Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
But be
careful not to demonstrate your righteousness before humans toward being seen
by them. Otherwise, you have no reward
with your father in the heavens.
Therefore,
whenever you do alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do
in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be glorified by
men. Truly I say to you, they have their
reward.
But you
doing alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand does, so that
your alms may be in secret; and your father, the one seeing in secret, will
repay you.
And whenever
you pray, do not be as the hypocrites, for they love to have been standing on
the street corners or in the synagogues to pray, so that they may be seen by
humans. Truly I say to you, they have
their reward. But whenever you pray,
enter into your hidden room, and, having shut the door, pray to your father,
the one in secret, and the one seeing in secret will repay you.
*
And whenever
you fast, do not be as the gloomy hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so
that they may appear to others as ones fasting.
Truly I say to you, they have their reward.
But you,
fasting; anoint your head and wash your face, so that you may not appear to
humans as one fasting but to your father, the one in secret, and your father,
the one seeing in spirit, will repay you.
Do not store
up for you treasures upon the earth, where moth and rust destroy and where
thieves break in and steal. But store up
for you treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where
thieves do not break in nor steal. For
where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
Good evening!
Well it is, admittedly, a
bit of an odd night – Valentines and ashes may not seem to go together – but
tonight, for us, they do, and what would valentine’s day be without love
letters?
So here are some fabulous
Valentine’s day love letters written by kids…
Poppies are orange and
grass is green, I like you because you’re not mean
Mom I love you for making
me food so I don’t die
Here’s a preschool
fill-in poem… Mom, I love you more than rainbows, and beautiful blue skies, I
love you more than buttercups and wings of butterflies, I love you more than
COW.
Valentine’s day is cool;
you are too… you could be better, but I like you.
And my personal favorite…
Roses are red, violets
are blue, stop calling me names or I’ll tell on you
Grace and peace to you
from God our Creator and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen
Love. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? Especially on a night like this, when we step
out of a day that, for many, falsifies love into marketing and dollars spent,
and together step into a journey that culminates in the greatest love the world
has ever known and could ever know.
Our gospel text tonight
is filled with similar clashes. Jesus
tells us that loudly praying on the street corners is false prayer – done by
the hypocrites; and that real prayer is done in secret. That giving to the poor and shouting about
it, or blowing trumpets to announce, isn’t true generosity, but that we should
be so subtle that our right hand doesn’t know what the left is doing.
These acts, done for the
recognition of other humans, are empty, dead – dust, even. They have no substance, and that recognition
will be fleeting. But done with real,
true devotion… Jesus promises us that then, our father in Heaven who is in
secret sees all things in secret.
This passage, with all of
its trumpets and fanfare and loudness and disfigured faces vying for our
attention, softly and quietly becomes a love letter from God.
I see you, says God. I notice you.
Yes, we may repeat tonight that we are dust and that to dust we shall
return, but God reminds us that we are dust with the spirit of God breathed
into us. And we are special and unique
to God, in our innermost hearts, our most secret places, our unique identity as
God’s children. God loves in us the
things that are unseen.
What is unseen in
you? What are your ashes?
It is true that we live
in a broken world. As Jesus warns us,
treasures stored up here are vulnerable to moths and rust and thieves. Once we have been alive for even a short time
on this planet, we have experienced these destructive forces. Certainly of material things: here in California we are more aware than
most of natural and environmental disasters; fires, earthquakes that can take
our material goods in moments. A stock
market crash can pull the security of savings and wealth away in
heartbeats. But what about emotional
destruction? The moths that slowly eat
holes in our plans, our confidence, our intentions for the future? The rust that erodes relationships? The thieves that steal our health, our
independence, our loved ones?
It is part of our human
condition to want to fight these things, or to hide them – but maybe moths,
rust, and decay are not evil – maybe they are part of a life that, like these
words of Jesus, continually reminds us of our mortality. That reminds us of our absolute and total
dependence on God’s mercy and grace.
The world tells us to
avoid the ashes. That grief is bad,
something to be gotten over as soon as possible. But
God instead grieves with us – and maybe within these ashes are traces of
memory, of experiences, of hope.
John Caputo, an American
Philosopher and professor of religion at Syracuse University wrote about these
ashes in our lives. He said that they are
burned in “the fire of faith in the coming of what we cannot see coming; the
fire of hope for something in which we can only hope against hope; the fire of
love of something we desire with a desire beyond desire.”
In this backdrop of
faith, hope, and love, are these ashes actually treasures?
There are lots of ideas
out in the world about the directive to store up treasures in Heaven… and most
encourage us to do very good things… Give to the needy, be a servant, invest in
your education and character.
But I think those things,
though great advice for a faithful life, miss the point.
I think the only treasure
that means anything in heaven is the cross.
Christ crucified, and that means our death with him.
The ashes we have been
marked with tonight drive this truth home.
We are to die daily. We are dust,
and to dust we shall return – again, and again, and again.
Instead of the life we
could have, a life that is vulnerable to and defined by destruction and rust
and theft – we have a cruciform life -- A life shaped by the cross –
A love letter that is
fireproof.
By walking out of the
church tonight with a cross on our foreheads we are proclaiming that we are people
of the cross. We’re not defined by our
job, our house, our car, our degrees, or our social status -- our treasures on
Earth – we are defined by our treasure in Heaven – and that is the cross of
Jesus Christ.
This cross, and Christ
crucified, are not simply abstract ideas for the world, they are personal. Jesus’ death is not a substitution for our
death, it is our death. Martin Luther
saw moments like this night as ways for us to train ourselves to enter into
this death, becoming one with Christ’s death.
He observed that death takes away all things that are seen and to meet
it, we must have the help of things that are unseen and eternal – “thus,” he
wrote, “the sacrament is for us a ford, a bridge, a door, a ship, and a
stretcher, by which and in which we pass from this world into eternal life.”
And here – here in these
ashes is where newness of life and relationship with Christ is found. Through Jesus’ death and resurrection, we can
say with confidence, ‘in him I am also assured of resurrection, in him I am a
child of God.’
The good news is that the
cross is where we find the real, joyful expression of God’s love; not as empty
Hallmark words or sappy poetry but as an essential definition of who God is. Each step in the coming Lenten journey is a
representation of the fullness of this love for us.
We follow a Lord who
gives his own flesh for the life of the world, so that, ultimately, all
creation may be released into full joy and abundant life.
Does our identity, then,
as people of the cross make a difference in our lives, in the lives of our
neighbors, and in the life of the world?
I must persistently say “yes.”
People of the cross are able
to grieve what is lost yet are free to have hope for the future. People of the cross are secure in a love that
will not let them go and are free to then love others. People of the cross are confident that their
needs will be met by a loving God and are then free to meet the needs of
others. People of the cross may walk
through a world of apathy but are free to act with kindness, grace, and mercy. People of the cross are free to turn ashes
back into the fire of faith, hope, and love.
Yes, it makes a
difference to the world.
And even as we leave this
beautiful place tonight and step out again into the difficult reality of the moth-eaten,
rusting world, the good news is that knowing Jesus Christ, being people of the
cross, makes a difference for us as well.
For he is deep and abiding joy that looks through the ashes of this life
and into the treasure of the eternal. And
that treasure is a love that cannot be lost, a relationship that cannot be
rusted, and a security that cannot be stolen.
Such a Valentine.
Amen
