Created of Dust and Spirit - a Sermon for Ash Wednesday

Beloved of God, grace to you and peace from God our Creator and the Savior of the

world Jesus the Christ. Amen.

I want to begin tonight’s Ash Wednesday message by asking you to reflect on these question

– “How did you come to be a part of the church? Why does church matter to you? Why are

you here in this sanctuary tonight?” Our answers might include the following: that our

parents valued church, so we went to worship when we were kids and we didn’t have a

choice, or that seeking God or a spiritual connection is important, or that you desire to build

relationships, or perhaps you might not know why you’re here, exactly. What are we looking

to get out of being here, on tonight of all nights? Ash Wednesday is, by most accounts, a

weird day: we begin this season of repentance and fasting by remembering that we will die

and receiving the sign of the cross on our foreheads in ashes. In a time when our

communities and our nation is focused on the things and relationships that are instantaneous

and gratifying, the Church takes a moment to remember the arc of life, death, and the hope

of resurrection.

I want to return for a moment to the questions I asked at the beginning. I was introduced

and brought into the church by my mother, who worked tirelessly to cajole us three young

kids out of bed on Sunday mornings so we could make it to Sunday School by 8:30 and then

to worship at 10:00. My grandmother, who would often point to the words we were singing,

introduced me to the beauty of singing hymns as I would listen in awe to her clear soprano

voice. My pastors, Nick and Cindy, first introduced me to the importance of rhythm – both

the rhythm of life and the rhythm of our liturgy – and showed me that it mattered to be

intentional and thoughtful about the seasons of our lives. The experiences I had as a child

and youth and even now as an adult – were largely trying to connect worship and the Church

to making meaning, to making something matter, in the context of community. My

experiences of these communities of faith – as your pastor – have been ones that have been

rooted in intentionality, love, earnestness, and support. Largely, we are doing our best to

follow the prescriptions set forth for us in tonight’s Gospel reading.

Jesus is clear in this text about how people are to conduct themselves in worship or in the

public square. In Jesus’ day, as there are now, there were groups of religious folks who

would love to demonstrate their piety – their devotion to their faith – in public. Jesus warns

against this: that alms or offering might not be given in public, but in secret so that God

might reward them. Likewise when we pray – to not be extravagant about our posture or our

petitions – but that we are to pray in relative seclusion. So also Jesus warned about fasting –

that it was important to put oil on the head and wash the face and be done in secrecy. Jesus

here is not condemning worshipful acts, by any means. He is not condemning the

synagogues or our churches to stop gathering and to live our faith in secrecy. What Jesus is

trying to point to, we believe, is that having the proper motivation behind your worship

experiences matter. I think that on the whole, our communities do this well: many of us are

not showing up on Sunday mornings to participate in Church Olympics where we strive to

be the most earnest confessor or the loudest reciter of the Lord’s Prayer or the most

polished singer of the closing hymn. I would hope that many of us come to Church with a

earnest desire to be together, to learn from Jesus, and to hear a word that refreshes and

sends forth. I would hope that many of us would see our Church as a place to begin healing

and as a place to inspire others, where we think about life in its fullness – from the baptism

of infants to the confirmation of our youth to weddings to the funerals of our older saints.

This, my friends, is what Ash Wednesday is all about. It is about holding a mirror to our

faces and noticing that all of our life – from our birth to our death and all of the experiences,

people, loves, and grief contained in between – is bound up in God and is saved in our

baptisms. With water and the Word we begin our lives, and with ashes we remember the

deep solemnity and the exuberant and hopeful joy with which we live. We take ashes on our

foreheads not to parade our piety or morality in front of others, but as a deep and

meaningful remembrance of whom we are and to whom we belong – to God, who has

created us, redeemed us, and journeys with us. Then, my friends, can we store up treasures in

heaven – works and words of compassion, forgiveness, and joy – that will bring us closer to

God’s kingdom of justice, peace, and wholeness. My friends, as we come forward for ashes

this night, I invite you to not only remember your lives but also to give thanks, because God

continues to move through you, inspiring you, comforting you, and supporting you. And to

do this work God has given us one another and God has given us these ashes – elements of

the earth and of fire – to remember that we are claimed, and that we are loved, and that we

have been invited into this life for service, community, and belonging. However we are here

tonight, for whatever reason – may we go knowing that our lives belong to God, and

because of that promise we are deeply, authentically, and wholly loved. Thanks be to God

for the life that we share, and thanks be to God for who we are: beloved children of God,

created of dust and spirit. Thanks be to God.

Amen.