Matthew 6 – Hopping Hadrian's Wall

Sermon for Ash Wednesday

On Labor Day 1973, my mom and dad, then newly married, were in an apartment fire. Dad was the first in the building to wake up and smell smoke. He ran down the hall, banging on doors to alert the neighbors. Mom, meanwhile, took a quick glance around the room for anything essential. Thinking to herself, “The only thing I can’t replace is my wedding pictures,” she grabbed the album and ran. When I called Mom this week to ask permission to share this story, she recounted the story to me again: “So, there was your mother, without wallet or car keys, standing outside in nothing but her checkered nightgown, clutching a photo album!”

Sudden brushes with mortality have a way of reminding us about what really matters. The crisis itself wakes us up to what is most important. Too often, we humans have a tendency to get overly attached to our creature comforts, bad habits, and pet projects. We often miss the forest for the trees, when it comes to evaluating our priorities in life. Sudden crises can sometimes be useful in helping us clear out the junk and rediscover who we truly are.

In the penitential season of Lent, the Church provides us with a way to consciously engage in this kind of self-reflection without going through the inconvenience of a sudden crisis. During these forty days, we can intentionally choose to recognize and let go of the extra clutter in our souls and refocus our attention on what really matters.

Spiritual writer Richard Rohr, calls this, “the spirituality of subtraction.” He says that, often, the true task of our spiritual practices is not to add something that we need in our lives, but to help us let go of what we don’t need. The season of Lent is a good time to practice “the spirituality of subtraction.”

Lent is about getting underneath the cluttered surface of life and rediscovering the “the treasure hidden in the field” of our lives. Today’s Scripture readings give us a few hints about how to do that.

In the first reading, from the Hebrew Scriptures, the prophet Joel tells the people, “Rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the LORD, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” (Joel 2:13). In ancient Hebrew culture, the tearing of one’s clothes was an outward sign of grief or penitence. Joel is encouraging the people to go deeper than the outward gesture and focus instead on the inner meaning of sorrow.

Jesus, in a similar fashion, warns the people in today’s gospel, “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them” (Matthew 6:1). The point of almsgiving, fasting, and prayer, according to Jesus, is not to make us look good and pious in front of our neighbors, but to help us reorient our hearts toward God.

Almsgiving, fasting, and prayer are all traditional practices associated with the season of Lent. In a world economy based on greed, self-indulgence, and power, the practices of almsgiving, fasting, and prayer are like cloths that we use to wipe away the extra grime on the surface of a mirror, so that we can then see our true reflection smiling back at us once more. In order for these cleaning tools to be effective, we have to stop caring what others think about us and face the honest truth about who we are.

Many of us live with an unspoken fear that, underneath our collected junk of ego-centric debris, there is no true self. We think, “Who am I without this job/degree/car/house/status/money/relationship?” Sometimes, it can even be a negative thing that we have nevertheless come to identify with: “Who am I without this trauma/rage/illness?” We worry that, if we let go of these things, there will be nothing left of us.

The hardest spiritual truth to believe, the biggest leap of faith to take, is to let ourselves become skeptical of our delusion there will be nothing left of us when the debris of our egos has been swept away.

Lent is, traditionally, the time when new converts to the faith prepare themselves to receive the Sacrament of Baptism. For those who have already been baptized, it is a time when Christians prepare themselves to renew that covenant at Easter Vigil. In Baptism, each of us hears again the message that was proclaimed by God over Jesus, at his baptism: “You are my [Child], the beloved; with you I am well pleased” (Mark 1:11). Beloved children of God is who we truly are, whether we realize it or not, whether we believe it or not. The spiritual exercises of Lent are tools given to help us return to this most central truth of our lives.

The message of Jesus, in today’s gospel, is that there is something there, waiting to be rediscovered. In fact, Jesus says, what you find underneath all that junk is who you authentically are, as the beloved child of God. St. Paul writes, in the New Testament, “Set your minds on the things that are above, not on the things that are on earth, for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory” (Colossians 3:2-4).

Christ is our life. Christ is our true self, fully present, though hidden under the clutter of our fragile egos.

Kindred in Christ, Lent is a time when we can return to awareness of this central truth. Lent is a time for letting go of those things that no longer serve us, or our true purpose in life. Lent is a time when we can rediscover what really matters and who we truly are as beloved children of God.

I encourage you, during these forty days of almsgiving, fasting, and prayer, to do what my mother did on the night of that apartment fire: Take a glance around the room of your life, to think about what really matters and what cannot be replaced, so that you can then let go of what matters less. Like my mom, you may find yourself standing outside on a cold night, without wallet or car keys, but safe, alive, and holding on to what really matters.

May it be so, and may you rediscover who you truly are as the beloved child of God.

Sermon for Ash Wednesday.

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21.

“How are you?”

“I’m good.”

Isn’t that a funny question? It’s probably the most frequently asked and most dishonestly answered question we face in a typical day. Most people don’t want to hear the honest truth. Can you imagine what would happen, if they did?

You would pass a total stranger on the street and ask, “How are you?”

And they would say, “Well, I just came from my doctor and he said the rash on my backside is nothing to worry about…”

You would immediately be like, “WOAH! TMI! I did not need to know all that!”

There is only one acceptable answer to the question, “How are you?”

That answer is, “I’m good.”

People don’t ask that question because they want to know the truth. They ask it because human beings are social animals and we’re just checking in with the herd. We’re like a pack of gazelles, grouped together on the savanna, watching out for predators. When I see them on the TV nature shows, I imagine them talking to each other like people do, and they’re saying the exact same things: “How are you? I’m good. You good? I’m good. You good? I’m good…”

We do it because we’re social animals, and that’s a very good thing. The herd instinct evolved because every member of the group stands a better chance of survival if we are all looking out for each other. When someone asks, “How are you,” what they’re really asking is, “How are WE?” And furthermore, because every individual is part of the herd, what they’re really REALLY asking is, “How am I?”

I wonder what it would be like to switch the pronouns in our casual conversations? We’d walk by a total stranger in the street and ask, “How am I?” And they would respond, “You’re good.” It would be much more honest to do it that way, but that’s just not how our social discourse has evolved.

The truth is, even if we did switch it around like that, it still wouldn’t solve the underlying problem of looking for self-validation from other people. The upside of being a social animal, especially for gazelles, is that there is safety in numbers; the downside, especially for humans, is that we have a tendency to identify too strongly with the herd. We rely too much on other people to tell us who we are. So, we begin to think that how we appear, in the eyes of other people, is who we really are, in an ultimate sense.

And that is the question that we are really, REALLY, really asking when we meet each other on the street. The question on our lips is, “How are you,” but we’re really asking, “how are WE,” and we are really REALLY asking, “How am I,” and we are really, REALLY, really asking, “Who am I?” That’s the question that keeps us up at night.

Jesus of Nazareth understood this fact about human nature. That’s why he taught us, in today’s gospel, “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them” (Matthew 6:1). He knew full well that the human herd instinct, while helpful for survival, could not fully satisfy our inner longing to know ourselves. At best, it can help us maintain a sense of order and group solidarity; at worst, it can reduce morality and identity to the lowest common denominator of “keeping up appearances.” Jesus understood that what matters most is not how we appear on the outside but who we are on the inside, and that is something that the general herd of humanity cannot tell us.

This is why Jesus, in today’s gospel, gives such strong warnings against the hypocrisy that comes with praying, fasting, and giving alms in public. Each of these things is good, in itself, but if we only do it to gain the approval of other people, we miss the point of why we do it.

So Jesus says that, when we donate to a worthy cause, we should “not let [our] left hand know what [our] right hand is doing” (3). And when we pray, we should “go into [our] room and shut the door” (6). And when we fast, we should “put oil on [our] head and wash [our] face[s]” (17).

Jesus teaches us, “pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you” (6). He tells us to keep these things private, not because they are shameful, but because their performance for the sake of public approval causes us to miss their point. The purpose of these spiritual exercises is to help us look inward, rather than outward, for the answer to our most burning question: “Who am I?”

The forty days of Lent are the perfect time for us to take that honest look inside and find out who we are when no one else is looking. Traditionally, the Church has taught that Lent is a season of penitence, where we express sorrow for our sins. That is certainly part of it. Any honest look inside ourselves involves looking at those parts of our personality that we don’t like. But there’s more to it as well: An honest look inside of ourselves, away from the opinions of other people, leads us to embrace and celebrate parts of ourselves that we have kept hidden away out of fear that these aspects of who we are might not be acceptable to the people around us.

The season of Lent is a time when you can rediscover these parts of yourself and realize that this is how God made you, this is how God loves you, and this is how you reflect the image of God in a way that it is utterly unique to yourself. THIS is who you are. Embrace it, celebrate it, forgive it if you must, and love yourself the way God loves you, just the way you are.

Friends, I want to leave you tonight with a question. This is not a question I want you to answer out loud or right now. I want you to think about it. I want you to carry it with you through these forty days of Lent. I want you to ask yourself this question very seriously and deeply, and I want you to trust that whatever answer you come up with will be the right answer for you.

Are you ready for the question?

Here it is:

“How are you?”

Hopping Hadrian's Wall

Tag: Matthew 6

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