The promise to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, that their descendants would dwell in the land of Canaan[1], lived on after Jacob died in Egypt.[2] On Wednesday night gone, our reading from Genesis ended with Jacob’s son Joseph requiring a promise by that his body would be embalmed and would be carried into the land promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob when God visited them and fulfilled the covenant.[3]

The man born blind did not ask Jesus for anything. He did not know who smeared dirt on him and sent him to wash. I can’t help but think that in the moment he was manhandled, it would have seemed to him to be just another one of the humiliations like those he had known all his life. Yet at the heart of this story, New Testament scholar Sandra Schneiders points out, is the unnamed man’s commitment to the law of God given to Moses, “You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.”[1] The truth—lower case “t” for the sense of what is true, not false, and capital “T” for the one who is the “Way, the Truth, and the Life”[2]—sets him free in more ways than he could have imagined before he could see.

I pulled out the Theological Dictionary of the New Testament the other day to look up the entry for a word that I’ve been paying more attention to since last Easter. The gospel for Easter morning, of course, is John’s account of the resurrection—Mary Magdalene, Peter and the disciple we know only as “the disciple Jesus loved” at the tomb. Quite honestly, I was looking for something to help me with John—on which I think I have preached for 28 Easter mornings in a row—so I turned to Matthew. It’s the only other gospel where the risen Jesus himself speaks on the morning of the resurrection. And I got lucky.

In this lectionary year, we started reading Genesis at Evensong on the First Sunday after the Epiphany. We began at the beginning with the first creation story. We’ve had two Sundays away from Genesis. We picked up Genesis last Monday with what Genesis calls the story of the family of Jacob, but it’s really the story of Joseph. And that’s where we are tonight. During the fourth week of Lent, we will move from Genesis to Exodus. But this year, like most years, we will end up hearing almost all of Genesis through the Sundays and weekdays at Evening Prayer.

In the background of today’s gospel lesson are words from a song of Moses found in Deuteronomy, which  “Moses spoke . . . in the ears of all the assembly of Israel.[1]I He said to the assembly, “You were unmindful of the Rock that begot you, and you forgot the God who gave you birth.”[2] Into the world of the descendants of that assembly of Israel, the Word of God was made flesh. Salvation no longer belonged to the old covenant but is the gift to all who believe and become children of God,[3] to all who are born from above by the Spirit.[4]

Dr. Mark Davis in his online scripture blog, “Left Behind and Loving it,”[1] suggests, for grammatical reasons, that instead of hearing the devil say, “If you are the Son of God, [then] command these stones . . . throw yourself down [from the building]; . . . fall down and worship me,”[2] we should only use the word “if” in the first two tests. Instead, we should use the word, “since.” Checking the dictionary, he’s not wrong.[3]

The first record of ashes being used by Christians in association with penitence comes from sixth-century Spain.[1] Ashes were given to penitents who, because of serious public sin, had been publicly excommunicated.[2] A ritual for the imposition of ashes is found in the altar book for the bishop of Mainz, now Germany, in the tenth century as part of the liturgy at the beginning of Lent.[3] In spite of the words of Jesus that we just heard—always associated with the Mass for the beginning of Lent—at the end of the eleventh century, Pope Urban II decided ashes would be offered to everyone on this day in the Western Church.[4] Maybe not this year with the rain, but most years, in our city of New York, more people will enter churches today for ashes than on any other day of the year and for any other reason. I know of no other city where this is true. So what do ashes mean for us? What can ashes mean for us?

Augustine of Hippo thought Mark’s gospel was an abstract from Matthew,[1] though I’m sure many thoughtful readers over the centuries must have realized this made no sense. As Raymond Brown pointed out: why would Mark leave out things like Jesus’ birth and the Lord’s Prayer or decide to include Jesus saying, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone.”[2]