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Matthew 6:1-4 · Giving to the Needy
Dust in the Wind
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
Sermon
by Timothy Cargal
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Sometimes a song gets so deep inside your head that it can never be uprooted. Maybe it is the melody or the mood evoked by its musical qualities. Maybe it is the themes and ideas that find expression in its lyrics. If it happens to be both the music and the lyrics perfectly matched to each other, then the effect is particularly strong. Such songs have the ability to become a recurring soundtrack to our lives.

One such song for me is Kerry Livgren’s “Dust In The Wind.” Since I first heard this song more than 20 years ago, not an Ash Wednesday has gone by without that song being the tune I just could not get out of my head. “I close my eyes / Only for a moment, and the moment’s gone / All my dreams / Pass before my eyes a curiosity / Dust in the wind / All they are is dust in the wind.” Certainly no Christian hymn cap­tures any better Ash Wednesday’s liturgical refrain, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall re­turn.” As I repeat those words with the imposition of ashes on each parishioner’s forehead, playing inside my own head it’s the “Same old song / We’re just a drop of water in an endless sea / All we do / Crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see / Dust in the wind / All we are is dust in the wind.”

Certainly “Dust In The Wind” captured the existential angst of my generation. The culturally dominant materialist philosophy has told us that we were literally nothing more than cosmic dust shaped by physi­cal and evolutionary forces. And even though Christian faith rejects materialist reductionism, the Ash Wednesday liturgy just as certainly intends to inescapably confront us — brow beat is probably not too harsh a description — with the harsh reality of our mortality and our utter need for redemption. But is the message of Ash Wednesday really that “all we are is dust in the wind”? Must we pass through this doorway to Lent and all its remaining 40 days until Easter before we hear any suggestion of good news?

Joel 2:1-2, 12-17

Nothing is known of Joel son of Pethuel other than that he was the author of at least the core oracles preserved in this prophetic work. That he locates the liturgical life of God’s people at Zion (v. 1) suggests that he was probably from Judah, but whether he lived during the time of the Assyrian, Babylonian, Per­sian, or even Greek invasions has been the topic of on-going scholarly debate. His particular prophetic genius was his ability to use the experience of a devastating locust plague to symbolize the ravaging of the people by invading armies (see especially 1:4 and 2:3-11, the verses passed over in this reading by the lectionary committee). Yet for Joel neither natural nor military disasters are consequences of simple bad luck or even a failure of political leadership. By weaving together the natural and the political, Joel makes his case that such catastrophes are nothing other than judgments of the “day of the Lord.”

It is with precisely that assessment, presented as a warning cry, that the selection assigned in the lec­tionary begins. The sounding of the trumpet in Zion in itself is ambiguous; it might either herald God’s blessings for the people (1 Kings 1:34; Psalm 81:3) or be the harbinger of danger and destruction (Jeremiah 4:5-6; Amos 3:6). However, the poetic parallelism of the next line in verse 1 clearly associates this trumpet blast with the latter. God’s coming in this instance is “a day of darkness and gloom” for those who are about to come under divine judgment. The darkness is gathering and the whole cosmic structure “quakes” in anticipation. “Truly the day of the Lord is great; terrible indeed — who can endure it?” (2:11).

Yet the purpose of the prophet’s warning is not to announce inescapable judgment, but rather to call the people to repentance so that they might be spared. God’s nature is not fundamentally one of wrath. God “is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.” God “relents from punishing” those who return to God “with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning” for their sins (vv. 12-13). Judg­ment may have already begun, “yet even now” it may be averted by calling forth God’s gracious nature through genuine repentance. Judgment may yet be transformed into blessing (v. 14).

Joel is one of the most supportive of the rituals of the temple and priesthood among ancient Israel’s prophets. So it is that he draws on yet another use of sounding the trumpet in Zion, namely the blowing of the shophar to call the people to religious assembly (v. 15). The whole of the society, from the “aged” to “even infants at the breast” (v. 16), are to gather in the temple. No other obligation is greater than the need to answer the call to repentance. Even the newly married who were exempted from answering a call to arms (Deuteronomy 24:5) are not exempted from this call to duty. They are to fast and perform the rituals of repentance as the priests intercede for them in the temple courts.

These are hardly empty rituals. By acting in accord with the sacred service (the liturgy) that has been given to them, the people will demonstrate that they are indeed God’s people. Their past sinful actions may have called this association into doubt, but by sincerely entering into the rituals they will once again mark themselves as those whom the world will expect God to protect (v. 17). But simply going through the motions won’t do. They cannot simply abstain from food, but must “sanctify a fast.” They cannot simply gather together to commiserate, but must “call a solemn assembly.” In these ways they reclaim for them­selves the dignity of God’s own people, and with that, God’s protection rather than judgment.

2 Corinthians 5:20b—6:10

Whereas Joel’s message to his contemporaries was fundamentally a call to repentance, Paul’s ap­peal to the Corinthian Christians in the epistle lesson is to be reconciled to God. Their goals are thus the same — restoring the relationship between God and God’s people — but their emphases are different. Repentance emphasizes what is required from the human side, reconciliation what God does to repair the relationship.

Paul’s focus on the divine activity in this rapprochement is most clear in 5:21. It is what God has done in making Christ “to be sin who knew no sin” that in turn transforms us to “the righteousness of God.” If the end results of Paul’s theory of atonement are clear, however, the mechanism by which this recon­ciliation is accomplished is anything but. How is it that Christ is “made to be sin”? Is it simply by being incarnated in sinful human nature, or is all human sin somehow imputed to Christ on the cross? Does the sinless Christ suffer as an innocent sacrificial victim, bearing God’s judgment in the place of the sinful ones who would otherwise have borne it themselves?

As the history of Christian atonement doctrine demonstrates, any of these explanations (and others as well) are possible. But Paul is less interested in unpacking the mystery of the means of salvation than he is in calling people to live in the reality of salvation. Salvation is the “grace of God” that we accept, but even having accepted it, one might have received it “in vain.”

Paul’s emphasis here on reconciliation rather than repentance leads him to draw on a different strand of the tradition regarding the “day of the Lord” than what we have seen in the Joel passage. Citing Isaiah 49:8, Paul emphasizes that the climax of this age is “a day of salvation” rather than judgment. As we have seen, Joel would not have disagreed with this — at least as a potential outcome for those who respond in repentance. Paul also insists that this eschatological moment has already begun: “See, now is the accept­able time; see, now is the day of salvation!” (v. 2b).

Paul insists that he is “working together with God” (v. 1) in such a way as to assure that no obstacle is placed in anyone’s path and “no fault may be found with our ministry” (v. 3). Yet the Corinthians did in fact find fault with his ministry (see especially 2 Corinthians 11), and precisely because they perceived as “obstacles” some of the results of his ministry that he himself enumerates here. “Afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger” (vv. 4b-5) — do those sound like the marks of salvation to you? Shouldn’t the expectation of these things be an “obstacle” to any rea­sonable person?

Of course, those were not the only marks Paul identified of his ministry. His ministry was also charac­terized by “purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, holiness of spirit, genuine love, truthful speech, and the power of God” (vv. 6-7a). Now here are things that truly do “commend [his ministry] in every way” (v. 4a). But one might ask, “Which is it, Paul? Does your ministry of reconciliation with God portend ‘hard­ships’ or ‘the power of God’?”

To that question Paul answers, “Yes.” The “day of salvation” may have begun but it has not been fully realized. Consequently, both what might seem obstacles and what might seem blessings go hand in hand. Yet those “obstacles” are not God’s doing but the actions of those who yet fail to recognize the truth of what God has done. “We are treated as imposters, and yet are true” (v. 8b). Those who are not reconciled with God, or who have perhaps only received “God’s grace in vain,” may see death, punishment, sorrow, and poverty, but the truth before God is life, rejoicing, riches, and possessing everything that ultimately matters.

One final point: note that there is no indication that Paul was writing this letter to Corinthian citizens outside the fledgling Christian community. Thus, when Paul wrote, “We entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God,” this imperative is being directed at his converts. That they might have indeed “ac­cepted the grace of God in vain” is not some idle possibility but rather Paul’s diagnosis of their condition. Paul’s letter, like the season of Lent, is a reminder that although our salvation in Christ is secure, the min­istry of reconciliation with God continues through our repentance and “working together with God” so that others might also accept divine grace.

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

The theme of this portion of the Sermon on the Mount is clearly stated in its opening line: “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them.” Three specific rituals of piety are treated: almsgiving (vv. 2-4), prayer (vv. 5-15, with the lectionary leaving aside the model prayer now known as “the Lord’s Prayer” in vv. 7-15), and fasting (vv. 16-18). The unit is framed by the references to the re­wards of piety (vv. 1, 19-21), specifically the “reward / treasure in heaven,” that is, spiritual benefit, that accrues to those who ultimately direct their pious acts toward God.

The issue of for whom such acts of piety are performed, whether for God or for others, is key to properly understanding the epithet of “hypocrites” that occurs repeatedly in this passage and elsewhere in Matthew’s gospel, particularly the discourse in chapter 23. In colloquial English, a “hypocrite” is someone who says one thing and does another so that there is a disconnect between how they want to be perceived and who they actually are by their actions. Yet as each of these examples makes clear, those charged as “hypocrites” here in the Sermon on the Mount are actually performing these rituals. They are giving alms, praying and fasting; they are not saying one thing and doing something else. So what is the meaning of “hypocrite” here?

In classical and Koin à Greek generally, the hypokrites was an actor who played a role in a theatrical production. Thus, in a very real sense his (all actors were male, even those playing female roles) actions were purely for show. They were not true of the person himself at all, but were done for the sole purpose of being seen by others. Applied metaphorically in these verses, then, the indictment is that people who make a show of their ritual piety are engaged in nothing more than a performance. It is empty ritualism that may be rewarded with applause by the audience but has no lasting spiritual benefit for the person of the actor.

One of the key structures of Greco-Roman society was the patronage system. Providing assistance either to individuals or underwriting important public projects were prime ways in which people could increase their honor in a culture dominated by concerns with honor and shame. It is easy to see how the ancient practice of almsgiving could be corrupted in such a situation. Rather than being about demonstrat­ing God’s concern for those in need and one’s own gratitude toward God for provision, the giving of alms becomes a means of displaying one’s greatness and demanding honor in return. Discrete acts of benevo­lence, on the other hand, are about preserving the honor and dignity of the recipient, not the donor. In such acts God increases the honor and blessing of both donor and recipient.

Similarly, the issue regarding public prayer is not its publicness, but rather whom it is directed toward. The prayers offered by the “hypocrites” in the synagogue and on the street corners are not actually being offered to God at all; rather, those prayers are offered so that the person “may be seen by others” (v. 5). If you pray to the crowds, perhaps the crowds will reward your rhetorical excellence. But if your desire is to have God answer your prayers, then your prayers must be directed toward God. The “Father who is in secret... [and] sees in secret” can just as easily hear and respond to prayers offered in total privacy as those proclaimed publicly.

Fasting (and all other ritual acts of piety) would follow the same pattern. Why should anyone need to know that you are fasting, unless of course you are fasting for the purpose of drawing attention to your piety? But if your fasting is for the purpose of strengthening your relationship with God, God doesn’t need to see a haggard appearance to know that you have been skipping meals.

Just as it is important to recognize the metaphorical aspect of the epithet “hypocrites” (such people are like play-actors), so it is equally important to recognize that the “treasures in heaven” are not literal, mate­rial treasures like those that thieves steal and moths and rust consume here on earth. The true treasure that we have in heaven is our relationship with God that is strengthened by the practice of spiritual disciplines. Our “heart” should be with God, not with things either in this present world or in the world to come.

Application

Kerry Livgren had it right. All the things we do to build up treasures for ourselves on this earth ulti­mately crumble to the ground consumed by rust or are stolen away by thieves. The locusts that devour the stuff of our lives come in the form of both natural disasters and simple human evil. Even should you manage to safeguard your wealth, once you are confronted with the limits of your own mortality — in the words of another line from the song — “all your money won’t another minute buy.” Like these haunting lyrics, the words of the liturgy demand of us, “Remember that you are dust, and that to dust you shall re­turn.” Not just dust, but “dust in the wind.”

That is not to say, however, that this song got it exactly right. We are dust, but it is not true that “all we are is dust in the wind.” We are also the recipients of God’s grace, mercy, and steadfast love. If we live out the responsibilities of that relationship, and repent of our past failures to do so, then God will spare us from being devoured or scattered into nothingness like dust in the wind. Indeed, by the reconciling work of God through Christ, the day of salvation has already begun now for those who can truly accept that grace.

That we are reconciled with God is wonderful, good news. But the fact remains that the day of salva­tion has only begun; it is not yet finished. Even though we have experienced the power of God, we still en­counter afflictions, hardships, calamities, sleepless nights, and all the rest. We are yet dust, and our mortal bodies will one day return to the cosmic dust of which we are made. Ash Wednesday is a reminder that our reality is both harsh and blessed. We are “dying, and see — we are alive ... punished, and yet not killed... sorrowful, yet always rejoicing... having nothing, and yet possessing everything.” Ash Wednesday is, after all, just the beginning of Lent, and the transformed, resurrection life of Easter will come.

An Alternative Application

It is customary in our society at the beginning of the year to ask others what New Year’s resolutions they may have made. And it is not uncommon around churches as Ash Wednesday approaches to hear people inquire as to what others plan to “give up for Lent.” But in the light of the gospel lesson, perhaps we should ask ourselves if we are not undercutting the whole point of Lenten rituals if we are comparing notes about them as we would about New Year’s resolutions. After all, how many people keep their New Year’s resolutions anyway?

Lent isn’t primarily about giving things up in the first place. Like the ritual of fasting, the foregoing of something is secondary to the primary purpose of devoting more attention to one’s relationship with God. Anything that shifts our focus away from God and onto ourselves or how others perceive our piety transforms Lent from a spiritual discipline into an empty ritual.

CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Navigating the Sermon in Cycle B, by Timothy Cargal