Ash Wednesday: Naming Our Hunger
Today, we begin Lent by telling the truth about our hunger.
Not just the hunger in our stomachs —
but the ache beneath the surface.
The restlessness.
The longing.
The quiet emptiness we try to fill.
This year, as we journey toward Jerusalem together, our Lenten question is simple but searching:
What is shaping your hunger?
And each week we will ask: What are you feeding your soul?
Ash Wednesday invites us to start at the beginning — not with answers, but with honesty.
When ashes are traced on our foreheads and we hear the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” we are reminded that we are finite. We are not self-sustaining. We cannot manufacture lasting fulfillment on our own.
We are hungry people.
Hungry for meaning.
Hungry for connection.
Hungry for peace.
Hungry for something that truly satisfies.
And yet, if we’re honest, we often try to fill that hunger with things that leave us emptier than before — noise, busyness, achievement, distraction, control. Lent is not about shaming that reality. It is about noticing it.
Ash Wednesday is where we name what has been shaping us.
In the Passover meal, unleavened bread — matzah — reminds the people of God of urgency and dependence. There was no time for the dough to rise. No time for excess. Just what was necessary for the journey.
Lent asks us to consider:
What might we need to leave behind so we can travel lighter toward Jerusalem?
What if the emptiness we fear is actually space where God longs to meet us?
This season, we will practice small acts of fasting — not to prove our devotion, but to notice what fills the space when something is removed. We will reflect on the wilderness, on bitter herbs and saltwater tears, on sweetness that still comes. We will walk the road with Jesus all the way to the cross.
But today, we simply begin with ashes.
Ashes are not a symbol of failure. They are a sign of humility. A reminder that we are formed by God and sustained by grace. They press gently on our foreheads and whisper: You do not have to pretend. You can come as you are.
Hungry.
Honest.
Human.
If you join us for worship, you will be invited to receive ashes as a tangible sign of surrender and hope. If you are observing this day from home, create a quiet moment. Read Psalm 51. Ask God to reveal what has been feeding your soul — and what has been draining it.
The road to Easter begins here.
With dust.
With desire.
With the courage to ask:
What is shaping my hunger?
May this be a season where we feed our souls with what truly satisfies — and discover that even in our emptiness, God is already drawing near.