Sermon by Jim Harrison
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This sermon is going to be a study in contradictions and paradox. For example, today is Ash Wednesday, a religious holiday—or, perhaps—a day of religious observance, a day that marks a beginning—the beginning of Lent, a season in the church year of prayer, fasting, and alms giving. It is a penitential and somber day. We’re just ten days removed from Super Bowl Sunday, a secular holiday that, not only marks the end of the professional football season, but also clearly and extravagantly celebrates consumerism and excess and indulgence. For at least the third year in a row the football game has actually lived up to the hype, but the rest of the telecast with its insidious and gratuitous commercials full of latent—and sometimes pretty explicit—sexuality and inane behavior seemed extremely out of place to me. I really like football but the rest of it had me feeling uneasy. Then the halftime show began and The Who clarified it for me. They performed their big hit Who Are You? And as Roger Daltrey sang: “Well, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?) I really wanna know! Tell me, who are you?” it hit me. I am not someone the advertisers and producers are trying to reach. Or, at the least, their attempt to reach me wasn’t working. I am not someone who is buying what they were selling. Ash Wednesday has often held the same sort of disorienting experience for me. It’s the first day of Lent—that season in the church year of prayer, fasting, and alms giving, right? I mean, that’s how Ash Wednesday and Lent have traditionally, historically, been seen. Isn’t it? That’s what today’s Gospel from Matthew is about: “whenever you give alms,” “whenever you pray,” “whenever you fast,” Jesus says. But then we’ve got this paradox: Jesus seems to be warning us—does warn us, “beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them,” and yet, we’re going to have the opportunity to get marked with a big ol’ black cross on our foreheads that is pretty hard to miss. For years—all of the years I’ve been going to church, really—there has always been something a little off to me in this. That we seemed to be doing exactly what Jesus warned people against. It strikes me, though, that this reading isn’t about prayer and piety at all—it, too, is about identity. Jesus is saying “Tell me, who are you? ‘Cause I really want to know.” It’s about who we are and who we claim to be. In fact, all three lessons are about identity and all three are paradoxical! Pure paradox – no parading your piety – wear ashes; Joel: the day of the LORD is a day of darkness and gloom – the same LORD who is gracious and merciful and abounds in love; Paul speaks of a countercultural identity: We are treated. . . as dying, and see—we are alive; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing everything. Paradox abounds. Standing before you is a hypocrite. For years—even as I felt as though Jesus was telling me not to—I have dutifully gone forward and been marked with ashes—I’ve acted in contradiction of Jesus’ words, “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them;” I’d done what I thought others—what I thought the world—expected me to do, and, well, got no reward. You know? I am a hypocrite. And it all has to do with identity. The word ποκριτς—hypocrites—means stage actors, pretenders. The word didn’t have today’s connotations of an underhanded person who intends to deceive, yet in Jesus’ day it was sometimes associated with false-godliness. Hypocrites—stage actors—literally wore masks to hide their true identity. Jesus says that our true identity has less to do with others and how they see us and everything to do with our relationship with God. And that’s where the ashes come in, because they have everything to do with our identity as children of God, creatures made in the image of God. Hypocrites, Jesus says, live according to the opinions and judgment of others—and of the world. They live according to what the world treasures, what the world judges as human flourishing. And they, and we have, to be careful because the world is bent on getting us to judge one another—according to its ideals, according to false notions that have little to do with God. If they don’t think about where they’re living – what kind of job they’re doing – how their consumerism affects other people then they are living in conflict with what it means to be truly human. Jesus tells us what it does mean to be truly human. You notice Jesus doesn’t say if – it’s when you pray, when you give alms, when you fast – for Jesus, and for his audience, it’s a given that these things are happening, because to be made in the image of God is to be concerned with same concerns as God, who’s sole desire is human flourishing. So we are to live lives that are focused on the flourishing of others, that like Christ, we empty ourselves in the service of others. Jesus isn’t saying, “Don’t be pious.” He’s saying, “Do it for the right reasons. Do it because of who you know yourself to be.” But, does our lived reality measure up to the narrative that we tell ourselves? I mean, I think I’m a pretty good person—as I’m sure many of you are, as well. I recently saw an interview with Peter Rollins, an author and emergent church leader in the UK, in which he discussed Christian identity. Rollins said, “If someone says [to me], “As a Christian do you believe in God?” I have to answer no, or, I aspire to believe in God. Because in Christianity belief in God means living a life of love—living a life of mercy, forgiveness, faithfulness, justice, self-control, patience, kindness. So do I believe in God? Most of the time I don’t believe in God; I want to. The truth of things is, what I’m saying is, if you say you know God but don’t love, you’re a liar. That’s heresy. That’s crazy. You get kicked out of most churches for saying stuff like that, but I’ve got a good source for that, you know? It’s not me who said that.” Rollins’ message resonates with me and it convicts me. I am a hypocrite, and I don’t always believe in God! I think we need to take seriously the idea that what we say we believe emanates from who we are. “Belief in God means living a life of love.” Living a life of love means living a cruciform—cross shaped—life, just like the ashes on our foreheads and the oil of our baptism, dying to ourselves and rising with Christ to transform the world in God’s vision. For me those ashes will be a reminder of who I truly am—who I am when I throw away my mask. Lutheran pastor and author, Nadia Bolz-Weber calls Lent “a desert in the false oasis of instant gratification, indulgence of every whim, and stuff—lots and lots of stuff.” In the synoptic Gospels, immediately after his baptism, Jesus went out into the desert. He faced temptation and returned with a clearer sense of his own identity. In the song Who Are You?, the singer says “I woke up in a Soho doorway,” and he staggers on his way home reflecting on his day of trying to live up to the temptations of the world. He comes around to thinking:
And then it’s back to the chorus: Tell me, who are you? ‘Cause I really wanna know. I think Lent can be a new beginning, an opportunity to throw off our masks, face the temptations of the world and see where they connect and where they conflict with our true selves. I’ll use it to see how the lives of those around me have impacted my own life, how my lifestyle and choices have affected the lives of others, near and far. I can take this opportunity, as Paul says, “to be reconciled to God,” because, “see, now is the acceptable time.” Joel gives us the assurance that if we remove our masks—and even if we don’t—God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and steadfast in love. So, tell me. Who are You?
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