Public Piety: A Sermon for Ash Wednesday

The Rev’d Richard G. Proctor, OA CtK Episcopal Church Ash Wednesday: 3.2.22

I’ll never forget one night when I was living and going to seminary in New York City. It had begun to rain, so I was hurrying down 20th Street toward the entrance gate to General Seminary, so I could get back to the shelter of my dorm room. But as I was approaching the gate to the seminary, I saw - out of the corner of my eye - a taxicab pulled over to the curb, and its driver leaning down beside his car. Bummer, I thought to myself. That cabbie has flat tire and has to change it in this downpour. And for a cab driver, lost time is lost money. And then I thought to myself, “Why, oh God, did you have to place me in this classic moral predicament tonight, in the pouring rain, right outside the walls of my seminary campus?!” There is no way I can hurry inside to my warm, dry dorm room, while this cab driver is losing money by the minute while he changes his tire in the rain. So, in a split second, somehow, my sense of solidarity with humankind overcame my instinct for self-preservation, and I stopped to help the guy change his tire. But as I got closer, I realized something was a little bit odd. This man had pulled a mat out of his car to kneel on while he changed his tire. But wait a minute...there was no jack, the trunk wasn’t open, and no spare tire in sight. And just as I was about to inquire about what had happened, and how I could help, I realized that the cab driver didn’t have a flat tire, or any sort of car trouble for that matter. He was simply praying.  Right there in the pouring down rain, on the sidewalk of 20th Street in New York City. I guess he realized it was that time of day, so he pulled over his cab, pulled out his prayer rug, spread it on the sidewalk, and began saying his prayers to Allah. I quickly diverted my trajectory back towards the seminary gate, amused at my small-town naïveté.  

When I got back to my room, I couldn’t get this encounter out of my mind.  I felt humbled by this faithful Muslim. Here I was, studying to become a priest – a spiritual leader in the community – and I knew good and well it was hard enough for me to get down on my knees in the cozy confines of my dorm room and pray once a day, much less to do so multiple times a day - rain or shine, wherever I happened to be or whatever I happened to be doing - and offer my whole self in prayer to God. 

With this story in mind, does today’s gospel lesson set me free from any guilt or shame I was feeling? Can I let myself off the hook by remembering that Jesus said, “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your father in heaven… And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others… But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” Can we lean on this passage from Matthew to relieve us of any sense of responsibility of outwardly displaying our faith more publicly and more often like this cab driver in New York City? And if this passage frees us of such a responsibility, why is it that on Ash Wednesday - perhaps the one day that we do go public with our faith, wearing crosses of ash on our foreheads at the grocery store, the doctor’s office, at work, or at school – why is it on this one day that we are given this lesson from the whole breadth of our holy scriptures? To most of us, it seems counterintuitive. And it certainly makes the preacher’s a lot more challenging.

One thing to consider is who and what Jesus was addressing in when he was preaching the Sermon on the Mount, which is where this passage comes from. Though many folks want to think of him this way, Jesus wasn’t this mystic sage who wandered around speaking prescribed prophetic truths to whoever would listen. Rather, much of what Jesus said was in response to who and what he encountered in the moment. And obviously, when he was preaching the Sermon on the Mount, he had encountered a good bit of what he felt was inauthentic, public displays of piety. And it bothered him enough to where he decided that it would be better if these folks prayed in the privacy of their own home. Perhaps in the midst of their newfound solitude, they would be forced to contemplate the words they were praying.

So, what correctives would Jesus challenge us with today? Would he be put off by our public displays of piety here in Santa Rosa Beach, like he was with the Jews he encountered in Palestine? Would he recommend that we not put ashes on our foreheads and go out into the world showing where we’ve been and what we believe? I don’t think so. So while it may appear to be counterintuitive to have this reading from Matthew at a service where we mark our foreheads with the sign of the cross for the whole world to see, I think if we look more closely, we can see that Jesus is challenging his listeners – both then and today – to practice our faith in a manner that is authentic, genuine, but also a bit challenging, and possibly out of our comfort zones.  For some folks, particularly the ones Jesus was addressing, being alone in utter silence with only their thoughts, their feelings, and with only God Almighty as their audience, is utterly terrifying. But perhaps it is also what they need. And for others, perhaps many of us Episcopalians here today, the comfort zone is one of privacy and secrecy. So, the idea of going public with our faith is an unpleasant thought. 

I know public displays of faith weren’t part of my upbringing. So much so that when I was walking down 20th Street in New York last year, and saw a Muslim praying on the sidewalk, I thought he had a flat tire. Here he was, stopping everything, getting out of his car on a crowded New York street, in the pouring rain, and saying his prayers. And there I was, unlocking and entering the iron gate of General Seminary so I could return to the safety and security of the more private piety that we practiced inside. 

So perhaps the word for us this Ash Wednesday, and for this Lenten Season that is upon us, is Jesus’ invitation for us to step away from the expressions of piety that have become routine, safe, or even inauthentic for us. Maybe this is the season for us to explore new places and new mediums through which we can have a radically new and invigorating encounter with the Holiest of Holies in ways that we may have never imagined before.