Lectionary Commentaries for February 14, 2024
Ash Wednesday

Praise, Praise, Praise, Praise, Praise!

Seems like a lot of praising, right?

It is a lot of praising, but it’s the very amount recommended in a TV commercial that I started seeing again sometime in the summer of 2023. Addressing parents of young children, the guideline is clearly stated: “For every one time you correct your child, praise him or her five times.” According to the commercial, you have a much better chance of having your child grow up to have all the self-confidence to live a good, successful life if you observe this 5:1 ratio of praise to correction.

We seek praise

Who do we want to impress with our actions, with our service? Do we want to impress other people or God?

Sometimes when we strive to impress people, it is to score points for some ulterior motive—even if the motive is as simple as a wish that they think better of us. Our reputation becomes our aim. This text questions us as to where our focus is. Is the point to enhance our reputation? Is it material evidence that we’re successful in our careers? Is it even to make sure we’re the life of the party?  

There are efforts that are worthwhile: For example, being a good parent, as is encouraged in that TV commercial. If we do our best in parenting our kids for their sake—seek to give them a solid foundation for their character, for their education—that is one thing. But it is another thing altogether if we focus on being the super-parent at the school’s parent associations or to prove we’re worthy of admiration by relatives and friends. What is our motivation for what we do?  

Our gospel text for today encourages us to make sure our concern about who is watching is focused on God and not on other human beings. 

For example, do we give to our church anonymously? And if that would be impractical because it would not count as a deduction for our income taxes, as in some countries like the United States, do we at least expect that we should have a bigger say in parish decisions for being one of the bigger donors in the congregation? Do we love anonymously? Do we help anonymously? Don’t we say sometimes after we’ve been helping someone: “After all that I’ve done for you?” We helped someone; now somehow that someone is obligated to repay us—if not with money, then with their obedience or deference.  

This text encourages us to think this way: Let our good actions be focused on God alone; let them be only for God. Our good actions are not to assure us that others respect us, admire us, approve of us, love us—though that may surely be an unintended and ancillary result of our service.  

It may be understandable that those of us who were not affirmed when growing up go around our whole lives looking for approval and affirmation from others. That is an unfortunate and common reality for many. Reflection and psychological guidance may help meet some of our need for God’s unconditional affirmation. 

The kernel of the text

Matthew 6:1 serves as a sort of template for most of the rest of this gospel text. I say “sort of” because whereas the verses on almsgiving, prayer, and fasting state guidelines on where not to put your motivation, as well as where to put it, verse 1 states only the negative: where not to put it.  In any case, the kernel thought holds for all three subsections: we are enjoined to seek not the approval of other people but of God only.  

The text then concludes with the well-known “treasure in heaven” passage and the famous verse: “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21).  Even this verse can be accommodated to the theme of the entire lesson: the proper focus of our management of our financial resources is God (heaven) rather than the impermanent and unreliable realm of earthly things. 

It is Ash Wednesday …

On this most solemn of liturgical days, those present in worship are invited, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” hearing again the words of Genesis 3:19. The kernel of the text relates to this emphasis: At the end of our lives, when all things earthly will wither into irrelevance, we will depend entirely on God. Our text encourages us to be about that spiritual focus now, in our current daily lives on earth.

… and the start of Lent

And this day marks the beginning of the season of Lent, for many denominations and congregations a time to observe the disciplines of Lent: prayer, fasting, works of love. (Many denominations and congregations have a variation on this list, adding additional items such as repentance, confession, and the like.) So important is this 40-day period leading up to the grand climax of Holy Week—Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and Easter Sunday—as the church observes the central parts of Jesus’s life. The threefold emphasis in our Matthew text can serve to focus the Lenten disciplines’ emphases.

Homiletical meanderings

The preacher may profitably focus on several questions:

• Are there stories from the congregation’s life, either individual or communal, of a clear focus on God and God alone, to the exclusion of all earthly considerations? What has that been like? Comforting? Liberating? Stressful? Fearful? Where are the growing edges in these stories?
• In the congregation’s practice of the Lenten disciplines of almsgiving, prayer, or fasting, has the focus been on God alone? If not, what has that been like? Has there possibly been a temptation to impress neighbors, visitors, or each other for praise and approval?
• Does our congregation tend to sometimes seek recognition of success, or is it sometimes afraid of judgment by worldly standards?

The book of Joel is set amid the terrors of a plague of locusts, which, in the eyes of the prophet-poet, portends the imminent “day of the LORD.” The people are called together to turn back to God, so that God might intervene and stop the plague. Notably, the book of Joel does not name any specific sin that it thinks is responsible for this plague. Sin is not the topic of this poetry. Rather, most of Joel 1:1–2:17 laments in harrowing detail the decimation of the land and the food supply by the locusts. The locusts are not necessarily a punishment for something in particular; they are an all-consuming disaster, and the prophet knows that God has the power to end it.

The lectionary reading includes two portions of a longer poem. Joel 2:1–2 opens the poem with an announcement of the coming day of the LORD: a day of terrible power and catastrophic destruction—what we might refer to now as the “end of the world”—that the swarming bugs seem to be ushering in. Joel 2:3–11, omitted from the appointed text, describes in detail the horrors of the locusts, using metaphors of war horses, a devouring fire, and a rampaging army. God is depicted as the commander of this army. Consistent with much of the rest of the Hebrew Bible, the book of Joel understands God as having control over the natural world, and thus the locusts would be under God’s authority, just as rain and wind and fire would be.

Joel 2:12–17 begins a call to repentance from God and the prophet to all the people, structured by a long list of plural imperatives: return, rend, return, blow, sanctify, call, gather, sanctify, assemble, gather. The first three verbs, which are voiced by God, call for repentance, a turning back to God. This turning is described as an inward reorientation, not just a performance in the sanctuary: “Rend your hearts and not your clothing” (Joel 2:13). The call for return implies that, whatever the particularities of their sins, the people have wandered away from God. They have put distance between themselves and the divine; they have turned their faces away from God’s holiness.

The next seven verbs, voiced by the prophet, all have to do with bringing the people together. In addition to the straightforward verbs call, gather, and assemble, “blow the trumpet” invites the sounding of the shofar to announce the assembly. This phrase echoes the opening imperative of the poem, where “blow the trumpet” had been a means to warn the people; now it is a means to call the people together. Sanctify carries the sense of being set apart for the sake of gathering, and specifically being made ready for a religious gathering. Everyone in the community is to come together, from infants to the elderly. Even a newly married couple is exhorted to interrupt their wedding night for the sake of this communal repentance (verse 16).

Between the sets of imperative verbs, the prophet offers a rationale for this penitential gathering. First, the prophet testifies to God’s forgiving nature: “for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love” (2:13). Versions of this description, which may be familiar to us from liturgical assurances of pardon or declarations of forgiveness, can be found throughout the Hebrew Bible, including Exodus 34:36, Numbers 14:18, Nehemiah 9:17, Jonah 4:2, and at least four times in the book of Psalms. 

In Christian preaching it can be important to remember that mercy is not a characteristic God suddenly takes on in the New Testament, nor is the “God of the Old Testament” different than the “God of the New Testament.” Rather, mercy is an ongoing feature of God’s nature throughout Scripture. 

After testifying to God’s mercy, the prophet says, “Who knows whether he will not turn and relent?” This turn of phrase—“Who knows?”—can be found in other depictions of repentance throughout the Hebrew Bible. When David and Bathsheba’s child dies in infancy, David says, “While the child was alive I fasted and wept, for I said, ‘Who knows? The LORD may be gracious to me, and the child may live’” (2 Samuel 12:22). In the book of Jonah, the king of Nineveh’s proclamation calling the people to repentance reads, “Who knows? God may relent and change his mind; he may turn from his fierce anger, so that we do not perish” (Jonah 3:9). 

The book of Esther also contains the phrase, which there is broadly related to the act of repentance, but more specifically is part of meaning-making in a book that refrains from directly mentioning God. As Mordecai tries to convince Esther to intervene with the king to counter Haman’s murderous edict against the Jews, Mordecai muses, “Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this” (Esther 4:14). 

In each of these cases, God’s deliverance from catastrophe is not described as a guarantee. It would require profound hubris for us, as it would for these biblical characters, to say that we know the mind of God or that we can ever be completely sure of what action God will take. Nevertheless, God’s merciful nature is known, and the prophet Joel boldly testifies to it. His hope is that God, too, will turn (verse 14), and that the relationship between God and the people can be made whole. 

Gathering together for personal and communal repentance on Ash Wednesday is an act of hope. The very act of coming together and publicly renouncing our sin testifies to our confidence in God’s mercy. One does not have to look far in this world to see great calamity. It often does seem that “the great day of the LORD is near, near and hastening fast” (Zephaniah 1:14). We live in a state of communal, systemic sinfulness that wreaks powerful consequences. We also know that God has the power to avert those disasters and to help us to change our ways, and so we come together to pray and to hope: Who knows?

This psalm is a prayer of penitence, confession, remorse, owning mistakes made, and seeking a fresh start of new life with a restored soul upon receiving God’s forgiveness.¹ 

Psalm 51 is traditionally attributed to David, who offered this prayer of repentance after Nathan the prophet confronted David about his affair with Bathsheba. David abused his power as king to sexually exploit Bathsheba, reassign her husband to ensure his death in order to cover his impregnation of Bathsheba, and then take Bathsheba as a wife. Nathan used an allegory of stealing sheep to help David recognize the depth of his sin, and upon understanding, David reportedly authored this prayer of contrition.

Though himself a king and a well-established beacon of faith in God’s power, David was a mere human, standing in shame before God for his sin, and in need of God’s forgiveness. To be clear, his sin was not just adultery; it was rape. His sin was not just abuse of power; it was murder. Whatever innocence of his legacy as the boy who defeated Goliath, companion to Jonathan, or the unlikely military successor to Saul, David was now a corrupt monarch.

In verses 1–9, David repeats the phrases “blot out” and “wash” to point to God’s forgiveness as a cleansing, a spiritual rinsing of sin from his person. David’s sin makes him dirty, from which God’s forgiveness would clean him. David certainly notes the cleansing properties of water and the association of God’s presence with the people through water. 

In verses 6, 10, and 17, David emphasizes his heart as the center of his being, the nexus of a pure spirit, changed by God’s forgiveness. Alongside allegorical understandings of being cleansed of sin, David also has an embodied understanding of holiness, in his heart and in his bones, evident through a joyful and willing spirit.

David anticipates, even expects, that God will forgive him, because David believes God is faithful. God’s forgiveness will help David to renew and recover from the inside out, which will help him to become a better person as well as improve his ability to be an example for others. Though a king, David seems intent on setting a moral, and not just a militaristic, example for Israel. 

In the absence of a physical temple, which David’s son Solomon will build, David offers a sacrifice of repentance, a sacrifice of contrition, a sacrifice of transformational grief, which he believes will be more pleasing to God than a physical sacrifice or religious ritual.

As I imagine this scene taking place, I picture David on his knees, perhaps hiding in a closet or a storage room, or kneeling in the rain. I see him somewhere where he believes he is alone, in a posture of self-acknowledged shame, in a Romans 8—“groans which words cannot express”—kind of sorrow.

Not only had he betrayed his calling as king, not only had he betrayed his calling as God’s chosen, but he had betrayed the trust of a nation. He had surrendered his identity, and for what? For sex? To exercise power he already possessed? To cover his tracks from the people who follow him?

David cries out in self-defamation, convicted by Nathan’s confrontation. Yet even in this prostration, David still may not realize the severity of his sin. Is he penitent for his sin? Is he ashamed of being confronted by a prophet? His prayer focuses on his personal sin and spirit, as in verse 4 when he claims that he has only sinned against God. One could argue, though, that he has also sinned against Uriah, Bathsheba, and his nation—past, present, and future. 

Though he committed sinful acts as an individual, there were real effects of David’s actions on other people, as well as collective consequences. David’s sin impacted people and systems beyond his own personal morality scorecard. And as the Deuteronomistic narrative would suggest, his sin undermined the stability and future peace of the entire Jewish people. 

David may be performing repentance, likely genuinely, even if he has additional steps to take in his journey to understanding that can leads to sanctification. Our spiritual journeys often take place in such steps, peeling layer by layer. This isn’t dishonesty. To the contrary, it’s a very genuine expression of where we are in that moment, starting from within ourselves and turning outward by the leading of God’s spirit over time. 

In David’s case, the sensitivity to the Spirit’s leading did not progress as we would hope. David did not become more alert to avoiding temptation, more vigilant in protecting his family, or more self-aware. Though this prayer shows a strong desire to recover from this tipping-point moment, to those of us who know the rest of the story, it reads like unrealized potential, eventually abandoned in the disgrace with which the prayer begins. 

Are we misguided to resonate with this prayer? It is certainly a staple of Christian worship practice, because it has been meaningful to millions of people worldwide who find aid for their own prayers by beginning with David’s words found here.

David is right that a contrite heart is more precious than burnt offerings; Jesus will echo this clearly when calling us to worship God in spirit and in truth (John 4:23–24). David is right that water is a powerful cleanser, literally and metaphorically, and certainly has a significant place in spirituality, indicating God’s presence with the people (John 4:10). David is right that repentance must take place from the inside out, as a total transformation of our hearts and spirits. 

David failed at living as he hoped in this prayer. We know more about David’s expectation that God would deliver military victory than transformed character and redeemed societal infrastructures. But to his people, his reign was the apex of history. There are some modern world leaders about which we could say the same.

What is it about their story that remains so inspirational in spite of their multitudinous and egregious transgressions? Perhaps it is those parts of the narrative we have in common with them that give us hope for what God might yet do in and through us. 

But will we follow God’s spirit?

Notes

1. Commentary first published on this site on March 2, 2022.

This reading from 2 Corinthians invites us to a paradox of faith. Paul testifies: Serving God can take you anywhere, from beatings to genuine love. 

Second Corinthians is a composite of multiple letters; some scholars think it is a collection of two texts, while others suggest five fragments. No matter how the partition and sequence of the letters are reconstructed, 2 Corinthians shows the ups and downs in Paul’s relationship with the Corinthians. This passage comes from a part generally considered Paul’s self-defense (2 Corinthians 2:14–7:14, minus 6:14–7:1), which shows Paul at one of his lowest points. Questions and suspicions were brewing in the Corinthian community regarding his apostolic mission and authority (see my commentary on 1 Corinthians 9:16–23 for this past Sunday). 

Put into a position to defend himself, Paul chooses humility as his primary response. He is a fragile human, like a clay jar (2 Corinthians 4:7), but it is God, not other humans, who makes him competent (2 Corinthians 3:5–6). Paul promotes himself by demoting himself. The convergence of promotion and demotion, which sums up the irony of the Christian faith as well as Paul’s defense, makes this lesson proper for this particular day when we are told, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” and we commence the journey to the cross.  

Paul’s words in today’s lesson give us three inspirations for the Lenten journey of repentance and prayer. First, this is a season in which we are called to seek reconciliation with God. The reading for today begins with Paul asking the Corinthians to be reconciled to God (verse 20b). Reconciliation is the theme of verses 16–21. The Greek word for “reconciliation” is katallágē (verb: katallássō), which was used in commerce as it primarily meant exchange of money. Some Greek writers, such as Herodotus and Aristotle, used katallássō to denote a change in a relationship from enmity to friendship. 

Katallágē required the one who broke the relationship to initiate the process of mending the relationship and ending the enmity, which involved asking for forgiveness and appealing to friendship. In this light, what Paul writes in verses 18–19 is pretty striking because it is God who initiates reconciliation with humans. God has opened a way for reconciliation by sending Christ, even though God is not the one responsible for any broken relationships with us. In verse 20, Paul implores the Corinthians to accept God’s invitation to reconciliation (and to accept Paul and his companions as ambassadors for Christ, entrusted with the message of reconciliation).  

Paul is the only New Testament author who uses katallágē or katallássō for the relationship between God and humans. It is noteworthy that Paul uses the verb katallássō in the passive voice in verse 20b: “Be reconciled to God.” This is the same as in Romans 5:10–11, where Paul uses katallágē and katallássō: “We were reconciled to God through the death of God’s Son” and have “received reconciliation” (Romans 5:11). The reversal of roles—the one who seeks to reconcile and the one who is reconciled—is clear. We are reconciled to God not by our efforts but through Christ. Paul’s words are a reminder that God is inviting us to receive reconciliation again in this Lenten season.  

Second, this is a season in which we are called to reflect upon the communal nature of faith. Paul predominantly speaks in the first person singular (“I/me”) in most of his letters, even when he did have co-sender(s) (Timothy in Philippians, and Philemon; Silvanus and Timothy in 1 Thessalonians). Interestingly, in this passage, and in this entire section of self-defense, Paul speaks as “we.” Besides 1 Thessalonians, in which Paul uses the first-person plural throughout, this is almost the only place where we see Paul use “we/us” (and 2 Corinthians 8:1 and 12:19). 

To whom does Paul refer with this “we”? It could be Paul and his companions, like Timothy, or Paul and anyone who was staying with him at the time he was writing this letter. It is unlikely that Paul is indicating the Corinthians, the recipients of this letter, because he distinguishes the Corinthians from “we” by calling them “you” in 6:11–13. Yet, Paul’s intent here is to ask the Corinthians to join “us” in “our” ministry of reconciliation, even if it may bring them afflictions and hardships at times (verses 4–5). 

As we enter into Lent, we may interpret this first-person plural more rhetorically, as an invitation extended to anyone who reads this lesson. Since Lent is a season of penitential preparation, the emphasis on self-examination and repentance often makes this season quite individualistic. But Lent is a communal journey on which each Christian joins fellow Christians toward reconciliation. Paul’s plea can be a reminder that this season leads us to collective practices of repentance. 

Third, this is a season in which we are called to strive for God’s justice. In 5:21, Paul writes, “In [Christ] we might become the righteousness of God.” The Greek word for “righteousness” here is dikaiosynē, one of the words Paul frequently uses in his letters. Here, Paul associates righteousness with God, and this word carries a solid legal and covenantal connotation, as often seen in the Hebrew Scriptures (dikaiosynē can also mean a moral virtue or innocence, as we can see in Matthew 27:19, where Pilate’s wife calls Jesus righteous). 

The Septuagint translates sedeq as dikaiosynē throughout; later chapters of Isaiah (see chapters 58–59 in particular) are a good example of how God’s sedeq operates in a judicial sense. God’s righteousness is manifested in God’s work of vindicating the oppressed, punishing injustice, and eventually saving them. Paul is asking us to become the righteousness of God through Christ. And he reminds us that, since we have become God’s righteousness, our inward journeys need to be fulfilled by outward endeavors. This is a season in which we are invited to be more intentional about naming injustices around us and bringing God’s justice.