hypocritical ashes
Ash Wednesday
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.”
I think it’s very interesting that this verse is the Lectionary Gospel for Ash Wednesday. It’s a little counterintuitive, a bit of a challenge for us today, something I always like in a Lectionary selection. I’m a strong believer that Scripture should, to borrow an old phrase, “afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted.” On this Ash Wednesday, the comfortable are more than likely those of us getting ashes on our foreheads today.
We all know what to expect today. As we walk through the grocery store, or on the city sidewalk, or through the pickup line this afternoon at our kids’ school, we’ll see them: ashy crosses, on forehead after forehead. In a religious place like Oklahoma, it’ll be a lot of people. But, even when I lived in Chicago, the proportion of people I saw with ashes was high. Every single one of those folks visited some form of church today. They prayed. They heard the words:
Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
And then, they returned back out into the world, those ashes marking them, marking all of us who took them. They serve, or at least they should, as a reminder of our own mortality, of what this season of Lent is about.
Self-denial.
Introspection.
A reckoning with our finitude.
They are a sign that we are, as Paul reminds us over and over, participants with Christ in the Cross, that his death prefigures our own death, but crucially, his resurrection prefigures ours as well.
In the best sense, that is what those ashes are. But we’ve all seen what Jesus warned about in those words from the Sermon on the Mount. Those for whom ashes are a social media post waiting to happen. Those who put that forehead picture at the top of their Instagram feed. Those who view the ashes as a great opening to write an earnest post on their Substack feed today. The ashes become a public declaration, of our piety, of our admirable sense awareness of death, of our inclusion in the “in-crowd” of today. It’s like Ash Wednesday was specially crafted for the social media age and the Christian-influencer set. Really, all of Lent is a big opportunity to drive clicks and page views.
I know, because I’ve been there, I’ve done it. I’ve posted that Instagram picture.1 I’m sitting here right now, writing the first of what hopes to be a daily Lenten Substack practice! I’m in this glass house with the rest of everyone else.
That’s why this passage from Matthew is a challenge, an affliction on our social media comfort zone. “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”, Jesus tells us. And who doesn’t want to be seen today? Who doesn’t want our ashes noticed?
Who really wants to sit in the introspective place those ashes demand of us? Who wants them to only be a reminder, just for you, of your mortality, your finitude? Talk about afflicting the comfortable.
But, that’s the point, right? This isn’t a comfortable season in the church calendar. It’s not Christmastide. Easter gets its power not just because of the resurrection, but because it was preceded by death. We are meant to sit in the discomfort of these forty days.
And, look, I know. The world is really uncomfortable right now in general. We don’t need to look far to see it all around us. Many of the most vulnerable are living in Lent all the time, are constantly faced with reminders of their own mortality. Lent also isn’t a time to commend more suffering to those who already suffer for us and for our creature comforts. We - the comfortable, the privileged, the eased - need this season, more than anyone, as a reminder that we aren’t really all that different from the homeless man on the corner, from the single mother struggling to make ends meet, from the incarcerated immigrant in Texas, from the closeted queer girl living in fear of her father finding out her truth. Those of us living well, we need Lent, not as a time to feel more pious and holy, but as a reminder, not just that one day we’ll die, but that every day, those around us are dying, by a thousand tiny cuts, largely because of the decisions we all make each and every day. Lent is the conviction of this world, the light shining on the contradictions we chose to ignore the rest of the year.
So, don’t post that ashy forehead photo. Don’t brush your bangs just right to accentuate that mark. Instead, close our eyes, listen to those words -
remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return -
feel the ashes on your forehead. And then, maybe, wipe them away. Go through the rest of your Wednesday, not with ashes for all to see, but just with the reminder of them for you, only you. Mediate of these words: today is not about you.
Thank God I’m off social media this year.