Ash Wednesday
18 February 2026
All He wants is you
Ash Wednesday begins with a gesture that is as stark as it is honest.
Ashes on our foreheads.
Words that remind us that we are dust
and to dust we shall return.
There is no pretending today.
No hiding.
No spiritual polish.
Just the truth of who we are
and who God is.
And that truth is this:
God does not need anything from us.
He does not need our sacrifices.
He does not need our penances.
He does not need our fasting, our prayers, or our almsgiving.
Maybe you weren’t prepared to hear that truth today.
But nothing we do adds to His greatness.
Nothing we give increases His glory.
God is not waiting for Lent so that He can finally receive something He lacks.
And we cannot earn His love.
We cannot buy His favor.
We cannot impress Him into blessing us.
God’s love is not a reward for good behavior;
it is a gift freely given,
long before we ever respond or possibly even recognize it.
What God wants is not our stuff.
What God wants is not our performance.
What God wants is us.
What He wants is our hearts.
Your heart!
That is the truth that runs through every reading today.
“Return to me with your whole heart,”
the prophet Joel says.
Not with your offerings and sacrifices.
Not with your external signs.
Not with dramatic gestures.
With your heart.
And then Joel adds something crucial:
“Rend your hearts, not your garments.”
In other words,
stop confusing outward religion with interior conversion.
God is not impressed by torn clothing.
He is moved by a torn heart
—a heart that is open, honest, and willing to change.
Psalm 51 gives us the same message.
King David, after his sin, does not bargain with God.
He does not promise extra sacrifices
or religious achievements.
He does not say,
“Just tell me what to do and I’ll fix this.”
He says plainly,
“A clean heart create for me, O God.”
And then he names the truth we often forget:
“A broken, humbled, contrite heart, O God, you will not spurn.” God is not repelled by our weakness.
He is drawn to humility.
He does not wait for us to get our act together before He loves us;
He loves us so that we can be made whole.
Saint Paul strips away any remaining illusion.
“We implore you on behalf of Christ,
be reconciled to God.”
Not “do more.”
Not “try harder.”
Not “earn your way back.”
Be reconciled.
Let God act.
Let God restore what is broken.
Let God do for you what you cannot do for yourself.
“Now is the acceptable time.
Now is the day of salvation.”
Not later.
Not when we’ve proven ourselves.
Not when we’ve cleaned everything up.
Now.
And then Jesus, in the Gospel, goes right to the heart of the matter.
He speaks about prayer, fasting, and almsgiving
—the very pillars of Lent—
but He does so with a warning.
Don’t do these things to be seen.
Don’t do them to feel superior.
Don’t do them to build a spiritual résumé.
Don’t turn conversion into a performance.
When religious practices become about appearances,
they lose their power.
When Lent becomes about proving something,
it becomes empty.
So if God does not need our Lenten practices,
why does the Church insist on them year after year?
Because we need them.
God knows something about us that we often resist admitting: our hearts are divided.
We want God
—but we also want control.
We want holiness
—but we also want comfort.
We want heaven
—but we cling tightly to earth.
We want God’s mercy
—but we still want to run our lives on our own terms.
Lent is not about impressing God.
Lent is about clearing space for Him.
It is about making room in hearts that have slowly become crowded.
AND, he helps us by giving us the grace to cooperate with him to do this very thing.
We fast,
not because God needs our hunger,
but because food and comfort often have too much power over us.
Fasting exposes how quickly we turn to satisfaction instead of trust,
to fullness instead of dependence.
We give alms,
not because God needs our money,
He doesn’t,
but because money can so easily become a substitute for security.
It tempts us to believe that we are self-sufficient,
that we are safe because we have enough.
It’s why Jesus warns the rich so often.
Almsgiving loosens that grip
and teaches our hearts to rely on God
and to see others with compassion.
We pray more intentionally,
not because God needs reminders,
but because we forget Him so easily.
Prayer is not about informing God of our needs;
it is about reorienting our lives around His presence.
Lent exposes the attachments that quietly keep us from giving our hearts fully to God:
our time, our money, our food, our entertainment,
even our necessities.
None of these things are evil.
Many of them are good and necessary.
But when they become ultimate,
when they claim our loyalty,
our trust,
or our identity,
they become obstacles.
They crowd out the space where God wants to dwell.
That is why what we give up matters less than why we give it up.
If fasting only makes us irritable but not more attentive to God, we’ve missed the point.
If almsgiving costs us nothing,
it hasn’t freed our hearts.
If prayer is squeezed in but never prioritized,
we haven’t really returned to the Lord.
The question of Lent is not,
What am I doing for God?
The real question is,
What is standing in the way of my heart belonging fully to Him?
Ashes remind us that everything we cling to eventually turns to dust.
Careers. Possessions. Status. Even our bodies.
Lent invites us to loosen our grip now,
freely and intentionally,
so that we don’t discover too late
that we were holding onto what could never save us.
And here is the mercy of God:
He is not asking for perfection.
He is asking for honesty.
He is not demanding success.
He is inviting surrender.
He is not withholding His love until we improve;
He is offering His love so that we can be transformed.
When the priest traces ashes on your forehead today,
it is not a mark of shame.
It is a sign of love.
It says:
God knows your weakness
—and He still wants your heart.
God knows your distractions
—and He still calls you back.
God knows what competes for your love
—and He patiently invites you to let go.
This Lent, don’t ask yourself,
How much can I give up?
Ask instead,
What is God asking me to trust Him with?
Because in the end,
God does not want your Lent.
He does not want your accomplishments.
He does not want your ashes.
He wants you.