“Beware of practicing your righteousness before others in order to be seen by them, for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
2 “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 3 But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your alms may be done in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
5 “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. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 6 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.
16 “And whenever you fast, do not look somber, like the hypocrites, for they mark their faces to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 17 But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 18 so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
19 “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal, 20 but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
My homily from Ash Wednesday (February 18, 2026), noon worship, on Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21.
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So as I was preparing for today’s service, I couldn’t help but think about two blessings I’ve participated in over these last few weeks. As many of you know, we recently publicly welcomed two new people into the body of Christ. One was just this last Sunday, Callie, who just turned 1 on the 13th. When she showed up at worship, she quickly grabbed a hold of two of my fingers and then dragged me up and down the altar stairs. She was full of energy and then, during the baptismal liturgy itself, she was fast asleep. The warm water I poured over the back of her head caused her to stir but when I made the sign of the cross on her forehead – she almost snored. The other blessing I had was, on February 1st, getting to do something I don’t do a lot: and that’s participate in the baptism of an adult. Sam is a young adult who had, for a number of years, felt the Spirit stirring in his life. He came to us because he got to watch worship through our livestream even though he was, for a while, working on Sunday mornings. And then he discovered what it’s like to be part of CLC when once he could come to worship, we immediately drafted him to help de-decorate the sanctuary after Christmas. He, unlike Callie, was very awake during the baptismal liturgy and he had to bend down while I poured the water over his head. And when I got to mark the cross on his forehead, I paused for just a second because it, in a very vivid way, reminded me of what’s going to happen in just a few moments. Ash Wednesday is, rightly, a very vivid reminder of what it means to be human. I’ll take the very gritty and tangible bits of burned up ashes of palm branches, rub it all over my thumb, make a visible smudge of what’s supposed to be two intersecting lines on your forehead, and then say words about all of us returning to what we’ve come from. These ashes can be, for some, an invitation to break through all the different ways we try to pretend we’re not completely human. But they can also be for those who’ve experienced their own mortality in tangible ways, like having a cough caught in the throat. When fear, sadness, worry, and anxiety grip our souls – the last thing we want is to go into a small space to have even more of that stuff piled on top of us.
Yet I wonder if these ashes can also, at the same time, be a symbol for hope. They are not only pointing us to where we come from; they’re also, at the same time, revealing where we are going. This isn’t only ash; it’s ash in the shape of what we built to end Jesus’ story. It’s an invitation to not only recognize authentically who we are but whose we are too. And if God was willing to put on dust, then we can also embrace what has already been sealed on us – and trust we really matter; we have value; and we already have what we need to let others know how loved they are too.
A poem, Blessing the Dust, by Jan Richardson
All those days
you felt like dust,
like dirt,
as if all you had to do
was turn your face
toward the wind
and be scattered
to the four corners
or swept away
by the smallest breath
as insubstantial—
did you not know
what the Holy One
can do with dust?
This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.
This is the hour
we are marked
by what has made it
through the burning.
This is the moment
we ask for the blessing
that lives within
the ancient ashes,
that makes its home
inside the soil of
this sacred earth.
So let us be marked
not for sorrow.
And let us be marked
not for shame.
Let us be marked
not for false humility
or for thinking
we are less
than we are
but for claiming
what God can do
within the dust,
within the dirt,
within the stuff
of which the world
is made
and the stars that blaze
in our bones
and the galaxies that spiral
inside the smudge
we bear.
Amen.