The Sign of Ashes

A couple of years ago a few local church planters and I got together to think about the observance of Lent.  As I recall I was a johnny-come-lately to the process.  The two other congregations had been talking about doing something together to mark the beginning of Lent.  Neither of these other churches had a strong liturgical background or history.  I felt conflicted about it.  On the one hand I love doing things with other congregations and denominations, but on the other hand Ash Wednesday (the beginning of Lent) means a lot to me.  So I entered the conversation with some fear, trepidation and also audacity.  In effect I said, "We'd love to do something together, but for us (Anglicans) Ash Wednesday needs to include ashes."  Now the ashes thing is often considered one of those "empty ritual" things that some eschew in preference for some better or purer form of spiritual practice.  My thought, undoubtedly previously expressed here, is that the ritual isn't empty, but the hearts of the people participating might be.  The latter not the former is the real problem.  But I digress...

So as the audacious interloper I said, "Let's do something together and let's do it my way."  My colleagues were gracious and generous and agreed to an ash-positive Anglican service.  I was delighted to have my cake and eat it too.

But the gospel text from Matthew 6 appointed for every Ash Wednesday seems to challenge my appreciation of the black-smudged foreheads of the day.  In his sermon on the mount, Jesus warns us of "practicing your righreousness before other people to be seen by them."  And he gives us three examples of what not to do.

The first is that we are not to "sound a trumpet" when we give to the needy, but rather that our giving would be so discreet that our left hand does not know what our right hand is doing.  Showing off our generosity is common.  Almost every arts event I have ever attended has included some list of names of patrons.  We like people to know that we give to a good cause.  But always in these programs there are a few lines that simply say "Anonymous" and I am thankful for the reminder of Jesus' exhortation.

There are other types of showy generosity, one to which I am rather prone - picking up the check.  Someone reminded me of this earlier today when he bought me breakfast.  "You are always paying for these things so let me."  I realize that I am practicing my righteousness before men even in writing this.  I picked up some C.S. Lewis volume on my shelf not long ago (I remember not which one) which convicted me on this front.  Lewis, in his direct fashion, makes the point that the ones who benefit from this kind of generosity rarely are the poor who truly need it.  Would in not be better to more discreetly provide nourishment for one who is lacking it?  Indeed.

Jesus also suggests that when we pray we should not stand and pray in the synagogues and street corners.  This is where our culture differs rather from first-century Palestine.  If I were to stand on the street corner and pray, people would think me crazy not righteous.  So does this one apply?  Perhaps not with the general population but within our own Christian circles there are lots of "spiritual" things we might do that impress others.  I am pretty sure that if one's devotional life is going well and is regular, it is something we should keep to ourselves - letting the fruit, not the fact of it bless others.  Our faithful habit of prayer is just that, ours.  Trumpeting it before others to impress them (as this is often our undeclared intent) usually only discourages others.  There are better ways of encouraging people to lives of prayer than telling them how good mine is.

And when you fast... As well-fed North Americans we should carefully note that it is "when" not "if".  When you fast do not make a show - looking gloomy and disfiguring your face.  The show invites people to ask, "what's up with you today?", giving us an excellent opportunity to tell them of our spiritual discipline.  "Anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by others but by your Father who is in secret.  And your Father who sees in secret will reward you." (Matthew 6:17&18)

This one in particular might suggest that the imposition of ashes at the beginning of Lent is a bad idea - isn't it showing off our pious repentance?  Is it not literally disfiguring our face? It certainly can be a pious show.  For this reason some provide a box of tissues at the back of the church for participants to rub off the smudge before going back out into the world.

Frankly I don't make a fuss about it either way.  Because the wiping off of the ashes can be as much an external show of piety and holiness as the receiving of them in the first place.  "Look at me, I really take Jesus' exhortation not to show off my righteousness before men - I removed the ashes."

On this one I come back to the notion of "empty ritual."  We might legitimately receive the sign of ashes within a community of believers who together do the same because it acknowledges both my own fallen, sinful nature but also that of all of us, together.  In this context the act is God-facing.  There is significance in the sign when our heart is turned to God and not to those around us.

The practices of giving, praying and fasting are not universally impressive to those around us.  While people may still be impressed by generous giving, overly public praying and fasting is more apt to make others uncomfortable.  But there are other kinds of righteousness that are appreciated by those around us.  It might not be religious righteousness.  We may make a particular show that we are reducing our carbon footprint by composting and driving an electric car or by being a vocal teetotaler - "lips that touch liquor will never touch mine."  There is nothing wrong with composting, driving a car which pollutes less or never drinking alcohol.  Looking for congratualtions or reward from others for these choices is slightly shakier ground.

One last thought.  I have usually thought that the point of this text is that "virtue is its own reward" - that we should do good things for the good itself, looking for no reward.  But Jesus clearly says that we will receive a reward from our Father in heaven. I hasten to point out that the reward is not justification itself.  Jesus does not suggest that those who show off their goodness are condemned, only that they have already received their reward.  Your Father who sees in secret will reward you.  Virtue may be its own reward, but there appears to be a bonus prize.

By the way, we continue to share Ash Wednesday service with those and other congregations.  So yearly I still have my cake and eat it too.

God the house pet

I believe that it is Peter Kreeft who tells the story of the thoroughly modern rabbi at a dinner party.  (A true story - this is not one of those "a priest and a rabbi went into a bar" tales.)  The rabbi - the one at the dinner party, not the bar - was giving a naturalistic explanation of the crossing of the Red Sea.  He explained carefully that the sea (also translated the Sea of Reeds) was really very shallow and a strong wind would have been sufficient to drive the little water back enough  for the Israelites to cross on foot.  Once the heavy Egyptian chariots came they sunk into the soft surface and could not follow.  The hostess of the party looked at the rabbi and said, "Oh, so YOU were THERE."  The hostess found the rabbi's explanation dissatisfying. As I expect Charlton Heston would have.

This story reminds me of the Sunday School teacher I once overheard telling the children that the miracle of the feeding of the 5000 was that Jesus inspired all who were present to share the food they had.  While it is certainly remarkable to inspire Adam's fallen and selfish race to sharing, it is rather less like a miracle.  The rabbi and the Sunday School teacher found explanations of the biblical events that fit a materialist worldview, allowing them to preserve respect for religious tradition without espousing those embarrassing divine interventions.

The problems with this are pluriform, but time does not allow me to fully exhaust them.  I will comment however on one of them.  The naturalistic or materialist explanations of Biblical miracles make the texts more palatable to the modern West, but they make God less than God - a containable, explainable deity hardly worth attending to, much less worshiping.  Indeed perhaps this is why the modern West has largely abandoned the worship of God.  If he were so distant and insipid, I would too.

What makes God God is, among other things, his transcendent, mysterious and miraculous intervention in the lives of men and women.  The miracle-less god is like a declawed cat - an excellent house pet who will neither harm us nor damage our furniture.  Warm and comforting on a rainy Sunday afternoon, but a little shy of awe-inspiring. What leaves me in a place of awe and worship of God is that he does the miraculous - he heals, forgives, intervenes - sometimes looked-for and sometimes not.  He is full of mystery, wonder and power - terrible in the best and oldest sense of the word.  A house pet he is not.

I worship the God of miracle - who created ex nihilo, out of nothing, who actually dried up the Red Sea and who took five loaves and two small fish and did some more ex nihilo work.  God is bigger than I think.  He is uncontainable and inexplicable.  That is one of the reasons that make him worthy of our worship - as does his holiness, his uncreatedness (if that's a word), his glory, his might, and so on, literally ad infinitum.

In last summer's movie The Avengers, the Norse god Loki faces the Hulk at one point toward the end.  Loki proclaims to his vermillion opponent that he is "a god."  The Hulk then picks him up and repeatedly throws him to the floor like a rag doll, saying when he is finished, "Puny god."  Makes me think of the rabbi's and Sunday School teacher's god.  Puny god indeed.