Ash Wednesday

Title: Love tells the truth and beings again

Scripture: Joel 2:1-2; 12-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20-6:10

Good evening, church.

Tonight’s theme is simple: Love tells the truth and begins again.

And the Scriptures we heard—Joel and 2 Corinthians—say that in a way that feels both sharp and unbelievably hopeful.

Let me start with Joel.

Joel begins with a trumpet blast. It’s loud. It’s urgent. It doesn’t ease us in.

“Blow the trumpet… the day of the Lord is coming.”

Now, that kind of language can make people nervous, because it sounds like threat.

But I want you to hear it the way Scripture intends it: not as God trying to scare us into religion, but as God refusing to let us drift into destruction.

Sometimes the most loving thing someone can do is tell the truth.

If your friend is walking toward a cliff, you don’t whisper, “You’re doing great.”

You call out. You interrupt. You wake them up.

That’s what Joel is doing. That’s what God is doing.

Love tells the truth. Love says, “This is real. This matters. Wake up.”

And then, right in the middle of all that urgency, we get one of the most beautiful phrases in the whole Bible:

“Yet even now… return to me.”

Not “Return after you fix everything.”

Not “Return once you’ve earned your way back.”

Not “Return when you feel worthy.”

Just… return.

“Yet even now.”

And Joel makes it very clear what kind of returning God wants:

“Rend your hearts and not your garments.”

In other words: don’t turn this into a performance.

Don’t do religion for the sake of looking religious.

Don’t tear your clothing to show other people you’re sorry.

God isn’t asking for a show. God is asking for honesty.

Because the truth is, we’re good at appearances.

We can look fine and be empty.

We can sound faithful and be bitter.

We can stay busy with “good things” and still be far from God.

So Ash Wednesday gives us permission to stop pretending.

And ashes are part of that permission.

Ashes say, “I am not invincible.”

Ashes say, “I am not in control.”

Ashes say, “I am dust.”

But here’s the key: God does not tell us we are dust to humiliate us.

God tells us we are dust to free us.

Because once you admit you are dust, you can stop trying to be God.

And once you stop trying to be God, you can finally receive grace.

That’s Joel: love tells the truth—and then love opens a door.

Now listen to how Paul in 2 Corinthians walks us through that door.

Paul says, “We are ambassadors for Christ… we beg you: be reconciled to God.”

I love that word, “reconciled,” because it’s relational.

It’s not mainly about rules. It’s about relationship.

It’s not just “I broke a law.” It’s “I broke communion.”

Sin, at its deepest level, is not just bad behavior.

Sin is disordered love.

It’s the heart turning inward.

It’s good things taking the place of God.

It’s me trying to build my life around comfort, control, approval, security—anything except the living God.

And the result is always the same: we become less free.

We become anxious. We become hardened. We become lonely in our own self-protection.

So when Paul says, “Be reconciled to God,” he’s not saying, “Try to make God like you again.”

He’s saying: God has already moved toward you in Jesus Christ.

God has already opened the way.

Now step into it. Receive it. Come home.

Then Paul says one more line that is perfect for Ash Wednesday:

“Now is the acceptable time. Now is the day of salvation.”

Not tomorrow when life calms down.

Not next month when you’re less busy.

Not someday when you feel more spiritual.

Now.

And that’s the pastoral heart of Ash Wednesday.

This night is not meant to leave us in guilt.

It’s meant to bring us to the honest place where grace can reach us.

“Yet even now.”

“Now is the day.”

Those are like two hands of God holding us.

One hand tells the truth: “Wake up. You’re dust.”

The other hand offers mercy: “Come back. It’s not too late.”

And then Paul does something that matters for Lent.

He doesn’t describe salvation as a clean, easy story.

He lists hardship after hardship—afflictions, sleepless nights, hunger, dishonor, sorrow.

Why? Because he’s showing us that reconciliation is not just a feeling.

It’s a new way of living—even in a hard world.

In other words, grace doesn’t wait until everything is fixed.

Grace enters our real life.

So what does this mean for us, as we begin Lent?

It means repentance is not self-hatred.

Repentance is not shame.

Repentance is a turning—again—back into love.

Martin Luther once said repentance isn’t a one-time event.

It’s a lifelong turning.

And tonight, we get to practice that turning.

So I want to give you one simple way to live this theme—Love tells the truth and begins again—through Lent. Not a big spiritual project. Just a direction.

Choose one prayer.

Something you will actually do. Two minutes. One Psalm. One sentence: “Lord, have mercy.”

Choose one simplicity.

One place to make room. One habit to reduce. One thing that has been crowding your heart. Not to punish yourself, but to clear space for God.

And choose one mercy.

One concrete act of love each week. A note. A visit. A meal. A gift. A step toward reconciliation. Something real.

One prayer. One simplicity. One mercy.

Because Lent is not about proving ourselves.

It’s about being reordered—so love can be at the center again.

In a moment, you’ll be invited to receive ashes.

And when you come forward, I want you to hear the good news underneath the words.

Yes, you are dust.

But you are not disposable dust.

You are beloved dust.

And the God who formed you from dust in the beginning

is the God who, in Jesus Christ, is making all things new.

So church—let love tell the truth tonight.

And by the grace of God, let love begin again. Amen.