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Today, before we left our home, most of us looked in a mirror. We checked our hair, our clothes, maybe our face.
Mirrors are honest. They show us what is
really there — no filters, no touch-ups. In a few moments, we will come forward
and receive ashes. And those ashes will turn our foreheads into a kind of
mirror. Not a mirror that reflects our appearance—but one that reflects our
heart.
Ash Wednesday is not about looking holy.
In fact, Jesus warns us directly in today’s Gospel: “Do not perform
righteous deeds in order that people may see them.” Lent is not a spiritual
performance. It is not about impressing others with how disciplined, how
prayerful, or how sacrificial we can be. It is about something far more
personal and far more beautiful. It is about returning.
Through the prophet Joel, we hear God
plead: “Return to me with your whole heart.” Not with part of it. Not
with the leftover pieces. Not with outward signs only. But with your whole
heart.
And notice what God says next: “Rend
your hearts, not your garments.” In the ancient world, people tore their
clothing as a sign of grief or repentance. But God is not interested in
dramatic gestures. He wants honesty. He wants the tear to happen inside. He
wants whatever is hardened, divided, distracted, or wounded in us to be opened
before Him.
Psalm 51 gives us the words when we
don’t know what to say: “Create in me a clean heart, O God.” That is the
true work of Lent. We cannot create a clean heart on our own. We cannot scrub
away sin by sheer effort. But we can ask. We can open. We can return.
And here is the beautiful irony of
today: Jesus tells us to fast, pray, and give alms in secret. Yet we walk
around today with ashes visible on our foreheads.
Isn’t that public? Yes—and no. The ashes
are not a badge of honor. They are not a spiritual trophy. They are a quiet
confession worn in public: “I am dust. I need mercy. I am returning.”
Ashes remind us of two truths we often
avoid. First, we are fragile. “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you
shall return.” Our time, our plans, our control—none of it is permanent.
Second, and more importantly: dust is
not the end of the story. The same God who formed Adam from the dust can reform
our hearts. The same God who raised Jesus from the tomb can raise us from sin.
So as you come forward today, don’t
think of the ashes as something placed on you. Think of them as something
opened within you. Let them be a mirror. Let them reveal where you have
drifted. Let them remind you that it is not too late.
Because the God who calls you to return
is, as Joel says, “gracious and merciful, slow to anger, rich in kindness.”
Lent is not about proving ourselves to God. It is about allowing ourselves to
be loved back to life.
Return to Him—with your whole heart.
