An Ash Wednesday message about truth, courage and us.

Remember “you are dust and to dust you shall return” Genesis 3:19 

I started off Ash Wednesday much like the past few years: on the corner outside the church building braving the elements and offering ashes to folks on their way to drop their kids off at Waters school across the street in the morning.  This year I was joined by C.  C and I stood at the corner in the rain, a little like wet cats, offering ashes to folks who passed by.  We didn’t have as many takers as past years, but we had a few:  There was the woman with the white haired pixie cut who pulled over: 

“Wait, are you giving out ashes?” I drew the cross on her forehead and she ran back to her car.

As I went through the day, I saw a few people marked with ashes.  It always kind of takes me by surprise to run into someone with the ashes on their face.  You would think it wouldn’t given my line of work, but it does. There was the woman driving her car who waited for me to cross at the stop sign, the school crossing guard, the other parent at the school waiting with me in the rain for our kids to be dismissed.

Usually we start off our days dirt free and well groomed—or at least we do our best.  I for one, trust that someone will at least give me the heads up if something is off when I’m walking out of the house.  There was the time that, as I was rushing to get out the door, one of my younger family members informed me that I had my shirt on inside out.  (I quickly fixed that one—lest someone be let in on the secret that I don’t always have it 100% together.)

Somedays, it’s worse than having the shirt on inside out. Somedays, we’re not sleeping well, or someone we love is sick, or we’re worried about a decision we’ve made, or about the state of the world. Somedays we’re uncomfortable in our own skin for all kinds of reasons.

Most days, we keep up the facade. We go about our business, work hard, go to school, go to the store, blend into the crowd and attempt to appear that we’re either holding it together, optimistic, upbeat, or whatever vibe de jour is most acceptable that day. 

But today—today, we come for the ashes. 

In just a short while, we’ll invite you to come forward and you’ll be marked by dust.  It’s this visible acknowledgement that sometimes things in our lives—which we try to keep running smoothly—crack, crumble, or even break.  When the dust settles, we’re left with a little pile of dirt, or rubble or sand that slips right through our fingers when we scoop into our hands.  

Usually, we try to sweep this dusty reality under the rug a little like it doesn’t matter.  We pretend that we’re not really anxious or lonely or overworked or harried or upset.

But not today.  

Today, we acknowledge that the air is full of ashes, hearts around the world are full of ashes. Today we remember we are human, mortal and, as scripture says, “that we are dust.”

It’s a little strange: this practice of remembering like this. Why do we do this?

We are certainly surrounded by enough worry and pain, disappointment, stress and despair already: What if I don’t get into the right high school or college? What if my marriage doesn’t make it? What if getting old is worse than I thought? Why am I still alone? How could I have messed this up? Failed again? What if… 

What good does it do to go over it again here on Ash Wednesday? Why focus on the dust? Why not just keep our chins up and march forward bright and shiny and perfect so we can rise up and shine and succeed? (We really do put a lot of effort into having it all together…)

Sara Miles is a pastor who writes that “It’s rare in our culture to admit, in public, that you’re not in control—that you, basically, are not God. And, given the din of advertising and political polemic and hype and doublespeak surrounding us, it’s rare to escape the fantasy that money or science, fame or violence or shiny objects will somehow save us from death.”

Ash Wednesday is the most honest day of the year.  “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.”  Its the day where we admit that we don’t entirely have it all together. That we are not actually in control and the gods of our own lives.

Last year, we had two high schoolers who gave out ashes during the service. I was standing at the side watching until Tom came up as one of the very last people in the line with baby M.  M was very, very tiny—just three weeks old.  

One of the youth made the cross on Tom’s forehead. As Tom turned to walk back to his bench, I locked eyes with him: 

“Did you want her to receive ashes?” I whispered, touching M’s back.

“Yeah—“ he said.  

I’ve never given ashes to such a tiny baby and it seemed almost wrong to remind such a tiny, precious creature of her humanness and mortality, but Tom’s courage was unflinching and contagious and gave me courage. 

I lifted up the front of her tiny hat and made the cross on her soft forehead: Remember, sweet child, that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

I’m sure there will be more moments of honesty in little M’s life—moments of heartbreak and challenge—but that was a start. 

The truth is that as human beings, we all crack and crumble sometimes. We break. We are all fallible and imperfect.  Tonight we admit that together.  

It is “profoundly countercultural” as Pastor Miles wrote, to publicly admit this. When we admit this together, and when we visibly see this on each other, we realize that we are human together and we give each other courage and hope.

You, high schoolers, so many of you who are leading the service tonight, give me courage and hope with your bravery towards the way you look challenges in the face, bravely manage your own dusty pain, and call us not to turn away from the ashen places in this world. 

You church grandparents, give us hope and courage with your ever present reminders of God’s faithful presence in our lives, even when you waiver.

God, who is that undeniable essence of love, cherished Comforter, and animating life force is stronger than we are and will ever be. For even in the ash of this world, we are kept safe in the promise of God’s eternal love.

Working out theology Jesus-style

Matthew 5:21-37

Shortly after my mom died, I took a couple of her dresses that I had loved and had them tailored to fit me.  I was three inches taller than her, have broader shoulders than she did, and the dresses didn’t fit quite right.  I went to the seamstress who had tailored my wedding dress. This woman had a masters degree in textiles and was an exquisite seamstress.  When I picked up the dresses from her a month later, I zipped them up and they fit perfectly.  I remember looking at myself in the mirror in her studio and feeling a little stunned. I hadn’t expected such a perfect fit.

If you’ve ever had a piece of clothing well tailored, or if a piece of clothing just fits you really well, it’s a remarkable feeling to put your arm into that sleeve or zip it up and feel that perfect fit. The garment on a hanger just hangs there. You might not even be able to tell from glancing at it what piece of clothing it is.  But when you slide your arms into the blazer, when you fill it, with yourself, you bring it to life.  

In the gospels, Jesus explains that he has come to “fulfill” the law. When we think of fulfillment, just like an arm reaching into a sleeve, we think of something that is brought to life, filled out, even embodied (or incarnated).  If you fulfill a certain responsibility, you follow through. You make it happen, you bring it to life, You live up to it. You give it form, just like fitting into a perfectly tailored pair of pants that are lifeless on the hanger but “filled out” when a person wears them. 

We hear a lot about “fulfillment” in the gospels. The authors of the gospels, particularly Matthew, talk about how scripture is fulfilled through things that were happening in their world at the time. Jesus talks about fulfillment regarding Jewish law.  

One way of looking at this (and there are several) is that the social-religious law, when it’s just written out, is a little like the garment on the hanger: potentially beautiful, exquisite work, gorgeous beading, embroidery or texture, but just hanging there. How we fill this religious law, or how Jesus did, is by living it; and actually living it brings the heart or the spirit of the law to life.

What is the point of religious law? If it helps, I once heard MLK’s “I have a dream” speech compared to Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.  Jesus had a dream, (God has a dream) of a thriving, flourishing, righteous, healthy community. That dream always seems to be a little illusive or even at risk but the vision is magnetic.  Religious law is a sort of compass or pathway or sheepdog herder to help us all walk in the right direction toward that dream.  

I will be the first to say that I don’t love a lot of individual religious laws we find in our scriptures. Some of the laws are hyper-contextual to the context they were written about more than 2000 years ago. There are laws about food or purification that we truly don’t have a contemporary context for understanding.  But the point, the dream and the vision of the laws is the endgame of a healthy world. No single law stands alone. They’re not meant to be taken individually. They are part of a larger vision of how we create a healthy, just, flourishing community.

Inevitably, this is a little complicated.  Life is complicated.  For example, we’re instructed to pray without ceasing. But if we pray, “Oh God, bless these dumb people I can’t stand make them more like me,” yes, we are indeed praying for our neighbor and making good on that commandment. We are also following the instruction to pray. But, we’re missing the heart of the matter.  

In today’s snippet of scripture, Jesus is still sitting on the top of the mountain with his disciples. He’s laying out the vision. He has just taught them the beatitudes, that people who are meek and lonely and mourning are blessed (which probably seems a little backwards to them.) Jesus has just told them that they are the salt and light of the world and that their very being brings flavor, joy, peace and color to life. And now, he’s teaching them how to work out their theology.  He chooses four issues to comment on: Murder and judgement, adultery, divorce and the integrity of our word. 

A couple of the issues like divorce and adultery are real hot button issues of the day. There was a lot of debate and controversy and very strong opinions.  (This would be like Jesus choosing to discuss a contemporary hot-button issue like abortion with really thought out opinions and arguments). 

I don’t know that divorce is such a hot-button issue for us these days, but I do know it’s painful and, while Jesus’ comments about divorce seem straightforward, there is a whole lot of context it. (Please seek me out if you’d like to connect more about this.) About divorce, I’ll simply say that Jesus is always asking hard questions around how people can be liberated by the things that enchain them.  

These four particular issues that Jesus brings up share a common thread of how we keep trust and compassion alive in a community. Trust and compassion are essential to healthy society. Jesus starts off: “you have heard it said you should not murder.”  If I stand up here as your pastor and say, “don’t murder,” you’re all going to be 100% on board.  But, Jesus is asking us to think more widely about how we relate to other people. 

He goes on to say, but I say to you, if you’re angry with a brother or sister, that’s a problem.  If you’re coming to the temple and offering sacrifices and going through all the right movements, but holding a quiet grudge that you’re not dealing with, that’s a problem.  

Murder is one thing, but grudge-holding? Anger with someone we disagree with? Resentment, spitefulness, gossip? I’m guessing we can all find our way into that one.

Jesus is showing us how to engage with religious law and how to do theology and think about God.This involves Reflecting. and keeping that anchor of a just and flourishing community at the center. Jesus says: You have heard one thing said, but I say to you, Crack the idea open. Think deeper about it. 

You have heard it said to you that you shall not murder. But God says to you, you must think about how you’re killing life by holding a grudge, gossiping about people that make you angry, and damaging healthy community.

You have heard it said that you must forgive your enemies, 

But God says to you,  you must honor your enemies’ humanity, Ask better questions, speak truth with love and grace, and remain open hearted before them.

You have heard it said that the problems of our world, the earthquakes, the racism, the poverty, the violence, are too great for us to make an impact on, but God says to you how are you transforming the wounded places within your reach? How are you participating as salt and light or with our simple two coins to bring healing?  

You have heard it said that gender and sexuality must fit into ancient classifications, but God says to you in the face of a changing world of changing categories, how are you loving your neighbor, letting defining labels slip away, and blessing the essence of who they are simply created as.

You have heard it said, that the church is dying, but God says to us, how are we engaging in the mystery of what it means to be a community of faith? How are we letting God reinvent us in spaces outside the four walls of the traditional church and re-make us.

You have heard it said…

but I say to you…

We have to think about these teachings, 

learn from them, 

slip our arms into their sleeves, 

talk them through with folks, 

put them into practice together, 

make them happen, 

bring them to life,

fulfill them, 

fail them, 

reflect 

and try again.  

Jesus didn’t come to replace an ancient religious law, but to embody it, to give it form and substance and meaning. He came to flesh it out and bring it to life. This is our call too. It is a path that we walk together. 

What does this process look like in your own life? What does it look like for you to slip into that jacket or zip up that dress? How is God challenging you to forgive, or listen more carefully, or be more generous or compassionate, or to advocate to serve people. How do you participate in what God is up to around us? 

How will you fulfill this vision? 

"Find out who you are and do it on purpose"

Matthew 5:13-20

During the Christmas season, we sing the favorite song, “Oh Come all Ye Faithful.”  It’s a beautiful, Christmas hymn. On the third verse, which starts “sing choir of angles,” many choirs, including ours here, sing what is called a descant. While the majority of the choir and the church sing along to the regular melody, the sopranos sing a different melody that floats on top of the traditional song. The result is this extra color and beauty that enhances the song. Some of us listening or singing might not even notice the specifics of what’s going on. We simply know that, when we sing of this choir of angles, it sounds extra beautiful. If you haven’t heard this descant, think of a regular band that adds a harmony or an unusual instrument like a fiddle to add a certain depth, color or flavor, or sabor to the music.

The next few weeks, we’re going to be hearing from what is known as Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.  In the part that comes up today, Jesus talks about two things that enhance life by adding color and depth like that descant does to the hymn: Salt and light. 

At first blush, salt and light seem pretty easy to wrap our heads around. Light brightens dark spaces and salt brings out the flavor in food. Too much light hurts our eyes. Too much salt destroys the meal.

Take salt for starters. The disciples would have known about salt. While we might take salt for granted, even up until 100 or so years ago, salt was still a precious commodity.   In a time when there was no refrigeration, salt was a preservative. It was used for seasoning and medicinal purposes.  Roman soldiers in the time of Jesus were often paid in salt which is where we get our English word “salary.” (Salt was precious the way our salary is!) 

Then take light: Light is also something we take for granted now, but there was no electricity in the time of Jesus.  As soon as the sun set, that was it.  Any little bit of light took effort and likely some expense. It’s not like Jesus just pulled a book of matches out of his pocket to light a candle. It was hard work to manufacture and sustain light so it was precious. Even a little candle could be seen in the wide expanse of darkness.  

The disciples would have known that salt and light were precious and important. But what did this mean for their lives?

At this point in the Gospel of Matthew, it hadn’t been so long ago that Jesus had crossed paths with the brothers, Peter and Andrew and then James and John, son of Zebeedee on the beach and said “follow me.” Those fishermen had miraculously dropped their nets and followed.  They are all still getting to know each other. They had just barely starting to visit all the towns and synagogues where Jesus heals people. Word is spreading and he is quickly rising to celebratory status.  The people are flocking to him. 

On the day where Jesus offers this teaching, the crowds had been really big. Jesus took one look at the number of people and decided to huff it up the mountain. We don’t know why, maybe he needed a little breathing space, but the disciples huffed it up there after him.  He was magnetic. What was it about him that pulled all these people to him and gave everyone so much hope?!

As the disciples followed him up the mountain, they were probably pretty stoked about what an excellent career move they had made to have dropped those nets and followed celebratory-Jesus. Surely now, up on the mountain, he would reveal to them what his secret sauce was that made him so special! Or perhaps, a little of his shine would rub off on them.
They all sit down up there at the top of the mountain trying to catch their breath and Jesus starts sharing: But instead of launching into a list of books he had read on charismatic leadership or underscoring all the great mentors he had worked with who taught him how to give people hope, Jesus flips the script and tells them: “You are the salt of the earth.”  “You are the light of the world.” There is no special sauce. There is no magical quality.  

It seems like Jesus is saying that all of us have these qualities of salt and light in us whether we like it or not.  It’s not that we have to create the right spiritual conditions for salt and light,or wait for God add them in our lives. Yes, sometimes salt is used too sparingly to make a difference.  And sometimes light is hidden by a basket or covered up. But, Jesus explains, you already have this goodness of salt and light in you. It’s a fact.  The question is will we lavishly apply it to the world around us? 

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I want you to think back on the last couple of weeks about how God has allowed you to be salt and light.  Think of the different people you’ve encountered here at church, at school, at your gym.  Think about words of encouragement you’ve shared with others and the moments you’ve listened and sought to understand.  Think of burned bridges you have worked to repair and hard conversations you have made yourself have.  Where have you recently been salt and light?

If you work outside of your home, think about your workplace. Who has needed an encouraging word, a gift of grace, or an extra acknowledgement of their humanity in this super-charged, fast paced world? Think of your family—when have supported your child or maybe challenged them?   When have you been light to an extended family member? Think of places where you have volunteered, or the prayers you’ve offered, or moments of activism. Where have you been salt or light in this world? 

Being a disciples is less about believing a list of things, It’s more about acting on God’s Word the way that Jesus teaches it. 

Where is God acting in the world and how are you joining in? How are you a pinch of salt that doesn’t over power a dish, but enlivens it. How are you a single candle that adds warmth to a dark room? How are you bringing the joy of a gorgeous descant to the ordinary song around you? We are this salt and light.  The question isn’t will we learn to be salt and light, for we already are. 

St. Dolly of Parton who said “find out who you are and do it on purpose.” We might hear and know in our heads that we’re salt and light, but do we act on it? Do we offer the simple, daily moments of our lives in service to the gospel, as salt and light, or not?  

When we know we’re salt and light but don’t act, that knowledge without action has an impact on on-going social evils like discrimination or racism. It also affects our interpersonal relationships. We know what is right and what we should do, but don’t act. We idly watch injustice instead of believing that our action matters.  We gossip about a problem instead of working to fix it.  This is what happens when we find out who we are and don’t “do it on purpose.” 

I'm certain you all show up as salt and light in the world, too. How does your light make a difference in a world of busyness and hopelessness and worry?  How does it bolster weary hearts? How does it mend brokenness? How does your or your family’s presence make a difference in your neighborhood or here in this congregation on the corner of Wilson and Campbell make a difference? How does our work and witness enhance God’s love and show people that, in a world with a whole lot of despair, injustice, evil, this is not how it has to be.

You might feel only as small as a pinch of salt or a spark of light, but that is exactly how God’s kingdom is built: one moment at a time. 
When Jesus says “you” in scripture, it's plural. It means “you all.”  We don’t show up to do God’s work alone. Even when we are in our own offices or at school or in our own homes in the evening by lamplight, we are a collective. We gather here as a church this morning and week after week to name this calling, to be light and salt, to one another. We name it because we forget it an we get caught up in daily things and think it doesn’t matter.  Today, we are reminded that it matters. May God bless us and send us out to shine.