Ash Wednesday

witness

intransitive verb

1: to bear witness : testify
2: to bear witness to one's religious convictions witness for Christ — Billy Graham>

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Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of the season of Lent, a time of repentance leading to Easter. A lot of us associate Lent with the idea of giving something up, of sacrificing something. Typically things like booze, chocolate, gambling, porn...you get the idea. Growing up I never had much of an understanding of its meaning beyond that most basic idea of sacrificing something you enjoyed. From what I've read recently, I have a better understanding (I think) of Lent as a time not only of sacrifice, but of a greater commitment to prayer and good works. A time of preparing and trying to make myself more open to receive God’s love.

Please forgive my poor attempts to talk about theology here. I really don't have the knowledge or language for it. As I mention occasionally, I have struggled for years with my faith, my lack of faith, and my relationship with God. I just wanted to set the stage for what I wanted to talk about.

Ash Wednesday this year found us in New Orleans, and we ended up spending much of the day talking about faith and religious observation. We received our ashes in a Catholic church for the first time in years. The church we wandered into was Immaculate Conception on Baronne Street. We read the message from the pastor and were impressed in that it stressed doing something positive for Lent instead of just giving up something. In other words, I shouldn't just give up bourbon for the next 40 days--I need to take that booze money and donate it to a worthy cause. Stuff like that.

Now here's what struck both of us. The Gospel reading was from Matthew, Chapter 6:

1

¹ "(But) take care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them; otherwise, you will have no recompense from your heavenly Father.

2

When you give alms, do not blow a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites ² do in the synagogues and in the streets to win the praise of others. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward.

3

But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right is doing,

4

so that your almsgiving may be secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you.

5

"When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners so that others may see them. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward.

6

But when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you.

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I italicized a couple of those lines for a reason.

We were not prepared on Mardi Gras for the large numbers of self-identified Christians who flooded the French Quarter. When I say self-identified I don't mean that I could tell they were Christians by their conduct, good works or preaching. I mean self-identified because they wore matching tee shirts with "JESUS" emblazoned on them, or crosses, or words like "FEAR GOD HATE SIN"...or I recognized them once I got close enough to hear them screaming. Not preaching, screaming.

I turned to MizBubs at one point and asked her what kind of faith could drive someone to this kind of behavior? We saw several different groups. The largest group was in Jackson Square, decked out in matching blue tee shirts:



They had a band set up on the steps of the Presbytere that was playing some moderately upbeat contemporary worship music. They were not yelling at anyone. We paused to check them out and MizBubs asked me what I noticed. I was stumped.

"They're all men. There's not a single woman with them."

Now, to their credit, I didn't see them confronting people on Bourbon Street or getting in anyone's face. I think that maybe what they were doing was bearing some type of relatively quiet witness to the debauchery going on everywhere else in the French Quarter that night.

The next group we saw was right in the middle of the crowd on Bourbon Street:

Obviously they had to work harder to get noticed, what with nearly everyone around them being drunk or obsessed with catching a glimpse of some naked lady breasts or both. In addition to displaying a big "TRUST JESUS" sign and a helpful list of sins for which we'll be judged, they were engaging in a fair amount of screaming.

Angry, veins-throbbing-in-the-neck screaming. Like the group in Jackson Square, it was an all-male revue. Maybe they felt that they could not expose their women folk to this volume of sin. Because of where they were, they were a magnet for every loudmouth drunk and party girl who felt like taunting them. It was a strange spectacle.

Now let's assume that these are genuine people of faith, and not merely people seeking attention, or appearing in public for their own aggrandizement. Maybe back home they lead everyday lives full of quiet prayer, modesty and works of charity. What would make them think that they were doing anything Godly by planting themselves right in the middle of Bourbon street and becoming part of the freakshow? By wading in there with those crazy signs they just became one more part of the carnival sideshow. Did they, on some level, savor the abuse they got from passersby, and feel like they were suffering for the Lord? Did they believe they were fighting the good fight and bearing witness? I don't know.

MizBubs mentioned that she thought a few of them might be making extensive use of the in-room porn at their motel rooms later that night, or otherwise pleasuring themselves to their adrenaline-charged Bourbon Street memories...

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I saved the worst for last.

On Ash Wednesday we strolled over to Jackson Square and got there just as the noon mass was letting out. There were hundreds of people coming out of church, and the priests were standing outside greeting the parishioners as they left. There were the usual crowds of people in Jackson Square, the fun mix of tourists, fortune tellers, artists and gutter punks all milling around.

Then we heard the screaming, and noticed the police cars.

A small group of zealots were taking turns screaming at the people leaving the cathedral. They were all wearing shirts that identified them as "Christians" (I should probably use the Coaster Punchman "Kristians" to describe these wackadoos). The first one I noticed was their videographer--yes, they had a video guy saving the memories--because at first I thought his tee shirt said "I AM A HOLY ROYAL PEST".



There was also a "REPENT OR PERISH" shirt on one of the worst screamers. The invective pouring from his lips was horrifying to witness.

It was then that we noticed something truly moving. As the different screamers would take their turn, a different parishioner would calmly step in front of them, placing themselves between the spitting rage of the bible thumper and the people leaving the church. They would stand there, silently, and absorb all that hate.





I wish I had known how to work the video function on our camera better, but that was what I got.

So, in terms of bearing witness, whose faith is deeper and more righteous? I'll go with the average Joe or Jane who takes it on him or herself to stand humbly in the face of rage directed at their church.

I know I'm not a good Christian. Anyone who's ever visited this blog knows I am a sinner, and I know I am as well. I understand that to many people of faith, things I find entertaining might be considered worldly at best, and deeply sinful at worst. I can understand being called by your faith to protest an injustice or evil. I can see that something like Mardi Gras, or the whole French Quarter for that matter, might be seen as a perfect emblem of sin, full of drunks and degenerates. I don't agree with it, but I understand it.

Here's my point.

What happened to the idea of letting people know you are Christian by your humility, by your kindness, by your treatment of others? After seeing all the proclamations of faith in the form of signs and tee shirts and yelling through megaphones, I ask myself: how is this behavior in line with what is asked of us in Matthew?

For all those dozens of men out on Bourbon Street waving signs and yelling, there were dozens of lost souls puking in doorways and passing out. There were young men and women crying by themselves after being abandoned by the friends they arrived with. For the biggest party in America, there were a lot of very sad and lonely-looking people on the fringes of that crowd. I'm sure they could have been ministered to--if that was ever the intent of all those tee shirt wearing, sign waving men.

I'm just saying.