The associated reading for this reflection can be found in your Every Sacred Sunday Mass journal or online here.
Ash Wednesday tends to meet me at my worst.
Not when I feel spiritually strong or especially prayerful, but when I’ve been going through the motions. When prayer has been rushed or skipped altogether. When Mass feels harder to get to. When I know I believe, but I’m not sure I’ve been paying attention. When faith has quietly become one more thing I mean to get back to.
And then I receive ashes.
There’s something grounding and uncomfortable about being marked with what we usually try to hide. Dust. Limits. The truth that I am not as self-sufficient as I pretend to be. Ash Wednesday interrupts the illusion that I’m in control. Lent doesn’t begin by asking what I’m giving up. It begins by asking whether I’m willing to tell the truth.
“Rend your hearts, not your garments.” That line always stops me. Because I’m very good at outward signs, good intentions, spiritual language, plans for change. I know how to look like someone taking Lent seriously. But God is asking for something quieter and more demanding. Not my effort first, but my openness. Not my performance, but my attention.
Sr. Thea Bowman often reminded people to remember who they are and whose they are. That we belong to God before we do anything for God. Ash Wednesday brings us back to that truth. Before discipline, before sacrifice, before plans for self-improvement, we belong. And belonging is what makes repentance possible.
Sometimes the most honest place to start Lent is simply admitting where I’ve been absent: absent from prayer, absent from God, absent even from myself. The prayer of Psalm 51 doesn’t rush past that reality. “Create in me a clean heart, O God.” Not help me get it together. Not give me better habits. Create. Begin again where I no longer know how.
Jesus warns us not to turn prayer, fasting, and almsgiving into something visible or impressive. Lent is not a spiritual competition or a productivity plan. These practices are meant to create space for God to do what only God can do.
If there is an invitation today, it might be this: remember whose you are and allow God to work where you have stopped trying. Don’t rush to fix it. Just stay present long enough for something new to begin.
Ash Wednesday doesn’t require readiness. It requires truth.
Prayer
Lord, help us remember who we are and whose we are.
Let our lives give You praise.
Create in us clean hearts,
and renew a right spirit within us. Amen.
Chenele Shaw is a Catholic speaker, writer, and former diocesan director of youth ministry. She is the co-founder of the Before Gethsemane Initiative, which focuses on education, healing, and accompaniment around racial justice in the Church. Chenele has served young people and leaders through parish, diocesan, and national ministry, and now writes and speaks at the intersection of faith, honesty, and belonging. Connect with me at cheneleshaw.com and on Instagram.
