we have to lead it and always want to get everything just right. We are tempted, all of us, to think that when we have executed the required ceremonies, preferably with elegance and grace, that we have done what God wants us to do.
Is elaborate ceremony what God wants of us? “No, no, no,” shout the prophets. Don’t we hear that “no” clearly in our reading from Isaiah this evening? We hear in no uncertain terms that mere fasting, if it is not accompanied by a change in the way we treat others, is worthless. “Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high,” God thunders. More to the point, the true fast, the fast that God really wants is not ceremonial, but, in Isaiah’s words, is “to loose the bonds of injustice” and “to share your bread with the hungry.” No, my friends, fasting or any other well-executed religious performance is not what God wants of us.
We hear the same message from Jesus in tonight’s Gospel reading. Actually, I don’t feel so bad about having begun with a joke, because our Lord also has used humor, or more accurately, exaggeration to get his point across. With great humor he offers an elaborate parody of the key religious practices of his day, alms-giving, prayer, and fasting. Jesus was originally speaking to his disciples. In his recounting of this speech for his community Matthew has couched it in terms that they can understand. But we can easily imagine Jesus saying something similar to us. “Look,” he might say, “that person over there is making a great show of putting a hundred-dollar bill in the collection plate, while the people next to hin want all their neighbors to know that not only do they tithe, they give twenty percent of their income to the church. Meanwhile, the folks over there are praying so hard, I can hardly hear myself preach. They may mean well, but really! And the folks up here must surely have been fasting all day. They’re certainly making sure that everyone knows how miserable they are.”
Yes, Jesus has parodied religious performance in this speech, but he does so in order to teach us a deeper lesson. Before we consider that deeper lesson, let’s consider what Jesus is not saying here. Alms-giving, prayer, and fasting were and still are key elements of Jewish religious practice, as they of our practice. In fact, alms-giving, prayer, and fasting are practiced in just about every religious tradition. Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and many others regularly give to the poor, pray, and fast. Jesus is not saying that we are not to do these things. Indeed, the church specifically recommends that we pay extra attention to these areas of religious discipline during Lent. Nor is Jesus saying that these disciplines should be pursued only in private. Jesus was as well aware as anyone of the importance of corporate worship, observance of communal fasts, and efforts to alleviate poverty and injustice.
The question that Jesus poses to his disciples, his first-century followers, and us is “Why are you doing these things?” What is our motivation? What do we hope to get out of taking on these practices? What reward are we expecting? Are we looking for the approval of others? I suppose that could have been motivation in the first century, but surely not for us. We know that most people on the other side of the red doors couldn’t care less about our prayer, fasting, or alms-giving. Although one writer does suggest that we ought to be more public rather than less public about what we do, so that others may know that there are still some people of faith around. Well, then, are we motivated to engage in spiritual disciplines out of a desire for the satisfaction of thinking that we did what’s expected, fulfilled all our obligations? Perhaps so, although, again, in the twenty-first century there surely is little social pressure on anyone to do anything remotely spiritual. Whatever the source of that motivation, it’s probably internal.
No, says Jesus, our motivation for doing anything in the way of prayer, fasting, and alms-giving should be to obtain God’s reward. Ah, here is the question I’ve been wrestling with. What is the reward of my “Father who sees in secret?” There’s a future-oriented answer to this question, which is that the Father’s reward is acceptance into the kingdom of heaven and the grant of eternal life. But is my reward for faithfulness only pie in the sky when I die? I don’t think so. As I’ve been wrestling with this question, I’ve come to realize that there’s a much deeper reward for engaging in our three-fold practices. And not only in Lent, but at least in Lent, our tithe of the year so to speak. As they were and are for Jews, ourselves, and everyone else, our traditional Lenten observances, as well as other spiritual disciplines, are signs and aids to inner growth and transformation. And so our reward for keeping them, in a word, is deeper friendship with God, deeper participation in the community of love that is at the heart of God. Through prayer we gain a deeper sense of God’s great love for us. Through fasting, we gain a deeper sense of how dependent we are on God for all that we have in this life, and through alms-giving we gain a deeper sense of the needs of God’s other children, our sisters and brothers in the world. As we reach out to others, and especially to the “neighbors we have from you,” as we have been singing this Epiphany tide, we are strengthened in our ability to fulfill the promises we made to God at our baptisms and which we reaffirm with every baptism we witness. Through prayer, fasting, and alms-giving ultimately we are rewarded with more complete growth into Christ, more complete transformation into the people we were truly created to be.
Lent is a solemn and penitential season. During these forty days we are asked to consider our sins and shortcomings, all the ways in which we have missed God’s mark. But Lent is not a sad season. Lent is a gift from God. It is a time when we may begin drawing closer to God. Most especially it is a time when we may, through prayer, fasting, and alms-giving, begin to know the depth of God’s love for us, made known to us in Christ Jesus, and the yearning of God to draw us into that blessed community of love. I wish you a holy and most blessed Lent.
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