Pastor's Corner: Moths, thieves and rust

A long time ago, in a city far, far away, my wallet was stolen. Inside that wallet were a few precious mementos: a pillbox from my beloved aunt, a post-it note from a dear friend, a meaningful bit of an old bulletin. The wallet was a connection to where my heart was, and it was stolen.

A few days later, someone called me with good news: they'd found my wallet! When I picked it up from this Good Samaritan, I didn't care that the cash and credit card were gone - I'd expected that - I only cared about my keepsakes, my little treasures. But they were gone, too. While I had the wallet back, the piece of my heart it contained was gone forever.

A wise professor of the New Testament writes: "Stuff cannot ultimately protect us, and we cannot ultimately protect it." That's what Jesus means when he talks about moths, rust and thieves in the Sermon on the Mount. We read this part of Jesus's famous sermon on Ash Wednesday, and every year these verses challenge me: "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal, but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also" (Matthew 6:19-21).

When Jesus talks about moths, rust and thieves, he reminds us that our stuff is vulnerable to both natural and human forces, both unintentional wasting away and purposeful destruction. If our hearts care most for our stuff, if our treasure lies in what is easily damaged, what happens to our hearts when the stuff is lost?

The ashes we received last week are also a reminder that we ourselves are not indestructible or immortal. We, too, are painfully finite. Time teaches all of us that lesson. In Lent, we take the time and intentionality to probe: Where does our treasure lie?

Too often, we accumulate, obsess, and turn away from the needs of neighbors all around us while we stockpile resources for ourselves. Or, in the words of Isaiah, do we "share our bread with the hungry, bring the homeless poor into our homes, when we see the naked, do we cover them?" Food, shelter, clothing ... all things that bugs, time and thieves can take away from us. Do we share our treasure? Or do we grip ever more tightly?

We are encouraged to store up treasures - in heaven. What might those be?

When I think about this instruction from Jesus, to concentrate on the kind of treasures thieves can't break in and steal, I know it's not a warning to keep sentimental post-it notes or my favorite pill case in a safer place than my wallet. Because deep down, I can still recall those notes and that little penguin pillbox and smile; I can bring to mind the relationships those physical things were touchstones for.

A devotional guide by Pastor Erika Marksbury put my wallet theft in perspective: All along it was what the keepsakes pointed to, not the things themselves, that were really of value.

It's like the ash crosses we put on our foreheads. Eventually, the ashes washed off. We don't try to save the ashes from destruction. We know that their true value is what they point to: That our fragile and finite lives are wrapped up in God's eternal and immediate salvation. Yes, we are dust, but we are dust made alive by the breath of God, and when our breath fails and we return to dust, when the moth or rust or thief sneaks in and disease or age or disaster consumes us, the treasure of God's immeasurable love will bring us home. Even nine days after Ash Wednesday, the true treasure remains. God's love is more powerful than our sin or our death.

"For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." As we journey through Lent, as we ponder the treasures in our lives, may we find where our hearts truly are.

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Pastor Megan Hoewisch

First Lutheran Church