Today I walked forward, like millions of others, and felt the cool grit of ashes pressed into my forehead. “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Not exactly a Hallmark greeting.
Ash Wednesday isn’t subtle. It doesn’t whisper. It brands you. Publicly. Visibly. It reminds you that no matter how many radio spots your parish fish fry lands, no matter how polished the cafeteria floors look, no matter how many AI-generated land sharks named Sharkey are guarding the bar… we are dust. Dust has a way of clarifying things.
Lent is more than giving up chocolate! Lent is the Church’s 40-day pilgrimage into the desert — patterned after Christ’s 40 days of fasting and temptation before His public ministry began.
It’s not self-help. It’s not a diet plan. It’s not “Catholic New Year’s Resolutions.”
It’s preparation. Preparation for the Cross. Preparation for the Tomb. Preparation for Resurrection.
The Church, in her wisdom, gives us three pillars to lean on:
• Prayer – Leaning toward God instead of leaning on our own understanding.
• Fasting and Abstinence – Creating hunger in the body so the soul wakes up.
• Almsgiving – Turning outward toward those in need.
The liturgical color turns purple. The “Alleluia” goes silent. The Gloria steps aside. The tone shifts. Even the Church lowers her voice.
In 2026, we begin on February 18 and walk steadily toward:
• Palm Sunday – March 29
• Holy Thursday – April 2
• Easter Sunday – April 5
But those dates only matter if the journey does. Here’s the honest truth: preparing for Lent is complex in parish life. Rectories scramble to add Stations of the Cross on Fridays. Music directors plan for the Triduum. Volunteers coordinate fish fries. Committees beautify halls, repaint walls, and polish floors.
Then there’s the bar. Ah yes — the Fish Fry Bar Crew. Their request for AI artwork was simple and specific: “Less fish. More alcohol.” Because let’s be honest, the biggest donations often happen within arm’s reach of a tap handle. What is a Catholic event without alcohol? Am I right?
Our parish fish fry routinely ranks in the Top 5 in St. Louis. Media mentions. Radio spots. Crowds that spill into parking lots. These good people pour themselves into making sure the parish and school are sustained and thriving.
The irony isn’t lost on me: While we’re frying cod and stocking kegs, Lent quietly asks: Have you prepared your heart?
The danger in all preparations, whether for Easter or for life, is that logistics can crowd out holiness. You can repaint ceilings and forget repentance. You can perfect signage and neglect silence. You can build a sacred space and forget to clear one inside your own chest. Today, with ashes on my forehead, I felt the weight of that ancient reminder:
Dust.
Dust.
Legacy looks different when you remember you are dust. Not depressing. Clarifying. The desert strips you down to what matters.
No applause. No fish fry trophies. No mascot costumes. No curated images.
Just you, God, and the quiet echo of your own heart.
What I’m Not “Giving Up” This Year. This year, I’m less interested in surrendering chocolate. I’m more interested in surrendering sharp words. Pope Leo recently challenged the faithful to fast from something far more dangerous than meat:
• Refrain from words that offend or wound.
• Disarm your language.
• Avoid harsh words and rash judgments.
• Refuse slander.
• Do not speak ill of someone who is not present to defend themselves.
That kind of fasting burns. It’s easier to skip soda than to skip sarcasm. Easier to avoid sweets than to avoid superiority. It is easier to give up chocolate than to give up the need to be right. That’s desert work.
On my desk sit symbols of our faith, Step Up Close to Jesus station books, and other reminders of where this road leads. A few feet away? Lenten Practice of the Day (footprints) themed worksheets, Fish fry generated artwork, Stations of the Cross-planning notes, etc. In this case, both matter. Community matters. Celebration matters. Fundraising matters. Hospitality matters.
But none of it means anything if the season doesn’t change us. Lent is not about deprivation.
It’s about alignment. It is not about gloom. It is about clearing space for glory.
Ash Wednesday confronts us with our mortality. Easter confronts us with our hope. Between them lies the desert time. So, as you step into these 40 days: May your fasting be honest. May your prayer be quiet and real. May your almsgiving stretch you. May your words be gentler. May your heart become a sacred space. And when the desert sun feels intense…sunscreen is optional.
Grace is not.
Blessings on your Lenten journey, my friends.
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