Homily

Lent, a season laden with history, unfortunately is becoming increasingly empty of significance in a distracted world, where even carnival is more present and has more of an impact. We could say that Lent is a weak time compared to the strong times of our own personal interests, or of those pursued by groups and nations. Lent no longer has relevance or visibility. And yet, humankind and the world have an enormous need for the “non-sense” of the Lenten season. The 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 invitation, “Return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning” (2:12). And 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. The Lord is waiting for us. Relenting from the woe he had threatened, he is even ready to change his mind and to do good.
The liturgy comes to us with the ancient sign of ashes, which, though remote from our rationalism and sense of modernism, is still so authentic, and becomes more contemporary than ever. Ashes, together 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, they signify a simple reality: we are all dust; we are all weak and fragile. The men and women who, today, elevate themselves and feel powerful (and each one of us has his or her own ways of elevating ourselves and feeling powerful), will, tomorrow, no longer be anything. That person (or even that nation) who elevates himself or herself, feeling powerful and flashing weapons and money, risks discovering in the future that he or she is tragically weak. We are all dust! And the ashes upon our head remind us of this, not to make us more fearful, but to remind us that weakness and fragility are essential dimensions of life, even if we continuously try to escape them. It is liberating not to always have 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).
Consequently, the sign of ashes remains more contemporary than ever. It is an austere sign, just as the Lenten season is austere. It is given to us to help us live better, to make us understand how much God loves us, God who chose to bind himself to weak and fragile people like us. And to us, as weak and fragile as we are, God has entrusted the great gift of peace, that we might live it, keep it, defend it, and build it. In too many parts of the world, peace is squandered every day while the suffering of so many people grows. The words of the prophet Joel still resound strongly 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 infants at the breast... Between the vestibule and the altar let the priests, the ministers of the Lord, weep...The Lord became jealous for his land, and had pity on his people” (Jl 2:15-18). And how jealous the Lord is for his land, and how compassionate towards 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 taken the dust that 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 give in to the temptation of selfishness, deceit, and violence. Fasting and prayer make us sentinels, alert and watchful, so that the sleep of resignation, which considers war inevitable, does not overtake us; so that the sleep of acquiescence to evil, which continues to oppress the world, is warded off; so that we cut off at the root the sleep of that lazy realism which makes us turn inward into ourselves and to our own interests. 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 strength alone is not enough to ward off evil; we need to invoke the Lord’s help; he is the only one who is able to give humanity that peace which we do not know how to give ourselves.