Beyond Those Sorry Ashes

I saw him stretched out on a park bench early yesterday, asleep in the morning sun. I passed him by on my way into the village to get a cup of coffee.

His clothing was soiled and worn, his shirt more than a size too small, stretched and partly covering his bare backside. I wondered if he felt the cold at night, or if the chill had been offset by drink. A small grimy knapsack cushioned his head.

“By the time I finish my coffee and return, a concerned citizen will undoubtedly have given him the ‘bum’s rush’, or the cops will have had him move on, I figured. In this upscale seaside village, a homeless person sleeping on a park bench is unusual and unwelcome.

I felt sorry for the poor man, and I felt sorry that there is no place for people like him here. The thought crossed my mind that I should bring him a coffee and a breakfast sandwich and stop by for a chat before heading on to church. But it was only a fleeting thought, he would probably be gone by then anyhow. I’d hate to waste a cup of coffee and a sandwich.

Walking back through the park I saw that he was still asleep on the bench. As I came closer, I noticed that his bare backside was now covered by a nice clean blanket. People don’t walk around the village carrying blankets, so it must have come from someone’s car or home, someone who did more than just feel sorry for a homeless man on a park bench.

I often beat myself up for not doing what I can, when I can, in response to people in need or trouble. And after I beat myself up for it and grovel in guilt, I begin feeling better. Perhaps cleansed in a way. It happened again when I got to church.

The homeless man was already out of mind, I had knelt and done my penance before the service started. Later, the preacher mentioned the bloodshed in Ukraine and the thousands of people fleeing from their homes in fear. We all felt sorry for them. Our hearts went out to the beleaguered, suffering people and families of Ukraine. So, we joined our voices in praying together for God to be merciful and watch over them, and for justice to prevail. In a weird way it felt good to feel sorry for them and to pray. What more could we (I) do.?

Ash Wednesday is this week. In my church tradition as in others this is a day of repentance and fasting to mark the beginning of Lent. Many Christians observe the day in church services that involve ashes being used to mark the sign of the cross on their foreheads. Some people wear those ashes all day as a sign of their repentance and spiritual mortification.

The problem with me feeling sorry for people in trouble and my repentance is that it often is an end in itself. A kind of self-serving religiosity that makes me feel better, without making things right for others or bringing relief to those who are suffering. The problem of mere repentance disconnected from ‘bold’ action is one of self-justification. I repent primarily so I will feel better, less guilty, yet without extending help to the man on the park bench or to Ukrainians fleeing for their lives in search of safety, food, and shelter.

This morning I made the mistake of reading a passage from Isaiah that speaks to the endemic self-serving spiritual impotence of Christianity in our affluent western culture. I wonder what true repentance might lead to, what it would look like for me – for us who say we follow Jesus?

‘Why have we fasted,’ they say,
    ‘and you have not seen it?
Why have we humbled ourselves,
    and you have not noticed?’
“Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please
    and exploit all your workers.
Your fasting ends in quarreling and strife,
    and in striking each other with wicked fists.
You cannot fast as you do today
    and expect your voice to be heard on high.
Is this the kind of fast I have chosen,
    only a day for people to humble themselves?
Is it only for bowing one’s head like a reed
    and for lying in sackcloth and ashes?
Is that what you call a fast,
    a day acceptable to the Lord?
“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
    and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
    and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry
    and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe them,
    and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
    and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness[a] will go before you,
    and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.
Then you will call, and the Lord will answer;
    you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
“If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
    with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
    and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
    and your night will become like the noonday.