Scripture can be found here…
On the day after Christmas, 2004, I was in church when I heard about the earthquake and resulting tsunami off the coast of Indonesia. The devastation for people, for animals, for landscapes, for communities was almost unimaginable. Presbyterian Disaster Assistance was among the many, many agencies and governments whose donations, taken together, totaled more than $6 billion. People all over the world were incredibly generous.
As it turns out, so were animals. If you spend any time online, you may have seen them: the videos about animals adopting other animals. A Dalmatian adopts a black-and-white spotted lamb. A whale adopts a deformed dolphin. Koko the gorilla adopts a kitten. These stories tend to spark surprise, to make us stop and say, “Really? Isn’t that completely against nature? How can that be?” After the tsunami, one baby hippopotamus was left motherless and stranded on a reef. After rescue workers found the terrified little guy they took him to safety and named him Owen, but he continued to show signs of extreme distress. He was eventually released into a natural preserve in Kenya, where he quickly made the acquaintance of a 130-year-old giant male tortoise. Owen adopted the tortoise as his mother… and the tortoise, whose name was Mzee, pretty quickly decided that was ok with him, and responded with motherly, affectionate behavior.
A hippo and a tortoise.
As we begin our Lenten journey together this Ash Wednesday, we hear a familiar passage from Matthew’s gospel about three of those activities we think of as “the Lenten disciplines”: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. In a few minutes, we’ll be asked to take those on, along with self-examination and meditating on scripture. Finally, we will be asked to receive ashes, a sign that we understand what the human condition is: frail, vulnerable, not permanent—at least, not in a physical sense—and entirely dependent on others.
Ashes are a sign, among other things, that we need one another. We need each other like a baby hippo needs a 130-year-old tortoise.
And our gospel passage points that out. Jesus’ discussion of these practices of faith begins with the one that is most obviously about our caring for others: almsgiving, giving money for the care of those who need it, which our Presbyterian prayer book describes as “works of love.”
But prayer and fasting are about others people, too, as it turns out. As someone who has struggled with weight my whole life, it is easy to fall into thinking of Lent as an opportunity to get serious about my eating plan, to exercise more, to put away the sweets I enjoy so much.
But fasting can also be a practice to help us to gain empathy for those who are hungry—“food insecure” is the current parlance. If, and only if, your health permits it, abstaining from a particular food, or from all food for a brief, measured period, can be an opportunity to rest in the discomfort that is a reality for all too many people in our community and around the world. Brianna tells me that kids at Union-Endicott High School whose parents fall behind on their lunch fees are directed away from the main food choices of the day and given simple sandwiches—and everyone in the lunch-line knows exactly what is happening.
I know that the people of this congregation have compassion for those who don’t have the means to put enough food on the table, because you have given your money and your time and your energy to help alleviate hunger in our community. Fasting may or may not be a useful spiritual practice for you. If you try it, I encourage you to use it as an opportunity for prayer for those who hunger, and solidarity and empathy with them.
Prayer can also be a tool for empathy—a reminder of our connection to one another. I know that some of you pray for those whose names are on the prayer list that comes each month in the Tower newsletter. Theologian Karl Barth recommended that we pray with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Of course, God also invites us to pray for ourselves, opening our hearts to the Great Physician, the Healer of our every ill. But here, right smack in the middle of his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus recommends practices that can help us remember that we are connected to one another, that we need one another, like a spotted lamb needs a Dalmatian.
And there is good news, as we seek to deepen our connection to God and one another through our spiritual practices this Lent: the doctrine of Original Sin notwithstanding, scientific studies are showing with consistency that we human beings are hard-wired to be altruistic, to be empathetic, to cooperate with one another—and not just when it’s to our own advantage. And despite the fact that we are surprised when we hear that a monkey has been adopted by a wild boar, or a lioness has become mother to an antelope calf, it appears that animals, too, have genetic coding for empathy… I know this is no surprise to those of you who have beloved pets. We were all created by a loving God, and we were created for love.
That means, as the old song goes, You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear. Your empathy has to be trained out of you. Your ability to ignore the plight of those who are suffering or struggling has to be instilled in you by some source outside yourself. Empathetic, is how God made us. Anything else is a deviation from God’s plan.
As our Lenten journey begins, Jesus reminds us, in his advice about these simple practices, that we have been created by a loving God, for love. His strong recommendation is that we don’t worry too much about who knows we’re doing these things… that’s best left between ourselves and God, if we can manage it. But at the heart of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus goes to the heart of the matter, and helps us to lay the groundwork for our walk with him.
We have been created for one another. In our giving, in our serving, in our prayer, and even in the most modest kinds of self-denial, we open a space for our relationship with God at the same time we help to grow and strengthen our connections with one another. We need God—the sign of the ashes reminds us—and we need each other, like an orphaned baby hippo needs an elderly tortoise.
Thanks be to God. Amen.