Ash Wednesday
"Yet even now,"says the Lord, "turn to me with all your heart, and with fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning." Tear your heart and not your garments, and turn to the Lord, your God; for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abundant in loving kindness, and relents from sending calamity. Who knows? He may turn and relent, and leave a blessing behind him, even a meal offering and a drink offering to the Lord, your God. Blow the trumpet in Zion! Sanctify a fast. Call a solemn assembly. Gather the people. Sanctify the assembly. Assemble the elders. Gather the children, and those who nurse from breasts. Let the bridegroom go out of his room, and the bride out of her chamber. Let the priests, the ministers of the Lord, weep between the porch and the altar, and let them say, "Spare your people, Lord, and don't give your heritage to reproach, that the nations should rule over them. Why should they say among the peoples, 'Where is their God?'" Then the Lord was jealous for his land, and had pity on his people.
For I know my transgressions. My sin is constantly before me. Against you, and you only, I have sinned, and done that which is evil in your sight, so you may be proved right when you speak, and justified when you judge.
Behold, I was born in iniquity. My mother conceived me in sin. Behold, you desire truth in the inward parts. You teach me wisdom in the inmost place.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation. Uphold me with a willing spirit. Then I will teach transgressors your ways. Sinners will be converted to you.
"Be careful that you don't do your charitable giving before men, to be seen by them, or else you have no reward from your Father who is in heaven. Therefore, when you do merciful deeds, don't sound a trumpet before yourself, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may get glory from men. Most certainly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you do merciful deeds, don't let your left hand know what your right hand does, so that your merciful deeds may be in secret, then your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly.
"When you pray, you shall not be as the hypocrites, for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen by men. Most certainly, I tell you, they have received their reward. But you, when you pray, enter into your inner room, and having shut your door, pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly.
"Moreover when you fast, don't be like the hypocrites, with sad faces. For they disfigure their faces that they may be seen by men to be fasting. Most certainly I tell you, they have received their reward. But you, when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, so that you are not seen by men to be fasting, but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father, who sees in secret, will reward you.
The ashes we receive today mark us as people who belong somewhere else. There's something profoundly counter-cultural about walking through our ordinary Wednesday with a smudge on our foreheads, carrying this visible reminder that we are dust and to dust we shall return.
Joel's call to "tear your heart and not your garments" cuts right to the core of what Lent asks of us. In ancient times, people would tear their clothing as a public sign of grief or repentance, but the prophet pushes deeper—God wants the interior transformation, not just the external show. This tension between inner and outer runs straight through Matthew's Gospel as well, where Jesus warns against performing our spiritual practices for human applause.
The paradox is striking: we begin Lent with a very public ritual, receiving ashes that mark us visibly, yet the readings emphasize hiddenness and secrecy in our spiritual lives. What emerges is an invitation to live with holy inconsistency—to let our commitment to this season be known while keeping our individual acts of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving private and unpretentious.
Consider how this plays out in the small moments. The extra patience we offer a difficult colleague, the prayer we whisper while stuck in traffic, the dessert we quietly skip—these hidden acts of love accumulate in ways that transform us from the inside out. There's a tenderness in God's desire to meet us in secret, away from the noise of others' expectations and our own need for recognition.
The movement here is from performance to authenticity, from seeking human approval to resting in divine love. Lent offers us forty days to practice this shift, one ordinary moment at a time.
What hidden acts of love might God be inviting you toward this Lent? How can you create space for the secret encounters with God that truly change us?