Lent at St Ann’s
Homily – Ash Wednesday / Beginning of Lent
My dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus,
welcome to the beautiful journey of Lent — one of the greatest and finest seasons of the liturgical year.
These are forty sacred days.
Not days to rush through, but days to listen.
To listen to the opening of the buds…
to the breath of the grass…
and to the whispering of our own hearts.
Lent is a time to retreat,
to rejuvenate,
to refresh,
and above all — to be reborn.
Today the psalmist, King David, sings one of the most honest prayers ever written:
“Create in me a pure heart, O God,
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.”
(Psalm 51)
And again he cries:
“Have mercy on me, O God, in your kindness;
in your compassion blot out my offence.”
This is not a proud prayer.
This is not a performance.
This is the prayer of someone who has fallen…
and knows it.
Life teaches us something very subtle.
When we are struggling, when we are climbing, when life is fragile, we are careful.
We stay close to our roots.
We stay close to prayer.
We stay close to God.
But when things begin to go well…
when we feel strong…
when we think, “I am fine now” —
that is when we slowly drift.
Psychologists call this complacency born of success.
When confidence quietly turns into carelessness.
When power dulls self-awareness.
There is a saying:
“Power doesn’t corrupt character; it reveals it.”
And another wisdom line reminds us:
“The higher the tree grows, the deeper its roots must go.”
If the roots are shallow, even a strong tree will fall in the storm.
David was a great king.
Chosen by God.
Blessed.
Successful.
And that success made him careless.
He thought no one could question him.
No one could challenge him.
And in that complacency, he sinned — grievously.
He took Bathsheba.
He covered it up.
He arranged the death of Uriah.
Sin always begins small…
but it never stays small.
And yet — this is what makes David different.
Compare him with King Saul.
Saul too was chosen.
Saul too was anointed.
But Saul allowed jealousy, anger, and fear to consume him.
He never truly returned.
David, however, comes back.
When the prophet Nathan stands before him and says,
“You are the man,”
David does not defend himself.
He does not justify.
He does not hide.
He breaks.
And from that brokenness comes Psalm 51.
A king with power — yet humility.
A king with failure — yet sincerity.
A king with frailty — yet openness to repentance.
That is why Scripture calls David
a man after God’s own heart —
not because he never sinned,
but because he always returned.
Dear brothers and sisters,
this is the meaning of Ash Wednesday.
Ash Wednesday is not about shame.
It is about truth.
It is a holy deconstruction —
when God gently asks us,
“Where did you begin to drift?”
The ashes say to us:
Come back.
Pull back.
Return to your centre.
Think of the tortoise.
When it senses danger, it does not fight.
It does not panic.
It withdraws — head, hands, legs — everything.
It waits.
It regathers itself.
And only then does it move forward again.
Lent invites us to do the same.
To withdraw from noise.
To pull back from ego.
To retreat from habits that slowly pull us away from God and from ourselves.
And when the time is right —
to step out renewed.
So today, let us pray with David:
“Create in me a pure heart, O God.”
Not a perfect heart —
but a pure one.
Not a proud spirit —
but a steadfast one.
May this Lent be a season of honest return.
A season of deep roots.
A season where we become smaller…
so that God may become greater.
Amen.