“Thank God I’m not like that other guy. He deserves what’s coming to him.”

That is essentially the attitude Jesus warns us about in the Gospel. If we come here tonight seeking a reward for how good we think we are, we may not like what we hear. During Lent we often hear the same warning again and again: Do not become like the hypocrite.

But the real danger of Lent is that we might turn it into a comparison game. We look around and think, At least I’m not like that person. We measure ourselves against others and somehow convince ourselves we’re doing just fine. Give that up. Lent is not about examining other people. Lent is about examining ourselves. And when we do that honestly, we may not always like what we see. In some ways, Lent is a lot like aging, it’s not for sissies. It’s serious work. It’s a time to set aside things that weigh us down and to take on practices that draw us closer to God. But why? Not so that we can appear more pious than others. Not so we can say, “Look at me, I’m doing Lent better than you.” In the sacramental life of the Church, we often say that a sacrament is an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. Ash Wednesday invites us to live that mystery.

Yes, today we receive ashes on our foreheads. But the purpose is not to display our piety to the world. It’s not so we can take selfies or post pictures of the cross on our foreheads. The ashes are not about broadcasting holiness. They are about humility. They invite us to pause, together as a community, and ponder the mystery of God in our lives. They invite us to ask difficult questions, especially about the person we see in the mirror. When we look at the sign of the cross traced in ashes, we see Christ in the most painful moment of His life. The cross is the ugliest form of punishment the ancient world could devise: humiliation, suffering, and death. And yet Christ embraced it. He did this so that we might face the parts of ourselves we do not like to see. Every one of us carries something, failures, regrets, insecurities, sins we wish were not there.

I’ll be the first to admit that sometimes I don’t like what I see in the mirror. The temptation, of course, is to look away, or worse, to look at someone else and compare. But Lent calls us to resist that temptation. For forty days and forty nights we are invited to examine ourselves. Who are you praying to? Are you truly inviting Christ into your life? Or have you given Him only part-time status, perhaps a moment before meals or a brief prayer at bedtime? Christ does not want part of your life. He wants all of it. Every moment, every struggle, every hidden burden. And the good news is this: there is nothing in your life that He cannot handle. He understands you because He created you. If we hope to invite others into the faith of Christ, it will not be because of outward displays of religion. It must come from something deeper within us.

The prophet Joel said it plainly: “Rend your hearts and not your garments.” Today we take on a visible sign of humility. And yes, it can feel uncomfortable, even humiliating, to receive ashes and to hear the reminder that we came from dust and will return to dust. Yet there is also something deeply redeeming in that moment. It reminds us that God is willing to meet us even in the dust from which we were formed. If we invite others to follow Christ, we must also be honest about what that path involves. In his letter to the Corinthians, Paul the Apostle describes the hardships he endured: suffering, imprisonment, humiliation. Not exactly a persuasive sales pitch. But Paul also speaks of the joy, hope, and peace that come from belonging to Christ.

The strength of the Christian life is not found in avoiding suffering. It is found in trusting God through it. Lent is the season that helps us build that trust. We are not here to create suffering for ourselves, life provides enough of that already. What Lent calls for is courage: the courage to face our past, to confront our weaknesses, and to place them before God. When we do that, something remarkable happens.
By the time Easter arrives, we can sing with genuine joy, not because life has been perfect, but because we walked honestly through the valley. We remembered who we are. We came from dust. Yet we are loved by God.

So I leave you with a question tonight: Why did you come here?
Who is Christ in the world in which you live? And what will you ask of Him during these forty days and forty nights?

If you are patient, if you allow silence to do its work, Christ will do something extraordinary. He will teach you how to live with yourself, and how to live with others. And in that, you will receive your reward.
[1] Matthew 6:1-21
[2] Joel 2:1-17
[3]2 Corinthians 5:20-6:10