Ash Wednesday arrives with an uncomfortable, visceral honesty. The mark on the forehead is not a badge of merit; it is a smudge of mortality, an invitation to “return to God.” It asks us to look beyond the superficial rituals of fasting and penance and instead examine the interior architecture of our souls—specifically, how we handle the weight of our influence and the quiet whispers of our conscience.
The Grace of Owning Failure
In a world obsessed with curated perfection and winning, the Church offers a refreshing—albeit painful—alternative: the acceptance of failure. We often flee from God because we are ashamed of our mistakes. We mask our failures with excuses or, worse, blame those under our authority. But the Cross reminds us that God meets us exactly where we have fallen, not where we pretend to stand.
Accepting failure is an act of profound justice toward oneself. It stops the cycle of projection. When a leader, a parent, or a friend says, “I failed. I was wrong. I take full responsibility,” the air clears. The contrite heart mentioned in the Psalms refuses to lie about its brokenness.
The Mirror of Conscience
February 18 marks the beginning of a forty-day journey of self-examination. Our conscience is the “still, small voice” that favoritism tries to drown out. It reminds us that appreciating what is just and deserving is not optional; it is a moral obligation.
If we enter Lent while still clinging to the favors we have dispensed to protect our status, the ashes on our foreheads become merely decorative. To truly return to God, we must be willing to:
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Audit our relationships: Are we surrounding ourselves with “yes-men” or truth-tellers?
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Relinquish the need to be right: Can we prioritize the common good over personal reputation?
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Practice radical equity: Can we show the same grace to those who challenge us as we do to those who praise us?
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Stop siding with friends when the truth lies elsewhere.
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Appreciate the deserving, regardless of status or relationship.
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Lead with a contrite heart, remembering that influence is a temporary gift meant for service, not self-exaltation.
The Mirage of Authority and Leadership
For those in positions of power—whether in a boardroom, a pulpit, or at the head of a family dinner table—the temptation to play god is constant. Authority can act as a veil, shielding us from our inadequacies. We begin to confuse our titles with our character, and in doing so, drift away from the humility Ash Wednesday demands.
True repentance begins with recognizing that authority is stewardship, not possession. When we misuse power to silence dissent, inflate our egos, or bypass the rules we impose on others, we erect a wall between ourselves and the Divine. To return to God with a contrite heart is to admit that our thrones are made of the same dust as the ground beneath our feet.
Justice Over the Comfort of Favoritism
One of the most profound spiritual hurdles is favoritism. It is easy to be “merciful” to those we like and “just” to those we do not. Yet the Lenten call is ultimately a call to justice. Justice demands that we:
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Acknowledge the deserving: Recognize the quiet excellence of those who do not flatter us.
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Resist the inner circle: Stop rewarding loyalty over integrity.
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Dismantle the shield of favoritism: Hold those we love to the same standard of righteousness we expect from strangers.
When we favor a friend over a deserving stranger, we are not being kind—we are being dishonest. We choose the comfort of our social tribe over the difficult, objective light of God’s truth. Repentance requires us to examine our hands and see where we have tipped the scales in favor of our own interests.
A Return to the Essentials
As the priest utters the words, “Remember that you are dust,” we are reminded that in death there are no favorites. No authority can be carried beyond the grave, and no friend can negotiate our standing before the Eternal.
This Ash Wednesday, let the dust settle upon your pride. Let it coat the machinery of favoritism and bring it to a halt. Let the tears of genuine repentance wash away the residue of misused power.
When we come to God with a heart that values justice over comfort and truth over ego, we do not merely observe Lent—we are transformed by it. We move from the desert of self-interest into the vibrant, demanding, and beautiful light of a life lived in integrity.
