Matthew 6:1-4 · Giving to the Needy
Scenes From a Marriage
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
Sermon
by Craig Erickson
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How incongruous to talk about marriage on this solemn Day of Ashes. Marriage evokes images of life and joy and growth, perhaps even of youthful, starry-eyed wonder. But this is a day about dying. It’s a day of sober realism and human limitations. It’s a day that begins a season of denial, of fasting, and repentance. How incongruous to bring up marriage on this day.

But then, every marriage has its moments. There’s not one that doesn’t have its darker side, when the "union made in heaven" is all-too-painfully aware of feet mired in clay. You can hardly think of a marriage that hasn’t at some point needed help. The agony of marriage in our time supports one sociologist’s description of marriage as "a state of tragic tension fraught with difficulties."5

It is this perspective that predominates in the early 1970s film "Scenes from a Marriage," by the brilliant Swedish director, Ingmar Bergman. As in every Bergman film, there is in this one an intense level of interaction. The protagonists, a husband and wife, engage in dialogue that is open and frank - brutally frank at times. They are articulate about their deepest needs, fears, and disappointments - so articulate, in fact, that one wonders who will be left to pick up the pieces.

The genius of Bergman’s screenplay lies in his ability to show how otherwise desirable virtues can be destructive to human relationships. Open communication? Sure. That’s what you want in a marriage. But in Bergman’s film, it provokes a defensive hostility that causes the marriage to unravel. How about "being in touch with one’s own needs"? Again, essential to a healthy marriage. But in Bergman’s characters, it degenerates into self-centeredness. Sexual attraction? This is also nice to have in a marriage, to say the least. But there’s a darker side to these drives, which are ever so easily sullied by the human proclivity to dominance and manipulation.

"Scenes from a Marriage" is a tragedy in the classic sense, for Bergman’s husband and wife characters are fatally flawed. They lack that which alone keeps virtues from becoming something other than virtues. They lack grace. Without grace, the best of human intentions becomes tragically disoriented. It is grace that keeps a tragic tension from becoming a destructive tension. It is grace that enables a marriage to survive.

The Covenant is a kind of marriage between God and His people. It is a marriage that has survived over the ages because God possesses an inexhaustible reservoir of grace. No matter what humans do, even those who have entered into this marriage through baptism, God remains faithful and true. He continues to give himself through a promise that is always there. God’s eternal will, to bring people into lifegiving communion with him, remains unchanged.

Ash Wednesday is a little scene from this marriage. It is not a pretty scene. It is a dramatic one. The symbol of signing the cross on the forehead in ashes is a poignant statement. It says:

• I am not God. I am a human being.

• I am going to die.

• I desperately need God’s mercy and grace in my life.

Now here is some very straightforward communication, which this marriage and all marriages must have. Here is an articulation of inmost needs, which is preeminently healthy and fair in a marriage. Here is a confession of frailty and weakness, which a marriage must have in order to invite a saving response.

This Ash Wednesday "scene from a marriage" highlights the one key ingredient that keeps all of us from being "burned up by God’s fury." In fact, it is the very quality that makes this marriage an experience of salvation, namely: the abundant, endless, always-extended, never-failing mercy of God. That’s what makes this marriage so wonderful. That’s why the church has always held it up as a model for human-marriages, so that a "tragic tension fraught with difficulties" might be transformed into a sacrament of God’s love and mercy, that is to say, into the adventure of a lifetime.

The prophet Joel, in lines that can scarcely contain his excitement, is saying exactly that:

"Yet even now," says the LORD,

"return to me with all your heart,

with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;

and rend your hearts and not your garments."

Return to the LORD, your God,

for he is gracious and merciful,

slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love ...

Joel 2:12-13

How can you go wrong with God’s mercy? Here, under the shadow of his wings, the defenses we have so elaborately erected everywhere around us can only melt away. Here we are loved, welcomed and accepted. Here we are forgiven, healed and restored to newness of life.

It is the Covenant, founded upon God’s mercy, that makes Ash Wednesday the day that it is. Today you needn’t worry about open communication - this marriage has got it. You can forget the myth that a display of weakness and vulnerability is risky business, for in this marriage, there is one who is more deeply in touch with your needs than you yourself are. Today you need not worry about putting your best foot forward. For when you share in this marriage, you need not fear that which can paralyze any marriage: rejection.

This Day of Ashes, the outward symbols of which speak of sin and death, of repentance and finitude, this day, then is really a celebration of God’s open-ended Covenant with us, his people, his betrothed. The Good News is that there is no sin, no confession, no shortcoming, no inadequacy that is not matched by the abundance of God’s mercy. That’s what the Covenant is: a context that invites openness! It’s a marriage that promises acceptance and healing. It’s a pilgrimage that delivers us from death unto life!

CSS Publishing Co., Inc., Under The Shadow Of Your Wings, by Craig Erickson