4th Sunday of Lent Year C 2022

As we continue on this Lenten pilgrimage, we are given the assurance of God’s love for us. The Gospel, taken from Luke 15, is unique for an insight into our response of gratitude and conversion. There are three parables in this chapter and each one deals with a state of being lost. The first is the lost sheep, the second the lost coin and the final narrative is the Prodigal Son. There is a context for them. Jesus was criticised for the welcome He gave to sinners who should have been ostracised. He consorted with sinners and prostitutes. Given our dislike or distaste for “censoriousness”, we would be forgiven if we were to “condemn” His critics as “intolerant bigots”. But were they entirely wrong? Given their cultural and religious emphases on ritual purity—which Christ Himself submitted to—they were unable to reconcile Christ’s compassion with their long-held conviction that sinners should be segregated in order to prevent ritual contamination. In a manner of speaking, their reactions were deeply conditioned by their cultural and religious framework.

In this narrative of the Prodigal Son, there are three main characters. We would be mistaken if we thought this to be a story of two brothers, one elder and the other younger and their father. It is really a narrative of two sons, not two brothers. The Son of the Father and the son of the father. St Paul mentioned Christ in the 2nd Reading, and for him, Christ is definitely different from the son in the Gospel.

What lessons can we draw from these two sons? Jesus and the Prodigal Son.

Laetare Sunday exudes a spirit of joyful lightness because Jesus presents the Father’s mercy way beyond what a religious Jew could ever imagine. To fathom God the Father’s love, consider the numerous sins of the younger son in the parable. The older brother should inherit the rights to the father’s property. Yet the father did not think twice when dividing his wealth between the sons. Furthermore, in asking for his share of his inheritance from a living father, the son has effectively wished the death of the older man. Despite these sins and a string of “faux pas”, the father unconditionally embraced the son who was lost. He not only received him back but in running out to meet the boy, the father shielded his son from the disapproving condemnation of the neighbours. More than that, killing the fatted calf meant that the disapproving neighbours would subsequently be invited to this festival of forgiveness.

In narrating this parable, Jesus places the state of being lost within the context of God’s unrelenting search for His sons and daughters. God’s persistent search for us should draw our attention to how easy it is for us to wander away and be lost. Note that it is not just the younger son who was lost. The elder brother who stayed closed to the father was lost too. The point here is that God may be forgiving but sadly, concupiscence, the effect of original sin, has left us with a proclivity for perdition.

How do we reconcile a God who desires us even when we are inclined to stray from Him? It requires that even as we take comfort in the immensity of God’s love and the sacrifice of His Son to redeem us, it also suggests that we be sensitive to sin. In other word, we should be mindful or conscious of sin because it takes us away from God. No matter how small a sin is, it is significant in the struggle for the salvation of souls.

The parable is not a one-way street movement of God’s love for us. The reply to God’s profound love is conversion. What muddles this penitential journey is that we yearn for a God who is loving and compassionate. In fact, we have come to expect  unconditional love. When translated, it can be indulgent because God is not allowed to make demands of us. The idea of a gentle and tolerant God might just be an idol we have fashioned like the Israelites at the foot of Mount Sinai.

At the heart of our conversion journey, we must appreciate that God’s mercy is justice. One cannot do without the other. In this parable, it is clear that God’s justice is merciful because it goes beyond what is exact. The confusion arises because our concept of justice is possibly closer to the idea of revenge. In fact, we even project unto God that He demands His pound of flesh. The manner we think of justice corresponds to the concept of just dessert meaning that one should get what one deserves. “Padan muka” (serves you right) as the locals say it. Like “lex talionis”, our justice is simply a case of tit for tat. To illustrate God’s mercy and justice, we use the example of a debt. Returning a person what he or she is owed is justice. It is akin to giving back $1000 for $1000 borrowed. But what is to stop the debtor from compensating more than $1000?

According to St. Thomas Aquinas “God acts mercifully, not indeed by going against his justice, but by doing something more than justice; thus a man who pays another two hundred pieces of money, though owing him only one hundred, does nothing against justice, but acts liberally or mercifully”. 

What makes it difficult to appreciate that God’s mercy is justice is our inability to differentiate between judgement and punishment. There is no doubt that we are afraid of judgement because we fear the punishment that comes with it. For example, “You watch out” definitely carries with it a retaliatory or a punitive connotation. Like Karma, something bad is about to happen.

When we associate the faculty of judgement with censoriousness or a forbidding disapproval, then the act of judging which is an existential exercise will be interpreted as being judgemental. To be judgemental is merely possessing a conceited or self-important attitude. The act of judging is not an attitude. For example, you would surely judge the safety of crossing a road before stepping off the kerb. That is not judgemental.

In God, judgement and punishment are separated by mercy. When God delays punishing us, we catch a glimpse of His mercy because we are given the chance to recognise the error of our ways, to repent, and to make lasting changes.  In God, mercy and justice are compatible because He reveals His judgment first whilst delaying His punishment. Judgement is not the same as punishment. To understand how this works, look at sin as the process of dehumanisation. Forget about “this sin” or “that sin”. Rather think in terms of "development" (or regression). If God is the source of our being, the instant we leave Him is the moment where the process of dehumanisation begins. In the parable, the entire excursion of the son was dehumanising and the symbol of the depth of his depravity was the reduction to eating food fit only for pigs.

Yet the father did not calculate the cost of embracing the son’s return. It is not because God does not care for justice. In the parable, Jesus did not mention about any punishment due to the returning son. Neither did Jesus remove the Penitent Thief, Dismas, from the cross. By the very fact that Dismas, who had been forgiven and promised heaven, still hung on the cross meant that he was paying the price of his sins. In other words, God’s merciful judgement gives us plenty of opportunities to reform or rehumanise our life.

In the middle of our Lenten campaign, we get a parable of God’s boundless love for us. Thus we are joyful. But more than the idea of joy is the notion of blessing that comes with it. God’s blessing is that He gives us time to make changes in our lives and if we have Him in mind, no matter how hideous our sins, His mercy will meet us there. Whatever purification we may have to undergo now or in the future will be nothing not because it is not painful but because we will be so taken up by His love that we will readily endure whatever purgatory in order that we can return and be with Him. Love begets gratitude and conversion.

3rd Sunday of Lent Year C 2022

Last Sunday’s Transfiguration was both a promise and also a reminder. It promises us a triumphant future but reminds us of the cost that needs to be counted before we achieve that victory. There is an urgency in getting to Jerusalem and as we try to keep up with Jesus, we catch a glimpse of His gentleness in treating stragglers—those who have sinned but are repentant.

Repentance on the part of sinners draws the compassion of God. In the 1st Reading, Moses is called to deliver the Israelites from Pharaoh’s captivity in Egypt. But what is bondage if not a compelling symbol of the slavery to sin. Scripted into God’s salvation is atonement on the part of those who are redeemed. As the 2nd Reading indicates, that those who failed to please God would pay the price for their sins.

This is clearly stated in the Gospel. “Unless you repent, you shall perish”. Thus far, our ears have grown unacquainted with what sounds like harsh language. In fact, we have come to expect that a kind and loving Jesus cannot help but love us because rejection cannot be a part of God’s vocabulary when dealing with us. We have comfortably blanked out the inconvenient truth that God’s mercy does not exclude justice or punishment, words which again jar our therapeutic ear.

A challenge we have is to reconcile innocent suffering and death with a benevolent God. Both innocent suffering and death are possibly a major cause for the loss of faith. If the implication that suffering results from sin, then anyone who dies violently must have been a grave sinner. It is true that sin causes sickness, suffering and even death. However, what should be clear is that sickness is not necessarily a sign of one’s sinfulness. Jesus is the prime case in point. He was sinless and yet He was not unfamiliar with suffering. While the consequence of sin is death, the contrary is not always true that suffering is the result of sin.

If there is anything to be learnt of unexpected death, it is this: be prepared for we never know the hour or the day when a reckoning will be made of us. Not even the sacraments, especially the sacrament of the Eucharist can save us if we are not repentant. The flip side of mercy is justice, not tolerance. Sadly, our view of justice seems to lean on a mercy that tolerates. If mercy were toleration, then the question is for how long. Jesus used the Parable of the Fig tree to draw our attention that time is not interminable and that we should not brush aside the chances we get to be spiritually reborn. Lent is definitely a time for turning back to God. In fact, it is an invitation that we should continually return to God and this begs the question of what shape should repentance take.

Look at the recent papal announcement. The Holy Father will consecrate both Russia and Ukraine to the Immaculate Heart of Mary. It is timely but what is the point of this dedication? It is clear that everyone wants to end this conflict that is fully charged with a nuclear possibility. If Trump were crazy, Putin must be mad. But if we study the request Our Lady made at Fatima, the consecration of Russia was linked to conversion. Surely that brings us into the heart of repentance. Ending a war is definitely noble but repentance and conversion might just achieve what we desire.

Penitence must require a revisiting of the places where our hearts love to go. It is not a return to sin but as a title of a song suggests, “Looking for love in all the wrong places”. Repentance means we take a hard look at how our hearts are habituated in the areas of sin: pride, avarice, anger, envy, gluttony, lust and sloth. This means that confession is not just a list of sins to tick off. Rather, it is to be aware of the prime sin that rules our hearts and which spawns many other subsidiary sins. Pride is a good illustration. It is a sin which we share with Satan and the fallen angels. It powers so many subsidiary sins as it stems from a forgetfulness of who and what we truly are—creatures and not the Creator.

In fact, on Ash Wednesday, during the imposition of ashes, we used this formula: “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return”. It is an humble[1] reminder of our “earthy” origin. The acceptance and embrace of our creaturely state is a struggle simply because man has stupidly swallowed Satan’s suggestion that he is anything but human. The return to our earthly roots must consist in stripping off our pride. This Sunday we are prodded in this direction as suggested by the alternative formula for Ash Wednesday: “Repent and believe in the Gospel”.

Salvation without repentance is meaningless. To save us who think we are “sinless” is a waste of “Divine Condescension”[2] and frankly, it makes a mockery of Jesus’ death. Everyone bar none is a sinner who needs conversion and redemption. If the Holy Innocents who were sinless are also in need of a Saviour, how much more do we need to be saved? And if we need to be redeemed, perhaps we can see what repentance means for us.

If there is a anything take unites us and makes us equals, be we a prince, a prelate or a pauper, it must be the democracy of sin. The message that God loves us but does not expect anything of us is not true to the Gospel for “unless you repent, you shall perish”. Therein lies a modern dilemma. The notion of repentance and the idea of contrition challenge the ethos that we are self-made or self-determined or that we cannot be bad. If anything, we are well-intentioned. Thus, within a therapeutic setting,[3] any exercise that self-deprecates is considered self-defeating. After all, what is sin or where have we sinned? We are incapable of sin because anything that is contrary to our “good” nature[4] is merely proof of our sickness. Within this arc of “immaculate conception”[5], sin is not a consequence of our freedom to choose. Instead, we sin because we are sick and therefore should not be held responsible for whatever we have done.

In light of Lent and so that we do not “waste” time, a step towards proper repentance is to recognise that our desires, more often than not, are disordered, our intellects have been compromised that we frequently cannot see the true picture and finally our wills are weakened because, as St Paul described it perfectly, we choose what we should not and omit what we should. To receive God’s mercy, we need His sacraments, notably the Sacrament of Confession. The more prepared our conscience, the better will our confession be. The more profound our contrition, the deeper will God’s grace of healing reach. If self-conquest with the assistance of God’s grace is the sure path to the fullness of life, then sincere contrition opens the door for God’s compassion to salve the soul scarred by sin.

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[1] Humility literally mean on the ground or from the earth and it is related to the word “human”. We are literally created out of dust or earth.

[2] The profound bow we make at these words “And by the Holy Spirit, was incarnate of the Virgin Mary” is our response to the “Divine Condescension” of God. It would be a total waste of divine initiative in “taking flesh” so as to be one of us (albeit, except in sin).

[3] Feeling good as the standard for well-being and sometimes being good.

[4] Meaning, not even vitiated.

[5] Everyone seems to be conceived immaculately. And no one is vitiated by Original Sin.

2nd Sunday of Lent Year C 2022

From the Temptation we trek up Tabor for the Transfiguration. Last week, we accompanied Jesus in the desert and in so doing, signalled our desire to follow Him in repudiating Satan and the glamoured promised by evil. Today’s event is a watershed moment that took place on the journey of Jesus to Jerusalem. Along the way Jesus and His entourage ascended Tabor. However, the background prior to this mountain experience is central to what happened at the summit. If we follow Luke’s account, echoing the Prophet Isaiah, Jesus, setting His face like flint, resolutely made His way for Jerusalem. Along this peregrination Jesus queried the Disciples on His identity. “Who do you say that I am?”.

In a way, Peter’s Confession confirmed the mission of the Messiah but it also set the template for discipleship that must include an ascent to Calvary. Jesus spelt out for them in no uncertain terms that the Messiah was destined to be rejected, to suffer grievously at the hands of evil men, to be killed and then to rise on the third day. On Tabor, the faith of Peter was endorsed by the brilliant emanation from the Person of Jesus and authenticated by the Voice that came from the cloud.

However, Peter only got it partly correct.

For the Jews, the departures of both Elijah and Moses’ were shrouded in mystery. The former was gloriously assumed whereas the latter’s tomb has never been located. What united these prophetic figures was a supposition that they would return in time for the Messiah to usher in the Kingdom of God. On Tabor, Peter was transfixed by both by the appearances of Moses and Elijah conversing with Jesus that he failed to grasp the full implication of the transfiguration. Firstly, it is a foretaste of a future brought about by the sacrifice of Calvary. Secondly, it is a glory that can only be sustained by eternity[1]. Thus, Peter was blind-sided believing that this glory could be captured in its totality through the earthly expressions of altars on the mountain.[2]

Like Peter, many of us cannot appreciate that in Christ, glory has to be paid for by the Cross and that the Transfiguration is merely a preview of the triumph to come. The mountain experience of the Peter, James and John was meant to prepare them for what awaited them in eternity and no Calvary can ever obscure the glory that will come with the Resurrection. At Golgotha, God’s salvation for us will consist in the apparent destruction of God-for-us (Emmanuel). This is the part which does not make sense to so many of us and as St Paul says so, the Cross is foolishness indeed.

We have a natural affinity for happiness and more so in the last 50 years under the aegis of an ethos that celebrates the self,[3] we are more inclined to embrace a theology of the Resurrection which is emptied of its content. Note that Jesus was emphatic in pointing out that suffering would be a part of His glorification. The mystery of the Transfiguration contains both a promise and also a fulfilment. A promise that tribulation will be ours but it will never overwhelm us to the point that we are lost. It is also a fulfilment because at the end we will prevail in the Lord.

This is confirmed by the Voice that thundered from the cloud, “This is my Beloved Son. Listen to Him.” It endorses what Jesus Himself pointed out: “Whosoever wishes to follow Me must take up the Cross”. St Paul in the 2nd Reading paints a perfect portrait of what awaits us when we stand firm and keep close to Christ—He will transform our lowly bodies to be like His glorious Body. The Transfiguration promises that eternal triumph will be ours if we stand firm.

If both the Cross and Resurrection are two sides of a same coin, how then do we integrate the Cross into our lives? In accepting the Resurrection, how do we not lose sight that there is a Calvary to climb?

Firstly, we simply acknowledge that we are expert at avoiding the Cross at all costs. It is natural to flinch from it. Christ Himself hesitated at Gethsemane. “Father, if you can, remove this cup from me”. There is a difference though. His reaction to the silence of God was not resentment. He merely accepted it as God’s will to be embraced. How often have we been annoyed with God for not bending to our will?

Secondly, we may have tamed the Cross by reducing it to an ornament, either as personal jewellery or wall decoration. It is basically a pointless reminder at best or a talisman at worst. How many of us are conscious that there is a Cross attached to the Rosary that is hanging from the car’s rear-view mirror? Or mindless, we easily curse at another driver for his or her inconsideration?

Thirdly, the Cross is the price of love. We point to the love of God and we preach His mercy. All sounds good and inviting that God loves us. But we forget that Jesus hung on the Cross out of love for us. “Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world” should be “You take away MY sins, have mercy on ME”. The Cross is both the cost of "My" sin and the price of love for "Me". St Paul preached Christ crucified to hammer the point that God paid the price of our sin by sacrificing His Son.

Fourthly, we be mindful of the reality of sin. Lent makes no sense if we do not recognise the role of sin in our lives. Otherwise, whatever is penitential in this season would merely be cosmetic[4]. We may better figure out the meaning of the “transfiguration” if we contrast it with a related word: “disfigurement”. Sin disfigures the soul and separates us from God. The climb to Tabor which culminates in the “transfiguration” is an invitation to the conversion of hearts—to truly turn away from sin.

Finally, the Cross comes in many shapes and sizes. Even to fast from sinning itself will be a Cross to bear. Whatever form it takes, be it grief, sickness or even death, the Cross is not God’s condemnation but a symbol of both justice and mercy. Justice because we have sinned. Mercy because we have been ransomed and redeemed by no less than the Son of God. In summary, the Resurrection would not be complete if the Cross were not a part of it. Without the Cross, the Resurrection is meaningless, a hollow victory at best. The Cross may feel foolish for many. Nevertheless, it is fertile soil for Christian hope to spring forth and necessary for us as we make the pilgrimage from sorrow to solace, from Calvary to the empty tomb, from death to eternal life.


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[1] When Mary Magdalene wanted to embrace the post-resurrection Jesus, He alluded to this mystery that a glorified body essentially cannot be captured by earthly realities anymore.

[2] That which is of eternity can only be approximated here in earth.

[3] What was once sin has now been reclassified as sickness. For example, alcoholism or sexual obsession are now treated as diseases and not moral failings. When our worship shifts from God to the self, what follows will not be reason but feelings.

[4] For example, fasting for what? Better figure?

1st Sunday of Lent Year C 2022

We could not have inaugurated Lent in a more spectacular style than the suspension of services. Perhaps there is something to be said about what happened on Ash Wednesday. Following from last Sunday, we acknowledged that everyone will one day have to stand before the judgement seat of Christ. Lent is the annual exercise that prepares us for the future to render an account of who we are either through commission or omission. It is a kind of spiritual auditing so we may stand before the Lord in black rather than in red.

We are inclined to regard Lent as spiritual spring cleaning. In itself, it is not far from the truth. But the painful cancellation of Masses on Ash Wednesday may just allow us to reflect on what this Sunday’s readings are saying to us. They suggest that we look beyond the “mea culpa” to the existential relationship that we ought to have with God. Both the readings highlight the deep connexion between the creature and His Creator.

If we fail to grasp this fundamental affinity between the Maker and the made, then Lent can stray into a season for self-recrimination focussing on the effort we need to turn ourselves around. To renew, to reform and to revitalise are crucial but they miss a point. Take the cue from the Penitential Rite of the Eucharist. We are used to thinking that the Rite is a moment of remorse for our failures. On the one hand, the admission of sin is necessary as part of the preparation before we celebrate the sacred mysteries. On the other hand, our psyche is conditioned by a “self-made or self-help” philosophy, it can imply that personal merit becomes our precondition for worship. It signifies that we want to be able to stand justified because we feel equal to God.

Nothing could be further from the truth but we are accustomed to this kind of logic and it is reflected in the way we approach the Penitential Rite. “I have been bad. Lord, have mercy”. Or, if we follow the current climate-change campaign, “We have failed to care for the environment. Christ, have mercy”. Note that the Kyrie segues or flows naturally into the Gloria hinting the Kyrie and Gloria are not two foci. Instead, they focus singularly on God alone. “Jesus, you are mighty God and Prince of Peace, Lord, have mercy”. Where is the "I" or where are the “we” in this formulation? Nothing about us. Without taking our eyes off our sinfulness, the emphasis is not even on our sins but rather on the God whose love is beyond our comprehension. The Eucharist is where, despite our utter unworthiness, we worship God because He deserves all our affection. Apart from Advent and Lent, this love which commands our entire devotion moves us to praise, bless, adore, glorify and give thanks for His great glory[1]. 

Instead of rushing into a slew of “things” to do, the cancellation of our Ash Wednesday services followed by the deep sanitisation that took place on Thursday, fits perfectly into the spirit of the Readings. While the soul of Lent resembles the physical deep-cleansing of the Cathedral, more than that, it shines a spotlight on our relationship with God. Eating fish the whole Lent is admirable or going fully vegetarian is commendable and nowhere am I criticising these devotional dietary practices. Noble as they are, these disciplines are not goals to achieve. God is.

This is exactly the point of the Gospel. Jesus driven into the desert of purification revealed to us what the substance of our relationship with God should consist of. Jesus refused food even though He could have turned stones into bread. He had no problem multiplying bread for others to eat and finally He becomes the Bread of eternal life for us. Jesus declined the power that comes with lording over others. Instead, His strength was to bear the Cross for our sins. Finally, Jesus rebuffed Satan’s temptation to “demand” God’s protection by testing the Father’s love. The Resurrection is the ultimate vindication of Jesus’ trust in the Father’s love for Him. At every turn, Jesus in His humanity rejected Satan because He recognised Satan for who he is: Not god. Satan is not god and in saying No, Jesus revealed two interconnected realities about our humanity. Our souls can be in peril because the nature of temptation is always to rob us of our true identity--called to be sons and daughters of the Father.

During Lent, we will be tempted like Jesus was, to take advantage of who we are: beloved sons and daughters of God. We will be tempted to compromise our relationship with God. Take the ordinary Friday abstinence which has become such a chore for many of us. Self-denial resembles the desert because fasting and abstinence purify our relationship with God. They are not undertaken for themselves. That would be vanity. The difficulty of our Lenten disciplines is a potent reminder that we have a relationship with God which requires our personal attention. The more intimate we are with God, the stronger will the temptations be. Never be dismayed by terrible temptations but take consolation that Satan does not need to tempt those who are already safe in the embrace of hell.

The Temptations challenge our idea of individual autonomy. The accepted principle that God has created us with inalienable rights means that self-determination is at the core of our identity. Aided by scientific progress and technological prowess, we embrace a radical autonomy that manifests itself as the ability to control our destiny. But that is self-delusional because the more militantly we insist on our sovereignty, the more delusional we are, failing to appreciate that “autonomy” is never absolute but is premised on relationship. A quarrelling couple illustrates this perfectly. “I don’t need you” shouts the husband to the wife might speak of independence but the dismissal suffers from performative contradiction. A person who claims “I don’t need you” actually “needs” an audience for the statement to be substantiated. The only way that we have no need of others is to remain silent.

Both the Credo of the Chosen People in the first reading and the Confession of Christians in the second reading are powerful articulation of our relationship with God, which in the Gospel, Christ demonstrated decisively when He resolutely rejected Satan.

Lent provides the same space for our repudiation of evil, for the renewal and the deepening of our relationship with God. There is a proverb suitable to describe a danger and it is this: "Makers of idols rarely believe in them". We can be knee-deep in keeping the rituals but forget that the rituals only make sense because of who God is. Therefore, be mindful that it is possible to mechanically pass through this penitential season detached from God. What is impossible, however, is to love God and not be willing to embrace penance and sacrifice. Lent invites us to put God in the centre so that the ash, the fasting and abstinence, the almsgiving, the prayer can become channels of grace, of conversion and renewal.

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[1] Of course, during Advent and Lent, we “fast” from the Gloria because we recognise the inauthenticity of our relationship with God. That we want to make it right. As the Psalmists lament, “How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?”. (Ps 137: 4). To sin is to live in a strange land.

Ash Wednesday 2022

As we impose ash or like last year, sprinkle it on the head, we can use either of these two formulae: “Repent and believe in the Gospel” or “Remember that you are dust and unto dust you shall return”. Presently, the first formula is preferred because it feels more modern and less morbid. However, there is a realism in the older formula which may be good to remind us that minus the soul, we are basically it: dust.

We are no more than dust if we had no soul. The dust on our forehead is indeed a warning to take heed because we are not merely a body. Obviously, without the soul, the body will go where it is supposed to go. Just like the animals. But as the body is also ensouled, the body has a higher vocation. It is to share the divine life of God which makes every choice here on earth crucial. The decisions we take play a defining role whether or not we will achieve the purpose for which the human person is intended: to praise God, to revere and to serve Him and thereby gain eternal life.

It does not sound like fun. The perception of eternity is crippled by a lack of imagination. We cannot imagine what heaven is like. If you can, think of the best possible pleasure that you ever had or can ever imagine. The problem with this marvellous sensational experience is that it will leave you yearning for more. Adrenalin junkies will appreciate this longing. Once the rush dies down, the craving for stimulation begins. Ironical that sometimes people laud an experience as “out of this world”. Clearly, these people have no inkling what “out of this world” means because the truth remains that whatever experiences we have in this life will never fully satisfy. We are always left wanting even when an experience is exceptional because eternal life is infinitely more than we can ever imagine. Eternal life is when we will no longer search because the human heart has found its true love: God Himself.

Lent is therefore a time of renewal—a call to reflect on our lives to see where our heart and what the state of our soul is. The dust reminds us not to tarry and wait too long because as long as we are here, we will always have relationships to repair—with God and with others.

The need to repair is evidence by a tribalism involved in this celebration. How so? It is nowhere near a day of obligation but attendance seems to suggest that it is. People come today because the ash, apart from calling attention to the frailty of human existence, is also an expression of our solidarity. In a society which is markedly non-Christian, the mark of the cross on the forehead is indeed a refreshing memento of our fellowship, most especially of belonging firstly to Christ and also to the brotherhood and sisterhood of sinners, loved and ransomed by Christ. The ash reminds us that king or pauper, rich or poor, we are all sinners in need of conversion and salvation. Our fasting and abstinence today is a start. As we sacrifice, let us all keep Ukraine in our windscreen and pray for a speedy resolution to this mindless conflict.