A Fourth Church Sermon by John W. Vest

February 21, 2007 | Ash Wednesday

The Other Side of Grace

John W. Vest
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 51
Joel 2:1–2, 12–17
Romans 3:21–26

On this day, Ash Wednesday, we begin the holy season of Lent. This is a season of preparation as we journey toward the cross and toward the empty tomb. It is a time to ponder the mysteries of the crucifixion and resurrection and a time to examine ourselves for who we are: people in need of redemption. In this way, Lent is a twofold journey: even as we travel toward Jerusalem to once again participate in the events of Holy Week, we also travel inward and come face-to-face with the reality of our nature. Through fasting and prayer, Bible study and worship, our Lenten journey may be solemn and at times severe, but the destination is worth the effort and the sacrifice.

Ash Wednesday provides a remarkable beginning to this journey. On this day, more so than on any other, we are asked to reflect on our own mortality, a subject we more often than not try to avoid. Later this evening, for those who choose to receive the imposition of ashes, we will be told, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” These sacred words confront us with a humbling truth: for all of our accomplishments, for all of our progress, for all of our desires to leave a mark on the world, for all of our attempts to put off the inevitable, in the end we are fragile mortals. In the end, we will return to the place from which we came. In the end, every single one of us will die.

This is obviously not the most cheerful message that the church proclaims, but it is an undeniable truth nonetheless. And we know this. We see the reality of death every day—in news headlines and in our own lives. But still, death is hard to accept. We don’t like to think about it. We don’t like to talk about it. And when it comes to our own death, denial is not uncommon.

So what is the value of this day? Why have we come here to observe Ash Wednesday and hear those difficult words? What is the value of facing our mortality in this way?

Well, for one thing, it helps us to stay firmly grounded in the world. “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” These words echo the biblical story of humanity’s creation from the earth and point forward to our final resting place in the very ground that is our origin. The earth is our home. It is our source of life, and in death we ultimately return to it.

Ash Wednesday also brings us down to earth through the spiritual discipline of fasting. For many people, Ash Wednesday (and indeed all of Lent) is a time for fasting. Among other things, when we feel the pangs of hunger or fight the urge of a craving, we are reminded with blunt physicality that we are creatures of the earth in need of nourishment and sustenance. The very spiritual experiences we encounter through fasting come through the tangible realities of physical existence.

These things are important because the church can easily drift into a purely otherworldly faith. So often Christianity becomes fixated on what happens after we die, so much so that everything that happens before we die is treated like it is merely preparation. But this is not biblical faith. Biblical faith is deeply rooted in the here and now, deeply concerned with the world we live in and the responsibility that God has given us for its care.

Ancient Israel understood this. In a passage that is often read on Ash Wednesday, the prophet Isaiah transforms the act of fasting into an act of service.

Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? (Isaiah 58:6–7)

Friends, that is biblical faith. And we do these things not so that we can get into heaven when we die, but because this is what God desires of us now. Our mortality is shared by all of humanity, and we must work together to protect the most vulnerable among us.

But more than this, our Ash Wednesday focus on mortality, and the Lenten emphasis on repentance, reminds us of who we are: sinners in need of redemption.

One of my favorite theological books is The Prophetic Imagination by Walter Brueggemann. In this brilliant book, Brueggemann explores both what the prophets of the Bible were doing in their ministries and how the church can embrace and enact prophetic ministry today. Simply put, Brueggemann divides the prophetic task into two moments: the first is what he calls “prophetic criticizing and the embrace of pathos” and the second he calls “prophetic energizing and the emergence of amazement.” In this first moment, the prophet opens the people’s eyes to the depth of their sins and the realities of the consequences. In the second moment, the prophet provides hope for redemption by reminding the people of God’s faithful promises. Though we find both of these this evening, it is the first, the embrace of pathos, which is most similar to our Ash Wednesday proclamation.

According to Brueggemann, the idea of death is a powerful tool, a powerful catalyst, for change. One of the prophet’s primary tasks is to lead us to a realization of the reality of death and the possibility of the destruction of the society in which we live. Such a realization is crucial because our societies tend to downplay this possibility. The powers that be want us to believe that all is well, that there is nothing wrong with how we live and how we treat other people. Despite evidence to the contrary, we are made to believe that our society is just and that all people are treated fairly. We are encouraged to consume more than we need, and all around us self-centered lifestyles are glamorized and promoted. But as a society and as individuals, we must recognize that our paths ultimately lead to death, especially when fueled by self-destructive behavior.

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

For the past two months, I’ve had the pleasure of teaching a class in the Academy for Faith and Life on the prophet Amos. For almost eight weeks we have lived with the words of this early prophet and have found his critique of ancient Israel disturbingly relevant for our current circumstances. For many in the class, this was the first time that they had spent considerable time with Amos or with any biblical prophet beyond the nods we give them during Advent and Christmas. What has been most troubling for folks, I think, is the disproportionate amount of time that Amos allows for those two moments of prophetic ministry: the leveling of criticism and the providing of hope. For eight and a half chapters, Amos takes Israel to task for their collective sins, and only in the last half of the last chapter does the book provide a sustained vision of hope for the future. I think that if it were up to us, the opposite would be the case: half a chapter of criticism and eight and a half chapters of hope.

Indeed, I think this is one way that the church goes astray. We are so focused on grace that we forget the rest. In our worship services, we rush to the assurance of pardon without lingering in the confession of sin. We focus on the joy of Easter without living in the darkness of Good Friday. We seek grace and mercy without really dealing with the sin that necessitates these gifts from God. We want people to feel good when they go out those doors.

But today we find something else. “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

You see, sin and grace are two sides of the same coin. It is a paradox of our faith that our redemption has already been won by Christ, yet we are still sinners. And we need to be reminded of this fact because if we don’t keep it before us, we’ll never act to change. We’ll keep on living destructive lives, resting on the assurance of our salvation, living in a feel-good world of Easter bliss.

Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t have anything against grace. I like grace. I like mercy. I like love and acceptance. But when our emphasis is only on those gifts, we lose our impulse to follow Christ toward change in ourselves and change in our world.

Sin and grace are two sides of the same coin. Later this evening, we will read Psalm 51 together. According to tradition, David composed this penitential psalm after being confronted with the reality of his sin with Bathsheba. On this Ash Wednesday, David is the perfect example of what it means to live in the folds of God’s loving grace and yet still be a sinner. David’s sins were real, and he had to pay the consequences. Death became a reality for him as he saw his children suffer abuse and death. Yet God made a promise to David that God would not break. David was God’s chosen, God’s beloved, no matter what. But that didn’t erase the reality of his sin or the consequences he had to endure.

And so it is with us, friends. God has chosen us and God loves us no matter what. God has already assured our redemption through the death and resurrection of Christ. Yet if you are anything like me, you’re still a sinner and your actions still have consequences.

Sin and grace are two sides of the same coin. Without sin, grace feels empty, and without grace, sin is unbearable. Today we are reminded of that.

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Amen.