The Paradox of the Hidden Life: A Meditation on Ash Wednesday
Gospel: Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18
Jijo Kandamkulathy CMF
Claretian Missionaries
Today, the Church smudges our foreheads with ashes. We walk into the world marked, a public sign of our intent to pray, fast, and give alms. It seems, on the surface, to be a direct contradiction of the Gospel we just heard. Jesus tells us to go into our inner room, to wash our faces, to hide our good deeds. And then the Church says, “Go public with your repentance!”
This is the beautiful, challenging paradox at the heart of our faith and of this holy season. It is a paradox that a shallow faith cannot hold. But for those who are willing to dive deep, it reveals the very heart of God.
The problem Jesus is addressing is not the action itself, but the address of the heart. To whom is your piety directed? Think of it like a letter. If you write a beautiful, heartfelt letter but put the wrong address on the envelope, it will never reach its intended recipient. It may be read by others, it may even be admired, but it will never arrive at its destination.
Jesus warns us against misaddressing our lives. The hypocrites, He says, perform their righteousness so that people may see them. They address their prayer, their fasting, their generosity to the gallery of human opinion. And they get exactly what they asked for: the admiration of the crowd. The transaction is complete. They have their reward in full. The envelope, so to speak, is delivered to the wrong house and the contents are spent. There is nothing left for the Father.
This is the great danger of Ash Wednesday. We can wear our ashes like a badge of honor, a spiritual status symbol. We can walk a little slower, sigh a little louder, hoping someone will notice our sacrifice. We can turn this holy season into a performance. And if we do, we have already received our reward: the fleeting satisfaction of being seen as holy.
So why the ashes? Why the public ritual?
The ashes are not for others. They are a confession to ourselves and to God. The ashes are our admission that we are not the star of the show. “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” This is the ultimate reality check. It is the one truth that levels every human pretension. When we are dust, we cannot stand on street corners demanding praise. We can only kneel.
The ashes are a public declaration of a hidden truth. They are the visible sign of an invisible commitment. They are like a wedding ring. The ring is a public symbol, but its true meaning is found in the private, faithful love between two people. The ring without the love is just a piece of metal. The ashes without a hidden, contrite heart are just smudged dirt.
Jesus calls us to a threefold discipline that reorients our lives.
Almsgiving is the discipline of the hand. It reminds us that everything we have is a gift, not a possession to be hoarded. When we give in secret, we are practicing the truth that God is the source of all, and we are merely channels of his blessing. We detach our hand from the need for a “thank you” and learn to trust the Father who sees.
Prayer is the discipline of the heart. It is the quiet, stubborn acknowledgment that we cannot save ourselves. Going into your inner room is not just about a physical space; it is about entering the quiet chamber of your soul where only God dwells. It is there, in the silence, away from the noise of the world’s approval, that we are truly known and truly loved. It is there that our hearts are slowly, gently reshaped.
Fasting is the discipline of the body. It is a tangible “no” to our appetites, a small death, so that we can say a louder “yes” to God. When we wash our face and anoint our head, we are declaring that our satisfaction comes not from the food we deny ourselves, but from the God who sustains us. The emptiness in our stomachs becomes a space for God to fill.
This Lent, would encourage us to embrace the paradox. Let the ashes on your forehead be a question mark, not an exclamation point. Let them be a reminder to everyone who sees you—and most importantly, to yourself—that your true work, your true life, is hidden with Christ in God.
Your left hand does not need to know what your right hand is doing because the only audience that matters is the one who sees in secret. The only reward worth seeking is the one that cannot be given by the world: the reward of being fully known and fully loved by the Father, who sees in the darkness of your inner room, who sees in the silence of your fast, who sees in the secrecy of your gift.
And in that secret place, where no one else can see, He is already there, waiting to repay you with the only currency that matters: His own presence, His own life.
A blessed and transformative Lent to you all.
© Claretian Publications, Macau
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