Ash Wednesday: February 9, 2005.

Joel 2:1-2, 12-17

Psalm 51:1-18

2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

First Reading

While the scholars disagree as to a precise date (somewhere between the 9th and 3rd centuries B.C.E.), the writings of the prophet Joel are set within the context of a specific event. A plague of locusts, perhaps extending beyond more than one growing season, has devastated the agricultural economy of Judah to the point that there is nothing left even to make appropriate sacrifices in the Temple. In the midst of this natural disaster, the prophet announces that there is more at work than hungry insects. This natural phenomenon must be understood as a declaration of Yahweh's judgment against the nation. We begin our reading with a cry of alarm raised across the land that the great and terrible day of the LORD is at hand. Like a mighty army, the locusts are assembled on the horizon and will be unleashed across the countryside at Yahweh's command to bring destruction that is beyond memory.

In the midst of this terror, none other than Yahweh cries out to the people, pleading for their return not just in cultic or symbolic ways but with the rededication of their whole lives to God. Indeed, the prophet promises God's mercy and suggests that restoration is not so far off, that the land and her peoples will once again produce the good things necessary for life and the faithful practice of the cult.

There is but one thing to do: summon the entire community to fasting and prayer so that Yahweh's mercy may be poured out upon the chosen people. This is done not only for the relief of Judah but also for proof to the nations who would deride Israel for her faith. Thus even disaster and loss become a means by which God's power, mercy, and grace might be made manifest.

If Joel provides the summons for repentance, Psalm 51 provides the liturgical language. The form is that of a personal prayer of contrition, linked historically to David on the occasion of his repentance following Nathan's confrontation of the king for the murder of Uriah and the affair with Bathsheba. It is the fourth and likely the most well-known of the seven penitential psalms, of which Luther declared "Here the true doctrine of repentance is set forth before us" (Luther's Works 12:305). The confessional language is stunning in its clarity: "I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me." There is no evasion. God is acknowledged as pure and upright; humankind is born a broken species. Yet God's victory over sin is shown in mercy and in the power that penetrates to transform human willfulness. It is a creative act in which a new human heart is made for joy and thanksgiving and praise.

Paul's second letter to the church in Corinth is often understood to be a compilation of at least three and perhaps four distinct writings, spanning a two- to three-year period in the middle 50s C.E. and edited into one unit sometime in the first decades after the apostle's martyrdom and before his letters were widely circulated, approximately 75-80 C.E. The portion assigned for Ash Wednesday comes from what would have been the last of those letters. It is believed to have been written from Ephesus in late autumn or early winter of 55 C.E. That the letter is of Pauline authorship is not disputed.

Paul's struggle with the contentious community at Corinth is grounded in his opposition by a band of "super-apostles" who have argued (somewhat successfully) against the validity of Paul's own apostolic credentials. Paul counterattacks with great vigor, chiefly in an earlier letter preserved for us in 2 Corinthians 10-13. By the time this final letter is written, however, Paul's tone is decidedly gentle. Paul's language is now characterized by the themes of hope, encouragement, and reconciliation.

The reconciliation of which Paul speaks is possible only through the action of God in Christ Jesus. God made Jesus to be at one with a sinful humanity so that through his obedience we might be transformed into righteous ones before God. This promise comes, however, with a certain eschatological urgency. Paul understood himself to be alive during a short intermediary period between Christ's resurrection and his final appearing. This time was given for the purpose of conversion, a gift to which Paul urges the Corinthians to respond. Paul points to his own steadfastness in the midst of suffering and trial for the gospel; in all these things Paul is sustained by the very power of God, the promise to all who follow Paul's example.

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21 continues Jesus' instructions to the disciples from the Sermon on the Mount. If we subscribe to the theory that the sermon is composed of three distinct segments, our portion comes from the second of these segments, in which Jesus lays out the moral demands of participation in the cult. It is modeled on the prevalent notions of Jewish piety, which understood individual moral response to God as borne principally in almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. These disciplines are not rejected by Jesus but reassessed in terms of the integrity of their practice.

The admonition in 6:1 applies to all three. Genuine piety is honest about who it is trying to impress and focuses solely on actions by which God (not the practitioner) is glorified. The foil for Jesus' pronouncements is called hypocrite. Although this word is commonly translated as "actor," it is presumed in these verses to extend that sense to one who is a spiritual pretender. Hence, almsgiving is not to be done with announcement, for the sake of human admiration, but with such discretion that even the left hand is unaware of the right hand's generosity. Prayer is perhaps modeled after Daniel (6:11), who returns to the privacy of his room in order to pray and give praise. Likewise, those who fast should strive to make no public display of their deprivation.

In each case, the reward sought by public piety is public recognition. Such transitory acclaim is not the goal of the true disciple. Rather, Jesus adjures them to seek a heavenly treasure that, although it cannot be grasped or understood by the usual human standards of success, is nonetheless indestructible. It is finally a statement about the priorities we set (consciously or unconsciously) for our religious practice ... the satisfaction of self or the satisfaction of God.

Pastoral Reflection

We live two lives--what people see on the outside and what's really going on inside. In school we learn what outward signs will please the teacher: Don't punch your neighbor and stay awake. On the job we learn to put up a good front whenever the boss happens to stroll by. In our conversations in the narthex, we learn to smile and nod and thank the preacher for the sermon even if we didn't understand a thing. As if donning masks, we style our hair, choose our clothes, hone our body language to impress those around us. Over time, we learn to excel at hiding away any truly serious problems, maybe even from ourselves. And because most people tend to judge by outward appearances, it's relatively easy to fool them. If you doubt that, just watch the news the next time a mass murderer is arrested. There will be an interview with at least one neighbor who was convinced that "he was such a nice young man."

Lent is the season in which we get to address that outside/inside disparity; it's a time to recall and renew our baptism, to let God's creative and transforming mercy wash us clean indeed. It's a season to rejoice that God is not fooled by our appearances. We cannot fake behavior in order to impress God. God knows that in all of us lurk some terrible secrets, dark smudges on the otherwise happy faces we would put before each other and the world.

The good news is that God does deal with our sinfulness, our hypocrisy. God has already dealt with it in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. That's why the dark smudges on our foreheads are worn in the shape of a cross. For in it we are reminded that the way has been opened between earth and heaven, trading pretense for humility, pride for compassion, despair for hope, death for life. God has seen past our masks and our makeups and has chosen to love us anyway with a mercy so wide, a grace so deep, that pretending is no longer the necessity we always assumed it was. DLN