Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
Ash Wednesday:
February 13, 2013
There’s
an episode of Friends (yes, I know I’m dating myself) where one of the
characters, Phoebe, is determined to do a deed that is completely altruistic:
one in which someone benefits while the person performing the act receives
nothing in return. Joey, her friend, believes it’s not possible; Phoebe sets
out to prove him wrong.
In
an early attempt, Phoebe lets a bee sting her, which obviously is not good for
her, but, she argues, the bee gets to [quote] “look cool in front of its bee friends.” Altruistic, she argues. But Joey reminds her that now, having stung
someone and left its stinger behind, the bee will soon die. After many other attempts, Phoebe raises the
white flag.
This
is admittedly a pretty trivial, simplistic look at an ages-old philosophical
question, but helpful I think because we can all relate on some level to Phoebe,
and because of that, Matthew’s passage kind of hits a nerve. He seems to be
asking for the impossible – the purely altruistic act. And I feel like I’m left waving the white
flag of surrender.
I
get praying in secret…that seems easy enough.
Of course, I’m a bit reluctant to give up the prayers we do together
here, not to mention the prayer group that meets on Tuesday afternoons, and the
prayers I do with people in their homes and in the hospital – all of which have
been extremely important to me, and probably some of you as well. But they are not in secret.
It
gets even more complicated when you look at the other things Matthew talks
about, like, “practicing your piety,” which is the same as “giving alms,” or
“charity.” This is one of those crazy
things of trying to figure out whether you are doing something for others or
yourself. Even if you do the almsgiving
in “secret,” even if no one, including the alms receiver, knows it’s you, you
will no doubt feel good about helping someone.
In other words, motives and intentions are always mixed – never pure.
But
those words – motives and intention – get a little distracting, as if they are
easy to measure, much less figure out. I
think a better word when we are talking about how we act in this world is “faithfulness.” Are we acting faithfully? The difference for me is that faithfulness
happily encompasses the complexity of human motivation and intention. Faithfulness is not about figuring out the
exact right way to act with the exact right intentions. Faithfulness is not about figuring something
out at all. It is trusting a
process.
Faithfulness is about drawing
near to God and trusting that that relationship or connection will form and
shape our actions into faithful ones.
On
Ash Wednesday, I think we learn something about faithfulness – about drawing
near to God and how that helps us know God and God’s intentions and character
more deeply. Ash Wednesday is the kick
off for lent, and the focus is always on confession…saying all those things we have done wrong and all the stuff
that’s wrong with the world.
Why
is this the starting place to knowing God and God’s intentions? It seems counter-intuitive. Getting in touch with sin – with all the bad
stuff – is about acknowledging our separation from God, not closeness,
right? But the sin – I think…and you
might not find unanimous consent out there on this one – the sin isn’t the bad
things we do, think or say: I think covering
it up is…not admitting it; to ourselves, each other or God. It’s the cover-up. It’s the layers we put over those things we
don’t like about ourselves. The barriers
we erect to hide the most shameful truths about who we are. The things we do to ensure no one – not even
us – knows how terrible we are. That is what separates us from God. The layers and barriers: those are the sins.
Confession
is about stripping away the layers. Confession
breaks the barriers we erect between who we pretend to be and who we truly are
if we are honest with ourselves.
To
connect with God we have to “be” who we truly are: broken, bad, good, whole. Otherwise all we’re doing as we draw near to
God is bumping up against God with our barriers and layers. It’s like trying to find out if a stove is
hot by touching it with an oven mitt on.
I move closer to the stove, but I have on protective gear…no matter how
close my hand gets – even if I touch it – I’ll never know it’s
temperature. You have to remove the
protective gear…then, as you get closer, you will learn more and more about its
temperature.
In
confession, our barriers come down, our protective gear is removed, and then,
as we move closer to God, we will know more of what we are approaching.
Now,
there is nothing magical about all this.
There are not step by step instructions.
It’s not like God is “out there,” we know where, and all we have to do
is remove the barriers then walk up to God.
We get lots of step by step guides in Lent: Devotional books; pray every day for 20
minutes; give up this, give up that, add this, add that.
If
we are just doing these things because it’s what we’re supposed to do during
Lent, these step by step instructions are as shallow as the prayers and piety
of the people Matthew was writing about.
It’s not that we shouldn’t do such things, it’s just that we can’t do
them believing they are a kind of “key,” a way to be successful at Lent or
faith – a way to being a better Christian…getting better “results.” We won’t magically “feel” better, closer to
God, more faithful just because we do something special during Lent. I really think we have to give up on this notion
– these proscribed activities and steps.
So,
how do we do it? How do we draw near to
God? Even if we’re willing to confess,
what’s next: Where is God, and how do we
get there? Honestly, I don’t know
exactly. That’s part of my point. I can’t be prescriptive. Wish I could.
I can, and will from time to time, offer ideas, opportunities,
suggestions for things we might try. But
they won’t all work for everyone. Maybe
none of them will.
So
really the best I can do is reflect on my own, imperfect, incomplete experience
and offer that to you – as I would hope we would all do. And what I can tell you is that when I start
with confession – with Ash Wednesday, with letting the barriers come down and
being honest with myself and others about who I am – I have found myself feeling more connected to God – to God’s
character – at least I think it’s God. I
have come to trust that taking away
the layers is exactly what does draw us nearer to God; no other action
necessary.
I
suspect that’s because we are made in God’s image: Humans in God’s image…and for whatever
reason, part of being human – part of God’s image – is being broken, being flawed,
sometimes in huge ways. God is not out
there, a destination to be reached.
God’s character, being, is stamped in me and in you. If we can strip away the outer layers – the
things that hide us – even from ourselves – I believe God will be revealed…at
least in part. We will be connected to God’s
intentions, character, nature. And when
we are, we will begin to take on that character, those intentions, more and
more…we will become more faithful.
Which
still begs the question of how to do the peeling away of layers, I know. Again, I have no prescription. But here’s an example I will share with
you. One of my common struggles is with
compassion. I’m okay at compassion in
many instances. But I confess that I
have a hard heart sometimes. I am
incapable of putting myself in some people’s shoes to understand why they are
like they are – which is usually not how I would like them to be.
One
thing I have done is to “pray these people.”
Not for them, not for me to love them more. Just to pray them…put them in my head and
hold them next to the divine. And when I
do, the pain starts…the pain that comes from knowing God’s compassion for that
person…and my lack of compassion. When I
sit with that, stay with that – call it prayer if you will – I can feel deep
down the disconnect between God’s intentions and mine.
But
I think I have to feel the disconnect…sit with it, painful though it may be,
because that is what puts me closer to God and God’s compassion…in my gut, not
just my head. What I’m saying is…that’s
it. I trust that being closer to who God
is, even when I’m closer to God because of how much I feel unlike God, I trust
that will make me more faithful.
Does
it really work? I don’t know for
sure. In one example I can think of, one
person I have struggled mightily with over the years, I do feel like my heart
is ever so slightly more open because I have “prayed” that person over many
years. I think things have shifted in
our relationship, that things are changing and growing…maybe I am even more
compassionate. I know I enjoy this
person more, appreciate them, understand them a little bit more. But the change slight, slow, and not
linear. Which is o so frustrating.
We
will mark ourselves with ashes tonight.
In our tradition, the ashes are a sign of our brokenness, our humanness,
our mortality. We admit it all on our foreheads, before God and
everyone as they say. This brings down the
barriers between us and each other, between us and God. No protection. We are broken, we tell the world. But so is the sin – it is shattered at the
moment of confession. The barriers are
broken down and we are left next to the divine one without protective gear.
We
also put them on in the sign of the cross.
With the cross we remember that God meets us in a human being who was
broken on the cross because of the broken world in which we live. God meets us precisely in our brokenness. So
we have to “go” there. We have to pull
the layers back, let the barriers fall, know our true selves…sit with the pain
of brokenness – ours and the world’s. Because
that’s where God meets us…that’s how we draw near to God. Amen.
