Jesus was giving his famous Sermon on the Mount. In the middle of it he looked at the disciples from his sitting position (as was customary for Jewish rabbis of the first century when they were teaching). And Jesus said: "Beware of practicing your piety before men in order to be seen by them; for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven (Matthew 6:1)."

To whom was Jesus referring with these words? He was probably talking here and at other points in the sermon about the Pharisees. Recall that the Pharisees were the most devout Jews, the most religious people, of Jesus' day. Jesus was talking about people like us.1

People like us? Our commitment to our Lord and his work is obvious, is it not? Here it is a Wednesday, and we have come to his house for worship. For the next weeks most of us are committed to worshiping him at least twice a week. Why, think of it. Some of us may return even a third time weekly for some other congregational activity. I clearly speak to a committed group of believers.

In all seriousness, those of us gathered for this worship experience do take our faith seriously. More than likely among your circle of acquaintances, you do not mind if they know that you are a Christian, and even a church-goer. Do you even take some pleasure in being known in this way? How much pleasure do you take? Is it not nice to be known around town or in your circle as a decent human being, an upstanding, solid citizen, even a leader in your church? Do you not enjoy having that kind of reputation? Is it ever an incentive to work for this parish? In that case, Jesus' words condemn you and the rest of us: "Beware of practicing your piety before men in order to be seen by them; for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven (Matthew 6:1)."

Jesus next proceeded to condemn us further: "Thus when you give alms, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by men. Truly I say to you, they have 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 in secret ... (Matthew 6:2-4)."

It really is incredible among the very best of people how few of us there truly are who seek to do good without also seeking honor or worldly credit. I want a pat on the back for the good I do, don't you?

That ugly side of our personalities comes out the clearest when saints like us get angry or feel a bit miffed when the recipients of our benevolence are ungrateful. If our motivation had not been to receive the world's thanks, we would not become so disgusted with ingratitude, would we? Have you not ever felt such feelings? I have, and our Lord's words condemn me.

Have you ever come shuffling away from an ingrate saying, "I have done so much for her, and she has forgotten it already. People are so ungrateful!" Or perhaps you have made the point this way: "I would be happy to take the soul out of my body and give it to him. But since I see that this kindness would be wasted on him, because he is such an undeserving fellow and does not even come from a good family, he can go to hell before he'll get a crust of bread from me." By such thoughts, so common to us all, we betray our real motivation for doing good, namely, to have people praise and worship us instead of God. Oh what a shameful distortion of good works are you and I now engaged in!

Jesus still talks about giving alms in secret, so that the left hand does not know what the right hand is doing. There is much debate among biblical scholars about what he meant at this point, but I rather like Martin Luther's version of it. Luther claimed that Jesus urged the faithful not to inform the left hand what the right hand is doing when alms are given, because otherwise the left hand will try to take more away than the right hand gave.2

Is that not our way of dealing with people? If we offer some gift or act of kindness to a person, we imagine that we have bought her and that she is so deeply obligated to us that she dare not say a word except what we want to hear. Of course most people do not notice our expectations and we even manage to deceive ourselves concerning our real intentions. But in fact our faith commitments and good works are nothing but a vain pretense.

Can we do no good works? How about prayer? And Jesus said: "And when you pray you must not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret ... (Matthew 6:5-6)"

Even our prayer is tainted by our quest for worldly reward or merit. How often are we inclined to tell our dear ones or acquaintances that we have prayed for them in a time of need. What really is our motive for reporting this to the one for whom we say we have prayed? Is our need to report on our prayer life to others related just a bit to a desire to make an impression on people and because we enjoy having a reputation for deep faith and piety? Pastors are especially vulnerable to this disease, because we want our people to believe that we care about them and that we walk with God. I have been associated with a Southern parish where certain lay people have reportedon the prayers they claimed to offer on behalf of those with whom they were arguing for the sole purpose of winning sympathy for their own side of the dispute. I have seen what the leaders of that "religious" haven have done to those for whom they reportedly prayed. Such prayers belong in the dung heap; they are not worth a pile of ashes. We are all guilty of praying with this kind of motivation sometimes.

A pile of ashes. All our works, even our good works, amount to nothing, because they are marred by sin. Even our faith, our commitment to the work of the church, the good works we do on behalf of others, and our prayers are infected by the tint of selfishness and evil. This is Jesus' point also at the end of our gospel lesson (also see Romans 7:18). He proceeds to warn us not to lay up treasures on earth for ourselves, because moth and rust consume and thieves break in and steal. Far better, he says, we should lay up for ourselves treasures in heaven which will not be destroyed by moth, rust and thievery. Where your treasures are, that is where your heart is.

Some have understood Jesus to be condemning gluttony or undue preoccupation with material goods at this point. Yet much more is he teaching a lesson here about the first commandment, and our failure to keep it. To say that our treasures determine our heart, as Jesus says, is just another way of claiming that our treasures determine our ultimate loyalties, our god. Jesus makes it clear that this is his point at the end of the chapter from which we have been reading, when he tells his disciples and us first to seek God's kingdom, and then all worldly things will be ours.

Order your priorities, the first commandment teaches. But inevitably we fail to get it right. This is why all our works, even the very best ones like faith, commitment to the work of the church, kindnesses shown to others, even our prayers, are marred. They are ultimately or at least polluted by expressions of our lust for influence, reputation and pride. They do not add up to a pile of ashes after all.

A pile of ashes. That is what Ash Wednesday is all about. A reminder that all we do and are, apart from the new life given in Christ, is nothing but a pile of ashes.

Of course Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, owes its name to the medieval practice of imposing ashes on the faithful. (We are doing it today.) The whole point of this practice is apparent in what is said to the faithful as the ashes are imposed on them. The priest or the pastor quotes God's Word to Adam and Eve when he banished them from Eden on account of their sin (Genesis 3:19). "You are dust, and unto dust you will return." You are dust, and to dust you will return.

The ashes of Ash Wednesday remind us that all we are and do must end in death. So it is that even our "good" deeds, because they are marred by selfishness and sin, ultimately lead us to death. Such good works are nothing more than another nail in our coffin.

No room is left here for spiritual pride. The very best of our deeds deserve the judgment of hell. They are some of the reasons that we must die. The words of today's psalm hit the nail on the head: "For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done that which is evil in thy sight, so that thou are justified in thy sentence and blameless in thy judgment ... (Psalm 51:3-4)."

In the midst of such an awareness of our sin, the only possible reaction is repentance. Again the words of our psalm are our song: "Have mercy on me, O God, according to thy steadfast love, according to thy abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin! (Psalm 51:1-2)."

Coming to know the depth of our sin. Driving us to repentance. That is what Ash Wednesday is all about. But that is not the final word! Repentance is not an end in itself. It has another end in view - preparation for new life (in Christ).

Again our psalm as well as our gospel says it all: "Fill me with joy and gladness; let the bones which thou hast broken rejoice. Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquities. Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me (Psalm 51:8-10)."

What is this new heart and right spirit that we faithfully await? Our gospel lesson gave us some hints. It is evident in the life that Jesus lived. That is what the new life is like.

The gospel lesson also describes the new life as a life totally dedicated to God and to serving him. A life whose deeds care nothing about human acclaim or reputation. A life of total freedom, freedom from anxieties about what people think of us. Total freedom, because good works just come spontaneously, not as a result of constraint or scheming for power, position and a good reputation. (John 8:36; Ephesians 2:8-10, Psalms 110:3).

The freedom of this new life, which is given at Easter and the joy that comes with it mean just a little more when we are adequately prepared for it by an awareness of how much we need it. By an awareness of how hopelessly trapped we are by our sin; by an awareness that the good works we do on our own are nothing but a pile of ashes. Thank God for the ashes and the meaning behind them. Keep in mind how thoroughly mired in sin you are the next time you feel good about one of your apparent good deeds. But also be sure you thank God, too. Thank God for the new life he gives you!