“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  These ancient words we hear as the ashes are traced as a cross on our foreheads at the start of this sacred season of Lent still have the power to shake us.  That’s probably why many prefer the gentler alternative “Repent and believe in the Gospel.”  Yet both phrases point to the same profound truth – that sin is what leads to death, that we desperately desire to escape that reality, and that as Catholic Christians we find our hope is realized in the cross of Jesus.

A heartfelt thank you for taking the time to read this homily for ASH WEDNESDAY (March 5, 2025). Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.

And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me.  Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim

It’s striking that Ash Wednesday draws some of the largest crowds to Catholic churches worldwide. That fills me with both joy and a touch of sadness. Joy to see so many faces, both familiar and new. Sadness because too many come bearing heavy burdens of shame, believing past mistakes define them, allowing the devil’s lies to whisper they don’t belong at Mass. Sadness that some have fallen so far from their faith that they feel an inexplicable distance from this very place – our place of intimate encounter with the living Jesus Christ, who feeds us with His word and His Body and Blood in the Eucharist.

Your presence here today is no accident. Whatever prompted you to carve out time from your busy schedule – whether through a friend’s invitation, chalk announcements on the pavement, flyers, or even Instagram posts – that’s the Holy Spirit at work. That same Holy Spirit who entered your heart at Baptism has never left, no matter how far you may have wandered.

This is our true identity: beloved children of God. Through Jesus, we’ve been restored to relationship with our heavenly Father. The ashes we receive today remind us of our mortality, yes, but more importantly, they remind us of God’s breath of life that transforms dust into divine creation. Without Christ’s love, poured out completely on the Cross, dust would indeed be our final destination.

We can lose sight of these realities in our daily, busy lives. Which is why Ash Wednesday comes again and this season of Lent invites us to focus on those two extremes – death and love.  This brings to mind a story that I heard from two priests I have great admiration and respect for:  Msgr. James Shea and Fr. Mike Schmitz who filmed an interview a few months ago that’s on YouTube.  Msgr. Shea is the President of the University of Mary in North Dakota and he shared that when teaching a course to his Freshmen, he likes to show this scene from the 2007 film “Paris, I love You.”

Picture a man sitting in an elegant Parisian restaurant, the same place where years ago he first realized he no longer loved his wife. Now he’s waiting for her again, but this time with devastating news: he’s planning to leave her for another woman. His hands tremble slightly as he watches her approach.

She sits down, and before he can speak, tears begin streaming down her face. His heart stops – surely she must know about the affair. But then she reaches into her purse with shaking hands and pulls out a medical report. As he reads the cold, clinical words, his world shifts on its axis: terminal illness, weeks to live, no treatment options.

In that moment, everything changes. The speech he had rehearsed a hundred times evaporates. The other woman, the planned new life – all of it suddenly seems hollow, meaningless. He takes his wife home that night, not out of pity, but because it’s the only thing he can do. And then something extraordinary happens.

 

In the weeks that follow, as he helps her dress, holds her hand during treatments, reads to her late into the night – he finds himself falling in love again. Not with the memory of who she was, but with who she is, even in her fragility. Perhaps especially in her fragility. “By acting like a man in love,” the narrator tells us, “he became a man in love again.”

This story mirrors our own journey with God. Sometimes we drift away, plan our exits, rehearse our goodbyes. But God, like that wife, has news for us – not of death, but of life. And when we begin to act like people in love with God – through prayer, through fasting, through giving – something miraculous happens. We fall in love all over again.

Those practices Jesus outlines in today’s Gospel aren’t just religious exercises. They’re love letters written in action. Prayer becomes our daily conversation with the divine, fasting our love song of sacrifice, and giving our humble acknowledgment of the boundless generosity we’ve received yet sometimes take for granted. Each act draws us deeper into the heart of God.

As we begin these forty days, I want you to look at the ashes you see on different people’s foreheads.  Not to compare how sloppy or artistic the person who traced them on you were.  But look deeper – Recognize how they mark each person as beloved, chosen, worthy of transformation. It’s a truth that bears repeating:  Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future.   We have to see the dust not just as something lifeless that came from burnt branches we waved last Palm Sunday – but as stardust, breathed into life by the Creator of the universe.

This Lent, let’s not just go through the motions. Let’s act like people wildly, passionately in love with God. Let’s pray as if He’s right here in the room (He is). Let’s fast as if every hunger pang is making space for grace (it is). Let’s give as if our resources are infinite (in Him, they are).

For in the end, Lent isn’t about what we give up. It’s about Who we’re walking toward. And He’s already running to meet us, arms open wide, ready to transform our dust into glory, our ordinary into extraordinary, our human love into divine love.

We gather here to renew ourselves with ancient truths, animated by eternal hope. Remember: you are dust. But you are God’s dust, and to Him you shall return.