Homily

Lent, a season laden with history unfortunately seems to be increasingly irrelevant in a distracted world, where even carnival is more present and has more of an impact. We could say that it is a ‘weak time’ in comparison to the ‘strong’ times of our own personal interests, or of those pursued by groups and nations; therefore it is no longer relevant or visible. And yet, humankind and the world have an enormous need of the “non-sense” of the Lenten period. Christian Churches are called to ward off the risk of debasing the “strength” of these forty days of penance, fasting, almsgiving, and prayer. The prophet Joel conveys God’s passionate and strong summons, “Return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning” (2:12). The prophet, worried about the people of Israel’s lack of sensitivity, comments on God’s invitation, “Rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing” (2:13). Lent is the opportune time to return to God and to understand anew both oneself and the meaning of life in the world, even because the Lord who waits for us, and whose mercy is so great he is ready even to change his decision about punishment.
The liturgy presents the ancient sign of ashes, which, though remote from our rationalism and sense of modernism, is still so authentic and so meaningful. Those ashes, accompanied with the biblical expression “Remember that you are dust and to dust you will return,” certainly signify penance and a petition for pardon, but above all, something simple: we are all dust; we are all weak and fragile. The person who exalts himself and feels powerful (and each one of us has his own ways of doing this) will no longer be anything tomorrow. That person (or even that nation) who exalts himself or herself, feeling powerful and brandishing weapons, risks discovering that he or she is tragically weak in the future. We are all dust! And the ashes upon our head remind us of this. This gesture is not meant to increase our fear and even less to push us to mutual elimination. Weakness and frailty are decisive dimensions of a Christian life, even if we continuously try to escape them. These dimensions, and not strength, encourage us to seek what unites, and to try in all ways to find paths to come and work together.
There is a liberating sense in not always having to pretend to be strong or blameless or without contradictions. True strength lies in taking account of one’s own weakness and keeping alive the sense of humility and meekness. “Blessed are the meek,” says Jesus, “for they will inherit the earth” (Mt 5:5). The symbol of ashes is therefore more real than ever. It is an austere sign, and so is the Lenten season. It has been given to help us live better and understand how great God’s love is in that He has chosen to bind himself with weak and fragile people like us. And to us, the weak and fragile, He has entrusted the great gift of peace so that we may live it, guard it, defend it, and build it. In too many parts of the world, peace is squandered daily and in the suffering of so many people crushed by violence. The words of the prophet Joel resound strongly even today, “Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly; gather the people. Sanctify the congregation; assemble the aged; gather the children, even the infants at the breast. … Between the vestibule and the altar let the priests, the ministers of the Lord, weep. …Then the Lord became jealous for his land, and had pity on his people” (Joel 2:15-18). The Lord is jealous for his land and compassionate toward his people! It is precisely his jealousy and compassion that make us, as Paul writes to the Corinthians, “ambassadors for Christ.” Our strength is hidden here: the Lord has used dust, which is what we are, to make us “ambassadors” of peace and reconciliation.
We Christians are called to be sentinels of peace in the places where we live and work. We are asked to be watchful, so that our consciences do not yield to the temptation of selfishness, deceit, and violence. Fasting and prayer make us sentinels, alert and watchful, so that the slumber of resignation, which considers war inevitable, does not overtake us; so that the slumber of acquiescence to evil, which continues to oppress the world, is warded off; so that the slumber of that lazy realism which makes us turn inward to ourselves and to our own interests is severed at the root. In today’s Gospel, Jesus himself exhorts the disciples to fast and pray in order to divest themselves of all pride and arrogance and to dispose themselves towards prayer in order to receive God’s gifts. Our strengths alone are not enough to ward off evil; we need to call upon the Lord’s help; He is the only one who is able to give humankind that peace which they do not know how to give themselves.