Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Jesus said, “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.

“So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Jane Kenyon, poet and wife of poet Donald Hall, compiled her last volume of poems before her death from Leukemia at age 48. The volume was entitled Otherwise after one of the poems in the collection. Here is that poem

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

There is something in Kenyon’s poem—the sense that all that is beautiful in our lives is temporary and, therefore precious—that is what Ash Wednesday is all about. We come, we kneel for the ashes on our foreheads and we remember, as Kenyon says, that one day it will be otherwise. We are dust and to dust we shall return.

But for us on this day, this awareness—the awareness of our humble origins and our equally humble destiny—does not come to us just as a momentary flash of individual gratitude tinged with melancholy. It comes to us with a question: how can we live lives authentically connected to God as the source of our being? How can we do this whether those lives are surrounded by the beauty Kenyon mentions or in the midst of the anxious times we are all facing today?

Life in the midst of beauty, life in the midst of anxiety is passing away as we live it. How can we be open to God as the source of all in the midst of this? How can we do this in community, as a journey together?

Our gospel for today has some strong perspectives on this. Notice that these perspectives give a lot of attention to what those who want a connection to God should NOT do.

Do not practice your piety before others

Do not sound a trumpet when you give alms

Do not pray in the synagogues and street corners in an attention-getting way

Do not story up for yourselves treasures that will fade or fall apart.

According to Matthew, then, the opportunities to focus on the wrong thing in spiritual life in community are legion, and according to him, have a lot to do with misplaced attention to the external show of religious piety to others rather than cultivating a genuine center in relationship to God.

For many of us, this is not exactly the issue. While it may be true that in this parish we can become overly distracted by whether we kneel or genuflect or when we make the of the cross in the liturgy, for the most part in the NW, we are stealth Christians, for we live in a culture that regards our connection to Christianity and to Church communities as well, weird.

What, then, is at the center, and how do we stay in touch with it as the ashes are put on our foreheads and as we begin another Lent, the time for the renewal of our spiritual center?

I would say two things—only Jesus and only together.

Only Jesus—I say this not as some kind of Christian imperialism but to that for us our center here is not some generalized spiritual buzz or some religious abstraction or some other religious tradition’s center. No—our center as the Christian people is always and forever the scandalous coming of God into our beautiful, anxious world as a human being made of dust and born to return to dust just as we are, but in a most violent way. Only Jesus—because the incarnation of our God into the conditions of our lives is the way our center is held—not by all our religious practices, though these can be very helpful, but by the initiative of God’s very self. Only Jesus.

But also only together, only together. For all of its flaws, for all of its inconvenience, for all of its warts—and there are many, for all the embarrassment it can cause us, our center is also held together through life in community. It is really true, as our Sunday bulletin says, that you can relax and let this community carry you toward the center—and that at times you will be carrying someone else. At the center is giving over our lives to each other in this community for the church community is where Christ Jesus is mediated to us.

At his formal seating as 104th Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams spoke about Jesus and the life of the Church.

“The one great purpose of the Church’s existence is to share that bread of life; to hold open in its words and actions a place where we can be with Jesus and to be channels for his free, unanxious, utterly demanding, grown-up love. The Church exists to pass on the promise of Jesus – ‘You can live in the presence of God without fear; you can receive from (God’s) fullness and set others free from fear and guilt.”

Dear People of God, one day as Kenyon said it will be otherwise. Dust we are and to dust we shall return. But our journey is neither melancholy nor lonely, for Christ our brother holds us and his body the Church carries us along the way.

Still, Karl Rahner has captured eloquently the meaning of this sign: “When on Ash Wednesday we hear the words, ‘Remember, you are dust,’ we are also told that we are brothers and sisters of the incarnate Lord. In these words we are told everything that we are: nothingness that is filled with eternity; death that teems with life; futility that redeems; dust that is God’s life forever”

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