Sermon: Confronting death leads to life (Ash Wednesday)

Ash Wednesday Sermon
March 5, 2025

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Two days ago, I officiated for a funeral of a community member. Pat, the deceased, who died last week of metastatic breast cancer, was for many years an administrator at the Breast Cancer Coalition of Rochester (BCCR), and she ran a lot of the programs, some of which I personally benefitted from when I was going through cancer treatments (which is why I was asked to officiate). One of the speakers at the funeral was former director of BCCR, Holly Anderson. Among the programs she mentioned that Pat was involved in was something called Death Café. Death Cafés happen all over the world, and their goal is to be a place where people can come and eat cake and drink tea, and just talk openly about Death. At a place like BCCR that works with people with cancer, some of whom have terminal disease, this feels especially important, and indeed these programs are some of the best-attended of all of BCCR’s offerings. But of course, cancer or not, we are all dying. It is perhaps the one thing all humans share: we will all die someday. 

One thing Holly said at the funeral about this program that stuck with me was that our inclination, when someone is fighting a deadly disease, even one they know will eventually kill them, is to say, “Don’t give up! Keep fighting! You’ve got this!” But she said, “Don’t do this. It puts so much pressure on a person. People need to be able to find peace with their reality, their mortality, not fight against it.” Once you can willingly confront the conversation, she told me later, and find that peace, the conversation can turn instead to how we live, with the time we have. 

It occurred to me that this is exactly what Ash Wednesday does for us, too. It compels us to face liturgically two stark realities we all share: that we are captive to sin and cannot free ourselves, and that we will all die someday. On this day, we get together, face the fact of sin, and rub ashes on our faces with the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” 

But also, and this is important, when we do this as a church community, we remember that, scary though the inevitability of sin and death may be, we are not alone in that reality. We have God by our side, as well as this community of believers.

That is why we journey through these 40 days communally, worshiping and praying and studying together. We face our mortality together. As Kate Bowler says, who, along with her team, wrote our devotional this year, “For 40 days we stop pretending things will suddenly get better and face the truth: life is fragile, and so are we…. To be human is to carry the weight of our own mortality….” Or, as she quips in the first line of our devotional, “There is no cure for being human.”

So what can we do about this? It can feel very helpless, which I suspect is why people don’t want to talk about it. Who wants to confront something that feels so mysterious and unknown, and over which we have no control? Can’t we just ignore those long-term realities and focus on any number of things that bring us short-term satisfaction? 

Well, I suppose there is some both-and here. I recently read, for example, that one important way to resist an authoritarian (whether on a large political scale, or in a personal relationship) is to maintain a personal sense of joy. As long as they can’t take your joy, they can’t have control over you. So, seeking out joy and dwelling there is definitely something to pursue, perhaps especially when sin and death are knocking at your door! So Lent doesn’t have to be depressing – we can feel joy, too.

But we must, at some point, face the reality of sin and death, and Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent give us a space to do this. It starts at this stark midweek service, in which we face head-on our mortality, remembering that we are dust, and that we shall return to dust. In confronting the truth of sin and the grave, we find ourselves laid bare, and thus able to face and address the most important questions in our lives – and this in turn gives us hope, a new perspective, a way forward. This reminder of the inevitable will, in turn, teach us how to live. 

So, how do we live? What do we do with the time between now and then, the time when we still are living in our human condition, in which things and systems and hearts break, and life feels very much out of our control?

This is where the disciplines of Lent are a useful tool. Jesus talks about them in our Gospel reading for Ash Wednesday; they are almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. 

Why these practices? And how do they help us face our human frailty? 

Generally speaking, the simple answer is that they provide intention, direction, a framework – all very useful in the midst of things we cannot understand! Lent, when we enter into it wholeheartedly, can be an opportunity to reorient our hearts toward God, and from that relationship comes joy and a fuller life. These disciplines offer some concrete ways to pursue that.

Take almsgiving, that is, giving things away to the poor: what are the spiritual benefits? When we let go of something, like money, that we might deem to be ours, it reminds us that our trust belongs with God, not with things. Things will always let us down. Letting go diminishes the myths of self-sufficiency and invincibility, the belief that we can personally solve any problem that comes our way. Instead, when we trust, we become co-workers with God in the gospel, giving to the poor what God first gave to us: our selves, our time and our possessions. (On that note, I am planning this year to give alms in the form of time, making time each day to make phone calls to my legislators on various issues, to advocate for those in need. If you want to know more about how I’m doing that, let me know!)

The next practice is prayer. Surely, prayer can take many forms! We could start today with praying for… guidance on how to pray during this season! Or, a couple Sundays ago, Jesus told us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. How about that for a Lenten discipline, to pray daily for someone you don’t like? How might that change our hearts, reorient them toward God, and maybe even change the world a little bit for the better? And if that seems too hard, go back to the message around which this day is centered: you are dust, and will return to dust, so… what have you got to lose? Go ahead: pray for your enemies.

Finally, fasting. This can take many forms. Fasting from food could bring you into solidarity with the less fortunate, and could, each time you feel a pang, serve as a physical reminder to pray. This act of self-discipline itself can help you to focus your attention on God, and those for whom God cares especially deeply, the poor. These are all valuable outcomes of fasting. And, there are also other kinds of fasts, other ways to refrain from a substance or practice in order to draw closer to God and closer to the poor. Fasting from patronizing unethical businesses, for example, would draw you into solidarity with the poor, and with people negatively impacted by oppressive business practices. (Example here.) Or fasting from doomscrolling could free up some time to pray or read scripture or a devotional, and would at the very least clear a pathway to joy, rather than despair. (See this about a social media fast.) What sorts of habits do you have that put a barrier between you and God, or that suck life out of you, rather than bring you joy? Fast from those, and see how that fast affects your heart, how it might help to create a clean heart and a right spirit within you. 

Jesus was for sure on to something with these three – almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. Tradition has also added study to the list of Lenten disciplines – setting aside some time to dwell in scripture, or learn about something that deepens your faith. You could do this each Sunday by coming to our class on the creeds. Or you could read a theology book (let me know if you want suggestions!). Or you could commit to learning more about an issue that affects the poor, and how you can get involved in some action that helps the most vulnerable among us. Study is a powerful way to change hearts and lives. 

I started this sermon by talking about Death Cafés, and the reality of sin and death. But the point is that this reminder, which we receive so poignantly on Ash Wednesday, ultimately leads us to the question, how then shall we live? How shall we live lives worthy of the Gospel, guided by God’s loving and life-giving hand, centered on Christ, infused with the Spirit? I pray that this season of Lent will be for you an opportunity to pursue this question, such that by the time we celebrate Christ’s resurrection and defeat of sin and death, we will have gained a deeper sense of what that new life can look like for us here and now.

Let us pray… Life-giving God, we often resist facing the scarier aspects of our reality. Give us courage to admit and accept what is inevitable, and then to let it guide us in how we live this life to your glory. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: It is good for us to be here (March 2, 2025)

Transfiguration C
March 2, 2025
Luke 9:28-43a

INTRODUCTION

Through the season of Epiphany, we’ve been trucking along through Luke’s Gospel and hearing all about the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. But today we will jump ahead, and hear about the Transfiguration. This is the last big event before Jesus “turns his face to Jerusalem,” heads down the mountain, and makes his way toward the cross and his inevitable death (and, spoiler alert, his resurrection). 

On this last Sunday of the season of Epiphany, when we’ve been hearing a lot about light, we get the grand finale of light: the Transfiguration of our Lord on a mountaintop! Our first two readings will set that story up for us. To do this, we hear a bit about veils, and how they have functioned in faith, and how Jesus changes all that. We’ll hear about the veil Moses had to wear after he beheld the face of God and his face shone so brightly no one could even look at him. And then Paul will tell us about how, until Christ came along, we could not see God’s story clearly, as if we had a veil over our eyes.

As you listen, think about what veil is over your face that keeps you from seeing God or getting too close to God, or maybe that keeps others from seeing God in you. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Anyone who has had kids knows that the Big Important Questions often come out during bedtime. Here, in the intimacy and safety of darkness and a favorite blanket, kids feel safe to offer up the fears and questions of their hearts. Grace has taken to warning me when she knows she’ll want to talk about something (which I appreciate, because it tells me I should use the bathroom before I go in to say goodnight!). 

The timing can be frustrating, I admit. Everyone is tired, and grown-ups are often antsy to get some adult-time with their spouse before they head to bed themselves. Yet these moments also feel holy. They are special, and I know I will blink and suddenly be longing for these intimate moments when my kids see me as their most wise and trusted and safe person to ask the big questions. In times when I might want to rush through, I try to remind myself, “It is good for us to be here.”

This has always been my favorite line in this story of the Transfiguration that we hear every year on the Sunday before Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent. I love these words, of course, when it truly is a joyful and exciting – or even glorious! – moment, when we are celebrating. It is good for us to be here! Who could argue with that? But I also try to remember these words when that goodness is less obvious. Like standing on the bottom rung of a loft bed ladder, trying to get back downstairs. Like, sitting with a grieving family as they share memories of their loved one. Like, when I’m having a difficult conversation with someone and can feel myself literally shaking. It is good for us to be here, too. These words sound different in these different situations! But I believe that they are no less true. 

Jesus shining on a mountaintop is decidedly a “good for us to be here” moment. I mean, just picture this scene! Can you imagine? By now the disciples have seen a lot of wow-worthy stuff, as they’ve been following Jesus around for a couple of years, seeing him heal the sick, feed the hungry, and preach some mind-blowing sermons. It is no wonder the disciples are weighed down with sleep – I, too, would be exhausted by this time (as I often am, in my nighttime convos with the kids!). The disciples have earned some rest! But suddenly, before they can drop off completely into dreamland, a brightness shines in their eyes. Their teacher has become dazzling white, face shining! And Moses and Elijah, two giants of the faith, have suddenly appeared and started a conversation with Jesus! Like, WHOA. And while Peter has a reputation for sticking his foot in his mouth (and he will, later), his first response here is just right: “It is good for us to be here!” This, he recognizes, is a moment, a moment simply to be entered into, to be present in, to be experienced. 

Of course, Peter and the others can’t stay there, as much as they’d like to. Peter even offers to build some dwellings for everyone to stay comfortably and happily on the mountaintop, like one big, glorious family. But it is not to be. With a cloud’s rumbling reminder to everyone to “Listen to [my son, my Chosen!]” suddenly, the overtly glorious atmosphere dissipates. Jesus is found alone. Everything (and everyone) is silent. 

But, my friends, it is still good for them to be there. Together, sharing in that experience. That presence together, with Jesus is good. And then the next day when they walk down the mountain back into the valley – that is also good, for the call to discipleship is not a call to sit on a mountain and pray and never do anything more. Discipleship, after all, means action, and movement. That’s good! When they encounter a desperate father, pleading for his son – it is good for them to be there, too. When Jesus heals that suffering child – it is good for them to be there, too. And as they continue along with Jesus, whose sight is now set for Jerusalem, and what will be his suffering and his death – it is good for them to be there, too.  

It was easy for Peter, as it is for us, to say how “good” things are on the mountaintop, when God's glory is obvious, when things are going well. But is that statement any less true at the base of the mountain, where there are suffering children and desperate fathers? Does God cease to be glorious there, down amongst the suffering? 

Of course not. And we know this because we know that there is nowhere that God is more fully revealed than when he is beaten and bloodied and hanging on a cross. There, in that suffering place, is where God accomplishes the greatest act of love in all of history, in which Christ dies in order to liberate us from power of sin and death, and ultimately rises to give us new life. That is where God shows us the extent of His love for us: that He would give absolutely everything to free us and give us life. That is, indeed, glorious! 

And so, it is good for us to be here, even in the suffering – in the pain and fear at the base of the mountain, in the agony of the cross, in whatever sufferings of this world that we are currently enduring. It is good for us to be here, not because it is good to suffer, but because in the suffering is where Christ is, where he promises to be, where his glory is most profoundly revealed. 

And, here, in the suffering, is also where we can be Christ's presence, where we can show Christ’s loving presence through our presence. How easy it is to turn away from the suffering, to ignore it, since it doesn’t affect us anyway. To let someone else deal with it. But this is not the way of Christ, and it is not the way of a Christ-follower. No, we are drawn into the ministry of presence even with those at the foot of the mountain. As Paul says in our second reading today, “It is by God's mercy that we are engaged in this ministry [and] we do not lose heart.” I know, it is so much easier and tempting to look away – but don't do it! Don't cover it up, as with a veil! See the suffering, know that Christ is there, and then to the best of your ability, be Christ's hands and feet and heart, IN that suffering. 

It is good for us to be here, my friends, in whatever way we are able. It is good to see Christ’s light shining through the broken places. It is good to BE Christ’s light, shining among the suffering. It is good to stumble forward, just doing the best we can do to manifest God’s glory in service to the poor. So do not lose heart. It is good for us to be here.

Let us pray… Radiant God, we love the glorious moments we get to spend in your presence. Help us also to love the moments you are present in suffering. Be with us as we journey down the mountain and to the valley, that we might be a part of shining your glorious light into a world in need. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.