“You are dust and to dust you shall return.”
With the words of one of several familiar formulas for the imposition of ashes on Ash Wednesday, many Christians begin their annual Lenten journey. Growing up Roman Catholic, Lent was a memorial of self-denial and penance practiced in small ways like having the desiccated remains of palms smeared on one’s forehead, giving up some sundry item or pleasure except on Sundays, and indulging in heavily fried seafood on Fridays.
Somewhere in this practice, we were told, we prepared ourselves for Jesus’ death and resurrection.
Ben Huelskamp
Truth be told, I never understood it all and even now as an adult and as a pastor and faith leader it all seems a little strange. Yes, there is immense symbolism in Lent, particularly on Ash Wednesday. But how does that symbolism impact us beyond an act of public piety, wearing a smudge of ashes in the rough shape of a cross on our foreheads and trying to explain the “dirt” on our face to people we encounter? How do the internal and personal changes we are called to make during Lent affect the world around us? How does Lent help us love our neighbors better and more?
Some Christians begin their Lent with ashes, calling it a witness in the same way their crosses and Bible-quoting T-shirts are a witness to their faith. Others look at it as a penance, particularly if they are mocked or even lightly ribbed for wearing ashes all day. Still others appreciate the sacramental nature of the ashes but reverently wipe them off quickly or forego the ritual entirely — not out of disrespect but discomfort for what too often is hollow performative piety.
“Imposition of ashes should challenge us to act rather than be a badge of our devotion.”
Imposition of ashes should challenge us to act rather than be a badge of our devotion.
“You are dust and to dust you shall return.” Formed of stuff of the earth, Ash Wednesday reminds us not just of our mortality, but the fact that we are inherently connected to the earth and all the created world. Through the grace of the Creator we came from the earth, we will one day return to the earth and, with time, we will fully return to that dust. We should mark how we belong to and impact the earth while we live on with and through it. Rather than reflect solely on the transient nature of our humanity, how do our lives serve the rest of creation? How do we support flourishing or how do we inhibit our siblings?
As important to our Lenten devotion as Ash Wednesday is what we give up for Lent. I imagine many of us have come to a place where we understand if we give something up, that sacrifice and self-denial shouldn’t be a simple penance but should benefit both us and our neighbors. Perhaps in giving up social media we find more time to read, or we find a better balance that makes us more present to our families. Maybe you’re giving up an expensive pleasure so you can dedicate the money you save to charitable donations or better focus on your retirement and savings. As a diabetic with an enormous sweet tooth, I’m once again trying to give up desserts and sweet snacks as a way of focusing on my health and my ability to continue being around for my family, friends and the people I serve.
But individual transformation, however meaningful, is only the beginning of what Lent calls us toward. Lent doesn’t have to be about forms of self-denial. Lent can be a season of refocusing our devotion and our worship. Too much is happening in the United States and the world for Christians — particularly white, straight, cisgender Christians — to sit idly by watching the passage of history unfold around us.
This is the time to worship not just with our prayers and hymns, but with our bodies and actions; the time to do church in the streets, at ICE detention facilities and in the halls of government. Lent 2026 can and should be a moment of prophetic resistance.
“This is the time to worship not just with our prayers and hymns, but with our bodies and actions.”
You don’t have to give up anything but your time and perhaps a bit of your comfort to worship the Savior who literally took up his Cross to model what we, too, should do.
“You are dust and to dust you shall return.” The meaning of penance and self-denial is internal change, but during Lent that internal change must bring forth external change. Internal change that stays internal is naïve at best and meaningless at worst. As Matthew’s Gospel reminds us, people don’t hide lamps under baskets; we have to let our lights shine.
Lent needs to change the way we interact with our neighbors and our communities even if that change seems to only help us personally.
Perhaps you’ve been inspired by the more than 100 clergy arrested while protesting corporate complicity with ICE. Maybe you witnessed more than 7 million people at the No Kings demonstrations and realized you need to be more involved. You might be someone who has been wanting to resist the marginalization of the transgender community or are now even more alarmed by the growing threats to marriage equality. You may be looking around for some sort of good news and, finding none, realizing you need to create those divinely hopeful moments for yourself and others.
Whatever is swelling in you at the beginning of Lent 2026, our journey individually and together must start with change in ourselves but mustn’t stay there. We have to get out of silos and work together — however that makes sense and in whatever ways feel most appropriate for us. Regardless of how we do this work, we have to bring that change into the places where darkness needs light, hate needs love, authoritarian power needs collective witness and evil needs the mighty force of all God’s people. Remember, you are dust and to dust you shall return.
Ben Huelskamp is a leader, pastor, writer, activist and public intellectual. Ordained in The Fellowship of Affirming Ministries, he serves as executive director of LOVEboldly and as pastor of Blue Ocean Faith Columbus.