Ash Wednesday

Introduction to the sermon series: Life Giving habits for Lent – Draw Near

(by Revd. Buffy Langdown)

“Return to the Lord: Preparing Our Hearts”
Texts: Joel 2:12–17; Matthew 6:1–6, 16–21

Gracious and merciful God, as we begin this Ash Wednesday journey, quiet our hearts and turn us from distraction to your steadfast love. Form in us a spirit of true repentance, that marked with ashes, we may return to you with all our hearts. Amen.

Each year we begin this Lenten journey with ashes. Ashes are not decorative. They are not flattering. They are not triumphant. Ashes tell the truth.

In the ancient world, ashes were a sign of grief, repentance, and mortality. When we receive them, we hear the words: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Ashes confront us with what we often avoid: our limits, our frailty, our sin, our need.

Yet ashes are not meant to shame us. They are meant to free us. They tell the truth about our lives so that we no longer have to pretend. We do not begin Lent as spiritual achievers. We begin as people who need mercy.

The prophet Joel speaks into a time of devastation and loss. The land has been stripped bare. The people are shaken. And into that crisis comes the invitation: “Return to me with all your heart” (Joel 2:12). Not perform. Not impress. Not fix everything. Return.

Lent, then, is not a spiritual performance review. It is an invitation. It is not about proving our devotion; it is about rediscovering our dependence. The ashes mark us not as failures, but as beloved people called home.

The most important words in Joel’s call are not “return” but “to me.” “Return to me,” says the Lord.

Before there is repentance, there is relationship. Before there is turning, there is a God who desires to be turned toward.

Joel reminds us why this invitation is possible: “For he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” (Joel 2:13). God’s mercy precedes our repentance. We do not persuade God to be kind by being sorry. We turn because God is already gracious.

Repentance, in Scripture, is relational before it is moral. It is not a transaction “I’ll clean up my life so that God will accept me.” It is a return “I come back to the One who loves me.”

In the Gospel reading from Matthew 6, Jesus warns about practising righteousness “in order to be seen by others.” He speaks about giving, praying, and fasting—not as wrong practices, but as practices that can be distorted. When they become performances, they cease to be returns to God and become displays for others.

Notice the repeated phrase: “Your Father who sees in secret.” The heart of repentance is not public display but restored intimacy. It is turning again toward “your Father.”

God is not waiting with crossed arms. God is calling with open arms. “Return to me.” The initiative begins in the heart of God.

And that changes everything.

If repentance is relational, how do we live it out? Joel calls the people to gather, to fast, to pray. Jesus speaks of giving, praying, and fasting. These are not spiritual gymnastics. They are practices of return.

Prayer is turning our attention back to God. It is the daily reorientation of the heart. When Jesus teaches about prayer, he says, “Go into your room and shut the door.” Not because secrecy is magical, but because intimacy matters. Prayer draws us near.

Fasting creates space. It loosens our grip on what we rely on so that we can remember who we rely on. It is not about proving willpower; it is about rediscovering hunger for God.

Generosity shifts our treasure. “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Our hearts follow our investments. When we give—quietly, faithfully—we practise trust. We declare that our security rests not in accumulation, but in God.

These practices are not ends in themselves. They are means of drawing near. They are ways of saying with our bodies and time and money: “Lord, I turn to you.”

And they are meant to be life-giving, not life-draining.

So how do we make this Lent season different to others?

First, we remember that repentance is a gift before it is a demand. The very desire to return to God is already grace at work in us. If you feel even the smallest longing to be closer to God, that longing is evidence of God’s Spirit stirring.

Second, we remember that God desires hearts turned toward him, not outward religiosity. The danger Jesus names is real. We can turn this Lent into a project. We can compare how we are doing in the different disciplines. We can subtly measure ourselves and others. But Lent is not private self-improvement. It is communal formation.

Joel says, “Blow the trumpet… gather the people.” This is something we do together. We are a community learning to return.

That shapes how we approach the weeks ahead. The daily reflections offered to us are not tasks to complete. They are companions for this Lenten journey. They are gentle prompts, not spiritual scorecards. If we miss a day, we have not failed. We simply begin again.

Perhaps this week, choose one intentional habit to practise. Not ten. Not an overhaul of your life. One faithful step. It might be:

Setting aside five minutes each morning for quiet prayer.
Fasting from a meal once this week and using that time to pray.
Reaching out in generosity to someone in need.
Turning off a distraction in order to be more present to God and others.

Small, consistent practices shape our hearts more deeply than dramatic gestures.

And anchor it all in a simple daily prayer:
“Lord, I turn to you.”

When you wake up: “Lord, I turn to you.”
When you feel anxious: “Lord, I turn to you.”
When you fail: “Lord, I turn to you.”
When you are grateful: “Lord, I turn to you.”

When you are just about to go to sleep: “Lord I turn to you”

Repentance is not a single dramatic moment. It is a thousand small turns.

Imagine what could happen if, over these weeks, we become a people who quietly, persistently turn toward God.

Not a people obsessed with appearances.

Not a people too busy to notice others around us.
Not a people competing in devotion.
But a people softened by grace.

Ashes remind us that we are dust. But they are traced in the shape of a cross. Even in our frailty, we belong to Christ. Even in our repentance, we are held by mercy.

Joel leaves us with a question: “Who knows whether he will not turn and relent…?” As Christians, we read that question in the light of Christ and dare to hope even more boldly. We know the character of the One who calls us. Gracious. Merciful. Abounding in steadfast love.

So, we begin Lent not with fear, but with trust.

Return to the Lord—not because you must earn his love, but because you already live within it.

Return with all your heart—not because God is far away, but because he is nearer than you think.

Return—and discover again that the God who calls you home is the God who has been walking toward you all along.

Loving God, We offer you our hearts at the beginning of these forty days.
Lord, we turn to you.

In the name of Christ our Saviour. Amen.