LENT IS TIME TO CHANGE DIRECTION

ASH WEDNESDAY
February 18, 2026
Saint Cecilia Catholic Community
Rev. David Justin Lynch
Joel 2:12–18 | Psalm 51
2 Corinthians 5:20–6:2 | Matthew 6:1–18

+ In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today we begin again. Lent comes to us each year with ashes and honesty. The prophet Joel cries out, “Return to me with all your heart.” Not simply feel bad. Not merely regret. But return. Turn around. Re-orient your life. Joel’s call is not about shame; it is about direction. Repentance in the biblical sense is not groveling before an angry deity. It is choosing a new path. It is the courage to say, “The road I am on is not leading to life.” And then, with God’s help, stepping onto another road.

For many of us, Lent once meant “giving something up.” Chocolate. Coffee. A favorite indulgence. That language still has value, but we must understand what we are really doing. Lent is not spiritual dieting. It is not divine appeasement. It is not paying God back.

Jesus was not a victim offered to satisfy divine rage. He was executed because love threatens power. He confronted systems built on domination and fear. Rather than abandon love, he accepted the consequences of embodying it. What was killed on Calvary was a body. What could not be killed was his message: the reign of God grounded in mercy, justice, and compassion. And that message lives.

Lent, therefore, is not about appeasing God. It is about aligning ourselves with the love that Jesus refused to abandon. It is about dying to the patterns that deform us so that we may rise into the patterns that heal us.

That is why Lent echoes Baptism. In the early Church, these forty days were the final preparation for those who would descend into the baptismal waters at the Easter Vigil. They would go down into the water—symbolically dying—and rise again to new life in Christ. We may only be baptized once, but the pattern of dying and rising never ends. Every time we turn from selfishness toward generosity, from resentment toward reconciliation, from fear toward trust, we are living our baptism again.

Lent intensifies that rhythm. It is the “professional version” of the Christian life. The Church asks us to strengthen three pillars: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. They correspond beautifully to the theological virtues: faith, hope, and charity.

First, prayer. Prayer springs from faith—trust that God hears us and cares for us. Many of us have daily patterns: perhaps the Lord’s Prayer upon waking, a Hail Mary at night, a whispered Glory Be. These are holy habits. But Lent invites an upgrade.

Maybe that means reading Scripture each morning. Maybe it means a Lenten devotional. Maybe it means sitting in silence for ten minutes instead of scrolling on a phone. Maybe it means singing—remembering the wisdom attributed to Saint Augustine that one who sings prays twice.

Here at Saint Cecilia’s, we will enrich our common prayer with music, with Stations of the Cross, with study. But no parish program can replace your personal encounter with God. Prayer is not performance. Jesus warns us tonight against practicing piety “to be seen.” Prayer is intimacy. It is the quiet placing of your whole life before God—your hopes, your fatigue, your grief, your gratitude.

Second, fasting. Fasting relates to hope. When we fast, we are training our hearts to recognize that our ultimate satisfaction does not come from consumption. We do not live by bread alone—not by food, not by success, not by applause, not by control.

Traditional fasting from food has real value. It disciplines desire. It can even bless our physical health. But the Holy Spirit invites us to broaden the practice. Consider this kind of fast:

Fast from harsh words—speak kindness.
Fast from anger—choose patience.
Fast from pessimism—cultivate hope.
Fast from worry—practice trust.
Fast from bitterness—embrace joy.
Fast from selfishness—grow in compassion.
Fast from grudges—seek reconciliation.
Fast from noise—make room to listen.

Notice what all of these have in common: they strengthen relationships. Christianity is not memorizing doctrines or obeying regulations. It is about honoring the dignity of the human person in every encounter. In marriages. In families. In professional relationships. In friendships. In the bond between clergy and laity. The health of those relationships shapes the moral atmosphere of our community.

When we fast from destructive behaviors, we are not shrinking. We are creating space for hope to breathe. We are loosening the grip of habits that suffocate love.

And then we come to the third discipline: almsgiving. If prayer reflects faith and fasting nurtures hope, almsgiving embodies charity—and charity is the greatest of the three.

Charity is not uniquely Christian. Across the world’s great religious traditions, generosity stands at the heart of spiritual life. In Judaism, tzedakah is not optional kindness but justice—giving what is due. In Islam, zakat is an act that purifies and sustains social harmony. In Buddhism, generous giving loosens the grip of greed and fosters freedom. In Hindu teaching, ancient wisdom praises the liberal heart and warns against hardness toward the needy.

When we give, we align ourselves with a truth written into the human soul: we flourish when we love beyond ourselves.

For Christians, almsgiving flows from the two Great Commandments: love God, love neighbor. It is never either-or. Supporting the worship of God and serving those in need are inseparable expressions of the same love.

When we place our offering on the altar, we are not merely paying bills. We are symbolically placing our whole lives there—our work, our anxieties, our gratitude. Yes, the Church requires practical resources: for rent, utilities, music, bread and wine, service to the poor. But what matters most is the heart behind the gift.

Almsgiving also extends beyond these walls. Clothing in your closet that you no longer wear. Shoes gathering dust. Non-perishable food. Toiletries. These can become sacramental signs of love in action. When we give to those who struggle, we are not performing charity from above. We are recognizing shared dignity.

And here is the crucial point: none of these Lenten disciplines are meant to harm you.

God does not delight in your suffering. God delights in your transformation. Prayer, fasting, and almsgiving are not spiritual punishments. They are pathways to freedom. They loosen what binds you. They clear what clutters you. They heal what distorts you.

Lent is the death of a life shaped by lesser values. Easter is the resurrection of the life shaped by love.

If you embrace this season seriously—if you deepen prayer, practice hopeful fasting, and expand generosity—Easter will not simply be a date on the calendar. It will be an interior experience. You will sense that something heavy has fallen away. Your relationships will feel lighter. Your trust in God steadier. Your capacity to love wider.

Today, ashes will mark our foreheads. They remind us of our mortality. But they also remind us of our potential. Dust is not an insult; it is raw material. God formed humanity from dust and breathed into it divine life.

So return. Return with your whole heart. Let this Lent be more than routine. Let it be a reorientation. A baptism renewed. A deliberate choice to step off the path that leads to diminishment and onto the path that leads to life.

And when the dawn of Easter breaks, may you rise—stronger in faith, deeper in hope, wider in charity—more fully alive, and freer to become what you were created to be: one with God in love.

AMEN.

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