Ash Wednesday stands at the doorway of Lent. It marks the beginning of a penitential season and invites us to a deeper, more honest way of living the Gospel. As ashes are placed on our foreheads, the Church reminds us: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” These words are not meant to frighten us, but to ground us. They tell us that we are fragile, limited, and mortal, yet profoundly loved by God. Ash Wednesday strips us of illusions and gently brings us back to what truly matters.
A priest once illustrated this truth with a striking and memorable story:
Once, a holy monkey resolved to fast once a week for all its sins and make proper amendments, asking God’s forgiveness. It chose the Friday of the week to fast. On Thursday of the following week, it became aware of the fasting and ate as much as possible, thinking it had to fast the whole day, not even to drink water. On Friday, it woke up and said to itself, “I shall climb the high mountain and sit there for the whole day so that I will not be tempted”. It climbed the mountain and sat on a huge rock. Being quiet for a few seconds, it thought, “I am fasting today, but why not search for food for tomorrow?”
It got up and went in search of food; it found a bunch of ripe bananas. The fasting monkey was very happy, thinking that it would not search with an empty stomach tomorrow for food. It plucked as many as it could carry and brought them to the place of its meditation.
The holy monkey sat quietly, concentrating on God and praying for forgiveness. The ripe yellow fruit, which was in front, did not allow it to concentrate. “Let me peel off the skin so that I can eat as soon as my fasting is over”. It removed the skin and piled up the fruit. The flies began to sit on the fruit and feast. The monkey kept on fanning the flies, fed up with them, and in no time, it decided to store them in its skinny mouth. The sweet ripe fruit was so juicy that the monkey began to salivate. As the sweet saliva entered the throat, it slowly said, “Let me break my fast today for the sake of the bananas and fast seriously in the next week”.
The priest concluded with a disarming truth: We are like this monkey in fighting our temptations. Put your own name in place of the monkey and realise that this is not a monkey’s story, but yours and mine. Lent has a way of exposing how easily good intentions collapse into self-justification.
This is why Lent often tempts even sincere believers into asking the wrong questions: What new spiritual practice will I take up this year? What impressive sacrifice will I make? These are not bad questions, but they are not the essential ones. A more Gospel-rooted question is far more challenging: What will others receive from me during this Lent?
Jesus addresses this directly in the Gospel of Matthew 6:1–6, 16–18. He warns against performing prayer, fasting, and almsgiving for public admiration. True righteousness, He says, is lived in secret, before the Father who sees the heart. Lent is not about display; it is about direction where our hearts are truly turned.
Ash Wednesday reminds us that Lent is not about adding more religious activities, but about doing better what we already do. A teacher does not need a new classroom to please God, but rather greater patience with slow learners. A parent does not need a new devotion, only deeper listening and gentler words at home. A priest or religious does not need more activities, only a more available heart. A professional does not need a dramatic fast, only honesty, fairness, and respect in daily decisions. A community does not need grand plans, only members who show up, speak kindly, and carry one another’s burdens.
Recent reflections shared by Pope Leo echo this very simplicity:
On listening: Lent begins by making room for God’s Word. True listening leads to conversion because it opens our hearts to God and to the cries of others, especially the poor.
On fasting: Fasting is not merely about food, but about reordering desire, learning to hunger for justice, compassion, and truth, while fasting from harsh words and judgment.
On community: Lent is never a solitary journey. Conversion happens together, when families and communities walk attentively with one another, especially with the weak and the forgotten.
We live busy, informed, connected lives, but often disconnected from the people closest to us. Lent calls us back to presence.
May this Lent not be remembered for what we gave up, but for what others received from us. May the ashes on our foreheads move from ritual to reality. May it be known not for what we gave up, but for what others received from us. And in that hidden faithfulness, may God, who sees in secret, renew the world, one converted heart at a time.
