“A Righteous Fast”
A Meditation for Ash Wednesday by the Rev. Dr. Hilary J. Barrett
Preached at Pleasantville United Church of Christ, February 17, 2010

“Is this the kind of fast I have chosen, only a day for a man to humble himself?  Is it only for bowing one's head like a reed and for lying on sackcloth and ashes?  Is that what you call a fast, a day acceptable to the LORD?”
(Isaiah 58:5)

I’ve been watching a lot of TV this past week since my surgery.  I do that when I’m not feeling well.  It doesn’t make any sense to watch TV when you’re not feeling well because it will just make you feel worse.

Like this morning for instance.  I woke up, turned on the television, and it was still February.  It was still cold outside.  And as much as I love the snow, I was hoping for something along the theme of white sandy beaches today.  And then there was that story about the 3 month old infant in New Jersey kidnapped by her father…

Lord have mercy
Christ have mercy
Lord have mercy.

And then there was the story about the flashmob which broke out in Philadelphia yesterday afternoon just in time for the evening commute.  An incident described by the Philadelphia Inquirer as 150 teens slamming into Center City “like a tidal wave of stupidity, flooding the streets with chaos and fear.”  Police suspect that the mob gathering may have been arranged earlier in the day on the Internet – on social networking sites like Facebook or Twitter.

These are the kinds of stories that leave me feeling deeply disoriented; stories that leave me wondering what is happening in our world?  What is happening to people’s sense of what is good, and what is right, and what is worthy?  Stories that make me worry about the fabric of who we are. 

There are so many things we take for granted in our world.  There are many social contracts that we count upon with one another.  When we come to an intersection and the light is green, we count on the social contract that those who have a red light will stop.  It’s not flawless.  We know that well enough to look both ways before we go.  But more often than not, people observe this agreement.

There’s the social contract of money.  We agree that this piece of paper means something.  That if I take it down to the 7-11 and hand it to the clerk across the counter, chances are good he or she will recognize its usefulness and I’ll be able to by a coke with it.

There’s the social contract that we don’t shout “Fire” in a crowded building.  We know that people – as smart as they are – are also easily spooked, prone to panic -- especially when in a crowd, and there are few things more dangerous than a crowd of frightened people.

There’s the social contract that when we walk down the street after a long day of work, the last thing we expect to see is a mob of latchkey kids intent on mayhem, violence, and destruction.  We do not expect that our kids, the one’s we’ve raised, the one’s we’ve given everything to, the one’s we’ve spared no expense for, could be so alien to us as to focus their energy on things that tear apart the fabric of society.

All of this brings to mind a bumper stick that I’ve seen before:

If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.

You know me.  You know love I kids.  You know I love teenagers.  If you don’t know that about me – they know it.  They know that I know who they are; they know that I know their name; they know that I look them in the eye and listen.  They know that when I preach I make a point of looking at them.  The teenagers in this church know that we value them.  That’s why they’re here.

I’m not bringing this up tonight because I think our kids are involved in flashmobs.  That’s not why I’m speaking about this today.  I’m bringing it up because, if you didn’t think that what we do here as a community of faith is important in shaping the moral character of our young people, then you aren’t paying attention.  If you didn’t think that what we do here is absolutely vital to our community and to our world then you’re not watching enough TV.

This is a place that values kids.  But what’s so great about Pleasantville and what’s so healthy about Pleasantville, is that this is a place that values older people too.  Children, youth, young adults, regular adults (whoever they are), middle aged adults like me, older adults and the saints among us – all are valued here.  We’re building a new Sanctuary because we believe that being a community gathered in one place is that important to us.  Important enough to make a huge investment of time and financial resources, and effort, and tsuris – which is the Yiddish word for trouble – Oy! It’s so much work!  And we’re doing it because what we do here matters.

Tonight we are coming together to get dirty.  In a culture that is obsessed with cleanliness – we come to a worship service to get dirty.  To have ashes smeared on our foreheads.  It is a peculiar custom, and we might well ask ourselves: why?  Why do this?  What is the point?

We do it, because it works.

We do it, because we are all broken. 

We do it because we know that we are broken. 

We do it because we are all -- every one of us – just about a bad day away from being a part of a flashmob.  We are that angry sometimes.  We are that crazy sometimes.  We are capable of that much destruction sometimes.  We have that in us.  What’s the difference between a flashmob organized on Twitter, and Kristallnacht?  What’s the difference between a flashmob and the first riots that broke out in Rwanda? 

We have that in us.  We are capable of unspeakable damage and betrayal and horror and senselessness.  And that is what Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent are all about.  They’re about standing at the foot of the cross, smeared in dirt, remembering that we are all of us, every one of us, in desperate need of God’s transformation.

One of the texts that we did not read earlier is this text from the prophet Joel.  Listen to the urgency with which he speaks:

Blow the trumpet in Zion; sound the alarm on my holy mountain! Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for the day of the Lord is coming, it is near— a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness! Like blackness spread upon the mountains a great and powerful army comes; their like has never been from of old, nor will be again after them in ages to come…

Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing. Who knows whether he will not turn and relent, and leave a blessing behind him, a grain offering and a drink offering for the Lord, your God? Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly; gather the people. Sanctify the congregation; assemble the aged; gather the children, even infants at the breast. Let the bridegroom leave his room, and the bride her canopy. Between the vestibule and the altar let the priests, the ministers of the Lord, weep. Let them say, “Spare your people, O Lord, and do not make your heritage a mockery, a byword among the nations. Why should it be said among the peoples, ‘Where is their God?’” (Joel 2:1-2, 12-17)

Blow the trumpet in Zion!
Sanctify a fast!
Call a solemn assembly!
Gather the people!
Sanctify the congregation!
Assemble the aged!
Gather the children -- even infants at the breast!
Let the bridegroom leave his room, and the bride her canopy!
Because what we do here matters!

And what we do here is becoming more and more countercultural all the time.

Tonight, my husband had to decide to be absent for a meeting of the faculty at Haverford College – a meeting normally schedule for tomorrow night but re-scheduled to accommodate the personal calendar of the college president.

I know there is one young person here tonight who is here at the expense of missing an important meeting of her school’s ski club. 

Friends, we live in a world now, where we really do have to work at witnessing to what’s important to our faith. 

We have to say: “No.”  I’m not going to forgo my commitment to my church so I can be more committed to the local ball team.

We have to say: “No.”  I’m not going to pretend that scheduling something on my holy day doesn’t matter.

We have to say: "No"  I’m not going to let every other thing in my life trump my commitment to raising my kid in an intentional Christian community.

Because what we do here matters.

Sound the trumpet.  Rend your hearts not your clothes.  Bring the infants and children.  Prepare to get dirty together.  Because the wisdom of the church has been honed for over two thousand years and we know this stuff works.  We know what it takes to break human beings.  And we know what it takes to redeem them.  And the journey of Lent, that we begin this night, is a journey of facing into the darkest parts of ourselves and committing that dark part of us to the redemption of God.

Let us set our feet on that journey to the cross together.  Safe in the company of other Christians who are also committed to bringing their own darkness into God’s light. 

May it be so.  Amen.