If you play a keyboard instrument and have studied any nineteenth century keyboard works, especially those of Johannes Brahms, you will know that you need to master the concept of two against three. This means one hand plays a series of eighth notes—or duplets—while the other hand plays triplets. Duple against triple or in some complicated instances, triple against quadruple.
Execution of these cross-rhythms is rather like patting your head and rubbing your stomach at the same time. But in all my experience as a pianist and organist, I discovered that the most effective way to master cross rhythms was to not let my left hand know what my right hand was doing, or vice versa. This requires focusing intently on the rhythm of one hand, which might be performing triplets, and letting your other hand effortlessly fall into eighth notes.
Trying to hear the contrasting rhythms all at the same time is liable to result in a collapse of the music. The goal, of course, is to settle into the composite rhythm, that sum-total effect of the duple and triple rhythms working together, where the right and left hands are indistinguishable one from the other.
In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus suggests that the spiritual practice of almsgiving has its own composite rhythm, in which the right and left hands are not consumed with the tasks of one another. I think Jesus’s point is that when the right hand is busy engaging in acts of charity, the left hand should be doing its own thing so as not to belabor the act of charity itself. Because if the mind and heart become too fixated on the acts of charity themselves, there is a danger of losing a sense of humility, and therefore undermining the very point of good works.
This principle, which we might dub the two against three principle, can apply to other actions that Jesus names. These include prayer and fasting, and we might add, for that matter, any acts of piety. The danger, we know, is when practices that are good and righteous in and of themselves become actions that instead draw attention to themselves.
Jesus always goes after the heart of the matter. God, he suggests, knows the intentions of your heart, so don’t worry about what other people perceive in your actions. The prayer, almsgiving, and fasting come with a shadow side that can draw more attention to the person performing the actions than to the individual’s relationship with God.
But this all seems a bit like a Catch-22 situation. If we follow the two against three principle in order to execute this cross-rhythmic way of the spiritual life, then, in some sense, we have to focus on either God or the acts that are intended to bring us closer to God. On the one hand, if we fixate only on our personal relationship with God, we potentially forsake opportunities to help those in need, or we forego practices of piety that shape us into more faithful Christians. On the other hand, if we become so obsessed with such practices and with our good works, then we turn in on ourselves and make it about us, rather than about God.
On this holy day, in which we engage in a vivid corporate action of repentance, we are especially reminded of the tensions between our actions and their intentions. Is there any more obviously ironic sign than putting ashes on our foreheads after hearing a Gospel reading that tells of the dangers of such a practice?
Today, of all days, we remind ourselves that to put ourselves in right relationship with God, we must focus, to a certain extent, on our own lives: on our sins of commission or omission, because otherwise, we find ourselves wandering far from God in a strange land. And yet, if we obsessively focus on our weaknesses and mortal nature, we neglect the image of God latent within us, and we shun God’s merciful arms that are always outstretched to embrace us. Yet again, if we only focus on God’s eternal mercy, we forget that we are sinners in need of redeeming, and we subscribe to cheap grace.
Is there a way out of this conundrum of the spiritual cross-rhythms? Will there only ever be the tension of two against three or three against two? Is there a way towards a more cohesive and seamless composite rhythm?
It might be that Ash Wednesday is the day on which we admit that this cross-rhythmic tension is always present, that indeed it is never possible to avoid the slight friction between tending to our spiritual practices and letting God absorb all of that work into his unspeakable grace.
And so, we will find ourselves, invariably, being more mindful at one time of our right hand, as it engages in almsgiving, fasting, or prayer, and then realizing that the triplets of our left hand, reminding us of God, who grounds all that we do, are being neglected. And we will, in turn, shift our attention to the left hand. And so on.
But if we are to settle into the composite rhythm of the spiritual life, we will need more and more practice. And with more practice, it will get easier, and that composite rhythm will get just a bit closer to where we want to be with God.
At the end of the day, we must remember that God always sees the composite rhythm of our spiritual lives. As we in our imperfection live uneasily in the tension between doing and being, the music still plays on. And God forgives the slight distortion in the left hand’s duplets, as we focus on the right hand’s triplets. This is God’s bountiful grace at work.
Let the ashes that you will receive this day be the right hand’s emphasis on the duplets as we tangibly remind ourselves of our own mortality. And then trust, that God is hearing our left hand’s triplets, which are reveling in the presence of a triune God carrying on with his boundless compassion, mercy, and forgiveness. And this is God’s composite rhythm of love.
Preached by Father Kyle Babin
Ash Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia