Matthew 6:1-4 · Giving to the Needy
The Call of the Trumpet
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
Sermon
by George Bass
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"Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast ..." (Joel 2:15)

As they do on Easter morning to announce the resurrection of Jesus Christ, a few trumpets blow at the beginning of Lent to call the people of God together for the annual forty-day fast. Lent is that peculiar period of the year when those who are most dedicated to the faith observe the rigors - public and private - associated with this sacred season that is connected to Good Friday and Easter, the very heart of the gospel and our salvation. But the trumpets sound, whether or not we hear them, and they call us to life in the Kingdom of God.

In their book, Life Extension: A Practical Scientific Approach (Adding years to your life and life to your years), Durk Pearson and Sandy Shaw quote, as their first word (between the dedication and the table of contents), Bernard Strehler: "I hate death." They make it patently clear that they have patterned their lives on the research they have done in this field; they state that they expect to live long, healthy, and productive lives. But they write: "We don’t really know how long we might live because tests capable of providing this information have not yet been devised ... The future arrives sooner or later for all of us, but we can reap benefits from developing technologies sooner if we are prepared."1 No matter how long life may be extended, sooner or later we all have to die. Lent deals with the manner in which life is extended for all time through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. That’s why we need to cock our ears and listen intently for the trumpet call that marks the beginning of this forty-day fast that spills over, through Good Friday and Easter, into the fifty-day celebration of Jesus’ resurrection and the new life.

The traditional gospel for Ash Wednesday, Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21, puts the notes of the trumpet’s call in terms of long-established Lenten discipline? - almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. In different ways, each of these seems terribly out of date in contemporary life. Almsgiving? Our churches teach people about Christian stewardship, not "almsgiving." Prayer? Isn’t an hour of worship enough on Sunday morning? And fasting? Why even broach this subject, even during Lent? A colleague’s wife, recently returned from a year’s sabbatical in Europe, said that the most startling thing about their reintroduction into American life and culture was the overabundance of really fat people. There’s not much fasting here, is there? And Lent is not likely to change things for very many of us, I’m afraid.

The ancient discipline to which the trumpet calls us still has merit and meaning; its merit has nothing to do with gaining rewards for our action, and its meaning emerges as the depths of life are explored. How fortunate that Jesus spoke first of almsgiving in this section of the Sermon on the Mount. Those who are aware of the millions of poor and desolate people in this world - and do something about poverty and oppression by sharing their wealth and themselves with such people - will certainly avoid the spiritual quicksand of Lenten discipline that is concerned primarily, or only, with one’s own spiritual welfare and life. Being rich, in contrast to the state of most people on earth, is a blessing if we share our wealth with others.

A few years ago, and shortly before his death, I met the long-time missionary-theologian, Thomas Coates, during an extended stay in Hong Kong. He had given his life to work among the Chinese and had come to be known as "the Lutheran theologian of the Orient." A kindly man at all times, I discovered that he could gently prod a lecturer to get at some missed or deeper meaning. Just recently, I read one of his many books - this one The Parables for Today - in which he said:

It is not a sin to be rich. It is a sin to misuse one’s riches. And, obviously, material wealth involves many temptations that are unknown to the person with a modest bank account, or none at all.

He adds:

On the other hand, it is not a virtue in itself to be poor. Sometimes a person is to blame for his own poverty. More often a man’s poverty is due to circumstances beyond his control. Untold millions live in dire need because of the economic and social injustice that blights so much of contemporary life in every country of the world.

And he concludes:

Sometimes lack of this world’s goods increases a man’s dependence on God and his hope of better things to come. But it is equally true, as Solomon sagely observed, that poverty may drive a man to curse his fate and to steal from his fellowman.2

When I read this, I immediately recalled the night I heard, from the father of my son’s best friend during his high school years, what might be termed an unusual confession. The man, a displaced person from Latvia who came to this country at the end of World War II, told me about the march from Latvia to Germany and about life in the concentration camps. With tears in his eyes, he said, "I had to learn to steal from others in order to keep my family alive." Affluence is often attained by such means, isn’t it? But that’s not the problem most of us face, is it?

Pushed to its ultimate application, the poverty that some - most - people face in life is a picture of the condition of all before God. All have sinned and come short of the glory of God! There is no way that we can buy our way out of that spiritual poverty, is there? Lent reminds us of our spiritual poverty (not that it excuses us from doing what we can to alleviate actual poverty from the world) and once we remember our desperate plight and need before God, we are also brought face to face with God’s loving action to make things right between him and us through Jesus Christ. The Cross confronts us with the One who made himself poor to the point of suffering and death so that all people might be rich toward God. In his passion and agony, Jesus lavishly poured out his love and life so that we all might live. The Cross is no grudging hand-out to the poor of the earth! And Lent won’t let us forget that.

That’s one reason that Lent has to be a time of prayer and devotion. We have all been under a death sentence that was lifted by Jesus’ obedience and death, and the least we ought to do is give regular and heart-felt thanks to God for life through Christ; that’s the least that ought to spring from our gratitude during Lent. At the same time, we need to pray earnestly that God will enrich our lives through the Holy Spirit so that we may "grow in grace" and make the most we can of the lives given us by the Lord. Misuse of the gifts of God may endanger our lives and jeopardize our claim to his gift in Christ.

In "The Enduring Chill," Flannery O’Connor tells the story of the return of Asbury Fox to his mother’s home to die. He is a young man, a frustrated artist and intellectual, who is "above" the sort of life lived in rural America. Asbury is convinced that nothing and no one - and certainly not the town doctor - can save his life. Although he is Protestant, he asks his mother to send for a priest who, he believes, is an intellectual. Father Finn turns out to be a non-intellectual with a large red face, "a stiff bunch of grey hair," hard of hearing, and blind in one eye, "but the good one focused sharply on Asbury."

"So you want to talk with a priest?" he asks. "Very well." When Asbury asks about James Joyce, Father Finn replies, "I never met him," then queries, "Now do you say your morning and night prayers?" Asbury attempts to develop a conversation about Joyce: "Joyce was a great writer," but the priest ignores him. "You don’t, eh? ... Well you will never learn to be good unless you pray regularly." And when Asbury jibes, "The myth of the dying God has always fascinated me," Father Finn doesn’t seem to hear him.

Father Finn probes into Asbury’s life: "Do you have trouble with purity?" he demands. As Asbury pales, he goes on, not waiting for an answer. "We all do but you must pray for the Holy Ghost for it. Mind, heart, and body. Nothing is overcome without prayer. Pray with your family. Do you pray with your family?" "God forbid," Asbury murmurs. "My mother doesn’t have time to pray and my sister is an atheist," he shouts. When Asbury remarks, "The artist prays by creating," Father Finn answers, "Not enough! ... If you do not pray daily, you are neglecting your immortal soul." And when Asbury attempts to excuse himself with, "I’m not a Roman," the priest snaps back, "A poor excuse for not saying your prayers ... But you’re not dead ... and how do you expect to meet God face to face when you’re never spoken to Him? How do you expect to get what you don’t ask for? God does not send the Holy Ghost to those who don’t ask for Him. Ask Him to send the Holy Ghost." With a sob, Asbury says, "the Holy Ghost is the last thing I’m looking for." And Father Finn answers, "And he may be the last thing you get."3

As the story turns out, Asbury does not die; he has undulant fever from drinking unpasteurized milk the previous summer. But the reader is left with the feeling that he has learned a great lesson because the bird-shaped watermark on the ceiling above his bed takes on the shape of the Dove, the Holy Spirit, whose recognition gives him an "enduring chill." Jesus said, "Pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you." Isn’t "The Enduring Chill" a Lenten story for most of us?

Asbury might have had a kind of vision and a chill after his strange conversation with Father Finn and, I suspect, it was enough to take away his appetite. A sense of sin and deep spiritual need will do that, especially in the light of Jesus’ impending passion and death at the end of Lent. Lent is a voluntary fast meant to remind us how fragile a hold we have on life. It is a kind of starvation and a taste of that suffering our Lord shared with all of us whenever he fasted. When James S. Stewart included "suffering" in his well-known collection of sermons, The Strong Name, he had to preach four sermons to cover the subject of suffering and human trouble. He comments:

There are so many forms of trouble in this world - physical, mental, emotional, spiritual; and the challenge which they severally and collectively present to faith is so radical, that one craves passionately to be able to let in some light upon the darkness. Certainly no one who takes life seriously can escape the necessity of confronting this problem and coming to terms with it in his own soul ...4

Physical hunger - and entering into that through fasting - is only one dimension of suffering. But it confronts us with all the other facets of what Stewart calls "the mystery of suffering." And that opens us up to another mystery, the mercy of God that offers resolution for the mystery of suffering. The fast prepares us for the feast - and a foretaste of the feast to come.

Wheaton Phillips Webb writes about a communion that could take place at the beginning of Lent instead of toward its climax: "One Maundy Thursday night when a storm was sweeping down out of the north country, I administered the Lord’s Supper in the candlelight of a village church. Only twelve had braved the great drifts of snow to be present. When they had gone and silence settled upon the church, I observed the fragments of sacramental bread that remained on the altar and the sacramental wine prepared for others who had not come.

"Perhaps it was a recollection of Saint Francis who loved life on the wing that prompted me to lay the broken fragments of the bread on the branches of a spruce outside my study window and pour the wine beside it.

"On the dawn of Good Friday the sun rose in blinding beauty upon the snowy earth, and I saw such miracle as men have seldom dreamed since the Middle Ages: my tree, one symphony of singing birds, had turned Christ’s body into song. And where I poured the rich libation sprang in the heat of a summer yet to come the poppy’s scarlet cup."5

The trumpet sounds today, calling us to another Tree - and to an Empty Tomb - and to engage in almsgiving, prayer, and fasting as we make our Lenten pilgrimage in the name of the One who gives us life.


1. Pearson, Durk, and Shaw, Sandy, Life Extension, A Practical Approach: Adding Years to Your Life and Life to Your Years. (New York: Warner Books, 1982).

2. Coates, Thomas, The Parables for Today. (Saint Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1971).

3. O’Connor, Flannery, The Complete Stories of Flannery O’Connor. (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1971).

4. Stewart, James S., The Strong Name. (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Book House, 1971).

5. Webb, Wheaton P., The Dramatic Silences of His Last Week. (Nashville, New York:Abingdon Press, 1972).

CSS Publishing Co., Inc., Tree, The Tomb, And The Trumpet, The, by George Bass