Rev. Cn. Richard Hogue Jr.
The truth must be spoken, even if it is as sorrowful as ashen cinders. Nations and people become dust, though that’s not all we leave behind. The prophet Joel is eerily on point in times like these, inviting us to imagine a world scourged by plagues of locusts and the imminence of societal obliteration as divine judgement. The locusts become an army hellbent on ending the people and culture of Judah. Joel then invites the reader to return to the Lord, to lament, fast, and to rend their hearts instead of their clothing.
Return to the Lord, your God,
for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love,
and relents from punishing.
The prophet then turns to a brighter future, and writes about the final fate of the nations and of God’s forgiveness, and the restoration of Judah.
For us, here, right now, the supposed leadership of the free world is slashing and burning through longstanding global friendships, alliances, the fabric and the functioning of our society to the point of morbid gloom. There is confusion and chaos, there is fear and trembling, there are plagues—like measles and bird flu—and destruction of futures and families because of issues ranging from immigration, to government funding, to predictable betrayal. Worse yet, some are so ill-informed that they cheer this avarice. The miasma of vile incredulity all of this stokes is something we must repent of, as a nation and as a church.
Liturgy, the rites and rituals of the church, comes from the Greek λειτουργία [leitourgia], which means “work or service for the people,” essentially public work for public good. This Ash Wednesday service is a public act of contrition for the public and national good. To quote Joel:
Between the vestibule and the altar
let the priests, the ministers of the Lord, weep.
Let them say, “Spare your people, O Lord,
and do not make your heritage a mockery,
a byword among the nations.
But by the time we get to Matthew’s gospel in our readings, we hear Jesus saying:
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. …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.
For whatever reason, our lectionary reading has us skip over the following section:
When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think that they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.
‘Pray then in this way:
Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come.
Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And do not bring us to the time of trial,
but rescue us from the evil one.
For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.
Jesus’ message and Joel’s may seem dichotomous, but they aren’t. In the person of Jesus, God makes a public symbol of sadness and humility in death by crucifixion on Good Friday. In Joel, it’s the people enacting their nation’s remorse publicly. Though Jesus’ message focuses on the personal, it is balanced with the communal recognition that we as individuals and as a people have messed up severely, and none of us are so righteous as to be above reproach. “For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” We must temper our critique of the world and society around us by critiquing ourselves too, recognizing that we are a part of it all, and thus are partly accountable for things going so awry. Yet we must forgive ourselves and the world if we are to move from the necessary lament towards a brighter future.
The ashes of what was can make fertile soil for new growth. As we begin Lent, may our lament be profound and genuine upon our hearts. Perhaps we in turn can move others from remorse and towards forgiveness. We may go from dormant seeds in ashes to flourishing fruit. But first must come the ashes, the sorrow, the lament. There cannot be reconciliation without reckoning. Feel the despair, own the disappointment, let the ashes sit thick upon our heads. There is one way for a nation to see what it has abandoned, and that is for its prophets to speak truth to power, call for true repentance, and for all of us to face the grim reality before us. May our public contrition be matched by the true rending of our hearts. Perhaps the dust we will leave behind will not be only of avarice and deceit, but of repentance and reconciliation in time. May God have mercy on us, the church, our nation, and our world. Amen.
