Two and a half weeks ago, we heard Jesus begin his Sermon on the Mount with the beatitudes. One is particularly relevant for us as we begin Lent: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” It’s an evocative image, where Jesus promises fulfillment for those who long for justice and righteousness in an unjust and crooked world. The righteousness Jesus talks about is God’s righteousness; the shalom where the broken relationships between God and humanity, humanity and the creation, and among human beings themselves are put right. That is the essence of what it means to be righteous—to be in right relationship with God, creation, and others.
But the way we often practice righteousness conflicts with God’s plan for shalom. That’s why I appreciate the updated translation we have in today’s Gospel. It’s not “beware of practicing your piety before others” anymore, but “beware of practicing your righteousness before others”. It’s the same Greek word as in the beatitude. By doing this, we get the contrast between two kinds of righteousness: performative righteousness, done for reward or reputation or the satisfaction of being right; and real righteousness, based on the love, grace, and mercy of God our Father through Jesus Christ and sent by their Spirit.
We know the dark side of human righteousness all too well. We know about self-righteousness: the smug certainty that one is totally right. We see it all the time today, from our public discourse to our relationships. There is something in us that just can’t stand being wrong, that always has to correct the record. Case in point: During the Cold War, Russian spies would exploit this burning desire to correct the record by liquoring up American sailors in port and then saying something like, “I heard that the German subs go about 35 knots but your submarines only go about 27.” The American sailors couldn’t help but correct the record, revealing classified information about their vessel’s speed.
But we don’t just have a need to correct the record. We also have a need to justify ourselves and our actions, even if it means making excuses for our poor decisions. (By the way, it’s odd that you only hear the word “justify” outside of a Christian context when something has gone horribly wrong, as in “justifiable homicide”.) We have a need to be right: right about our beliefs and right about our actions.
But there is such a thing as being right and being totally wrong at the same time. The policeman Javert from Les Misérables is the quintessential example. He is dogged in his pursuit of the convict Valjean, but shatters when he finds that he cannot act lawfully in arresting him without acting immorally, and vice versa. The religious leaders in Jesus’s day were another example; so right in following the law, and yet so wrong in following God’s intention for the law. The apostle Paul falls into this camp, too. This is a common pitfall in being human.
That’s why Ash Wednesday—and these words from Jesus—are such a gift. Jesus invites us today to consider why we do what we do. Do our actions, especially our those that are religiously motivated, cultivate the love, mercy, and grace of Jesus Christ in our lives? Do they reflect God’s shalom? If they don’t, which is inevitable, Jesus invites us to receive his righteousness and grace that washes away all our sins. Jesus invites us to remember our baptism, when the mark of the cross was placed on our heads forever. That mark, unlike the ashen mark we receive today, can never be washed away. Through receiving Jesus’s righteousness, we are freed from doing anything for appearances anymore. We don’t have to right in ourselves because we know Jesus has made us right with God by grace. That grace is for everyone, whoever you are or wherever you come from. It doesn’t matter what sins you committed before. It doesn’t matter what kind of family you grew up in. It doesn’t matter how smart you are or how much money you make. And it doesn’t matter how religious you are. Jesus’s call to be part of God’s shalom is for everyone, and that means freedom from self, particularly self-righteousness. Through Jesus Christ, Paul writes, we have been reconciled to God.
So, we are gifted these disciplines of Lent: prayer, giving, and fasting, to be practiced in whatever way cultivates God’s love, grace, mercy, and shalom within ourselves and our communities. In particular, here’s a way to consider fasting and giving this Lent. Rather than giving up alcohol or chocolate (or in addition to those things), what would it look like to fast from our grudges and grievances? What would it look like to fast from contempt and hatred? What would it look like to give gentleness in exchange for harshness; love in exchange for hate; mercy in exchange for hard-heartedness? Giving in that way may require fasting from our need to be right. But by God’s grace, such fasting may lead us to feast on God’s love more than we can imagine.
God’s blessing be on all of us this Lent, and God in Christ help us all to grow in faith, hope, and love through the power of their Spirit. Amen.
© 2026, David M. Fleener. Permission granted to copy and adapt original material herein for non-commercial purposes.