Mark 9:30-37

30 They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; 31 for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, "The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again." 32 But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. 33 Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, "What were you arguing about on the way?" 34 But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. 35 He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." 36 Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, 37 "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me."

Jesus puts it all out there. Surrounded by his closest circle, he speaks clearly of who he is as the Son of Man and what will inevitably come - betrayal, death, and resurrection. Jesus puts it all on the table and out in the open. In his teaching, Jesus offers an understanding that this journey to the redemption of the world, toward justice and resurrection, through death and back…will not be smooth. It is not without struggle or heartache. Jesus is vulnerable and honest about who he is and what it will mean for their life together. Jesus shows the deeply interwoven nature of humanity and divinity. At Christmastide, we exclaim “God is here!” now Jesus explains that God is here to engage the fullness of humanity which includes death. God doesn’t skip over or out of the uncomfortable or uneasy bits.

Upon hearing from their beloved teacher and leader that he’ll be gone from them before long, that the road they walk is full of stumbling blocks...they clamor to make meaning of it. Perhaps they were afraid to let their vulnerability, their lack of understanding known. Perhaps they were worried it might expose them as somehow lesser. Perhaps the open space of uncertainty made the uncomfortable, so they determined to fill it with something, anything. Perhaps their life experience, steeped in the real-world of empire that runs on hierarchy and position, privilege and prominence, status and security and dominance - and assigning ultimate value to people accordingly...perhaps this muscle memory caused them to make moves that reflect THAT way of being. They find themselves chasing greatness when goodness is standing in their midst.

Some part of their being must sense the disconnect...between what Jesus has been talking about all this time, the world that is transforming into a new thing, and the one they can’t seem to shake. Perhaps that’s what sin is, a rending dissonance that runs clear through to our souls. When Jesus invites them into conversation with him, to re-connect, to make themselves known...they fall silent and hide. When God walked through the Garden of creation and called for Adam and Eve, they too were silent and hid. They had been lured by power that breaks relationship and knew that this was a violation of what God had created. And this truth is one we are hesitant to make known, to give voice to, to make public.

And yet, before they can find the words, Jesus knows the truth. God sees us for our full selves - our beautiful messiness. Jesus knows their questions, their humanity and gives it voice. He puts it all out in the open and on the table and addresses it directly.

Ash Wednesday invites us to look ourselves in the mirror and face ourselves and our world honestly. We smear a big black cross across our bodies so that we can no longer dance around difficulty, but see it clearly. It’s an opportunity for us to look deal honestly with who we are and what we are. These ashes are an ancient symbol of grief which is appropriate as we mourn continued injustice and isolation. These ashes point to the earth of creation and the earth of the grave because yes, we are messy and mortal. And yes, that is often a somber and sobering truth. But today is a day that we can let go of trying to keep it all in or tidy it all up. Today is a day that invites us to wear our fragility and vulnerability on our sleeves, on our hands, right in the middle of our faces. They’ve always been a part of us, but now we have to look at it.

I find that terrifying, but also liberating. Because when death and pain and no longer need be hidden, it cannot control us. Like Harry Potter who daringly insists on calling Voldemort by his name, he dissolves the insurmountable power of evil as euphemism. Because anything we’re too afraid to name is given more power to than it deserves. Facing it and speaking of it with openness, is a revolutionary power. Today we can give up on pretending that everything is always sunny or smudge-free. We can let go of keeping appearances palatable for polite society.

It’s like the bearded lady in The Greatest Showman who’s heart is broken open by hurt that creates a song of defiant proclamation, “this is me.” It’s like Home Alone’s Kevin McAllister running out to the sidewalk screaming “I’m not afraid anymore. I said, I’m not afraid anymore! Do you hear me? I’m not afraid anymore!” Even if we are still a bit afraid...we’re MORE afraid of living the rest of our lives hiding under the bed or behind a mask.

James Baldwin wrote: “Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within. I use the word "love" here not merely in the personal sense but as a state of being, or a state of grace - not in the infantile American sense of being made happy but in the tough and universal sense of quest and daring and growth.”

Today we bury our masks and refuse to be incapacitated by the fear of what’s behind it. In this surprising and subversive way, wearing our mortality openly proclaims that death no longer has dominion. Death and its henchmen don’t get to dictate or define our world. And so this mark of death is transformed into a mark of life. And so perhaps we find that there is beauty in the darkness too. Perhaps we find that alongside our struggle, there is also sparkle, and that even the depth of sin is no match for the depth of God’s blessing.

Ashes are such incredible things. This signal of death and decay is also a catalyst for restoration and growth. After all, all dust is stardust, one with the cosmos, connecting us to all of creation across space and time. Ash is a critical ingredient of cleansing soap and it is an excellent fertilizer - enriching the soil and returning critical nutrients back into the ground. My chickens bathe in dust and ash because it actually protects them from parasites.

Jesus doesn't call the disciples OUT, but calls them IN - to this kind of transformative vision for the world. He Invites them to witness what welcome and embrace can do. Jesus teaches, not only to their heads - pushing them toward a “right” kind of think or understanding, but with his hands - showing them what this new creation looks like. Jesus embodies it, even unto the complete surrender of self. And that is truly powerful, true greatness.

God wades into the waters of betrayal and shame and death with us. God chooses to dwell in the dust and the ash, and among children - the most vulnerable of the time . God shows sacred relationship that is not competitive or exploitative, but caring. God practices not only passive welcome but actively creates room, expands the circle, centers the marginalized, and leads by serving and advocating. God reveals a new kind of clear vision that sees all that we think we’ve cleverly tucked into corners, or hidden behind others, draws its out, and holds us all close. This. This is who we are. This is what a cross becomes through the power of God. This is the truth we bear on our bodies and carry into the world. This is a love that can’t be unseen. Thanks be to God.

A Sermon for Ash Wednesday