Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.

This morning, we enter the holy season of Lent, a time of self-examination, repentance, and return to God. Every year, Ash Wednesday confronts us with the truth of our mortality: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” But this day also calls us to something more—not just a return to God, but a return to God’s work of healing, justice, and transformation. Ash Wednesday invites us to return to each other as well.

The prophet Joel speaks to a people in crisis. Judah is reeling from two devastating calamities—a drought and a locust invasion—and their world is unraveling. Yet Joel does not call first for political action or strategic planning. Instead, he calls his people to repentance. He urges them to fast, to weep, to mourn—not just as individuals, but as a community. “Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly.” They must come together to seek God’s mercy, not only for themselves but for the whole nation.

There is power in coming together. Today, we form a similar solemn assembly, gathering to repent—to see ourselves honestly, to name the ways we have fallen short, and to trust in God’s grace, which meets us in that honesty. Notice that the Ash Wednesday litany we will soon pray from the Book of Common Prayer is not individualistic; it is communal. We do not say “my” and “mine” but “our” and “we”: “Accept our repentance, Lord, for the wrongs we have done: for our blindness to human need and suffering, and our indifference to injustice and cruelty. For all false judgments, for uncharitable thoughts toward our neighbors, and for our prejudice and contempt toward those who differ from us. Accept our repentance, Lord.”

Repentance is not only about personal sin—it is also about communal sin, about the things we have done and the things we have left undone. This Lent, Christ Church Cathedral is dedicating this season to reflection, focusing on how systemic racism and discrimination have shaped and harmed our community. We are holding up a mirror and asking: Where are we still experiencing hurt and disconnection caused by our own policies, beliefs, and practices? The racism we have encountered and perpetuated over the 188 years of our church’s life has often been implicit—subtle, ingrained, operating beneath the surface. And that is precisely where sin does its most insidious work.

Let me name a few examples. Many of our Spanish-speaking members still feel like “renters” rather than “owners” in our shared life together, largely because decision-making structures remain centered in the English language and white cultural norms. Our African American members and members of color have voiced frustration over how we define “high-quality” music and liturgy—often elevating European traditions while implying that worship or music from other cultures is “lesser than.” For years, we invested far less in our Coro Latinoamericano than in our English-language music ministry. Thankfully, we have begun to address that inequity, but the work continues. And, even though we are a multi-racial, multi-ethnic congregation, there is little crossover between our English- and Spanish-speaking communities. Some of this is practical—worship happens at different times, and language barriers can make interactions uncomfortable. But the result is a disconnect that we must intentionally work to overcome.

This divide is not the fault of any one person. It is the result of years of culture, history, and systemic inequities. We may not have intended it, but that does not mean it is not real. And so, we must ask: How have we been blind to the needs and suffering of our own neighbors? How have we made false judgments about each other? How have we, consciously or unconsciously, harbored prejudice toward those who differ from us? These indeed are the core questions of Lent.

Joel’s call is clear: “Rend your hearts and not your garments.” True repentance is not about symbolic gestures; it is about transformation. That is why, throughout Lent, our worship will reflect this work. Each Sunday throughout Lent, we will begin our liturgies with a Confession of Sin from Enriching Our Worship, an alternative liturgical text authorized by the Episcopal Church. This confession calls us to explicitly name not only what we have done or not done, but also the ways sin operates in and through us: “We repent of the evil that enslaves us, the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf.”

That last phrase—”the evil done on our behalf”—is particularly powerful. We live in a world shaped by economic, political, and cultural systems—some that privilege certain groups while marginalizing others. To repent of “the evil done on our behalf” means acknowledging that we are part of these realities.

But repentance is not only about confession; it is about change. And so, our Lenten practices this year will reflect that. Our liturgical music will incorporate bilingual settings, reflecting our desire for true inclusion. The Peace will move to Holy Communion, inviting us to reflect on what reconciliation really means. On Friday evenings, we will gather across cultural and linguistic divides to listen, learn, and build deeper relationships as we meet in each other’s homes for our Lenten meditations. This is not easy work, but it is the work to which God calls us.

Many of us may feel uncertain about how to engage. We may fear saying the wrong thing or uncovering uncomfortable truths. But here is the good news: God’s grace meets us in our discomfort. Joel reminds us that God is “gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.” God does not call us to this work to shame us, but rather to free us—to open our eyes, to lead us into something more whole, more just, more like the Beloved Community God envisions for us.

Therefore, Joel’s words ring out today: “Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart.” As we come forward to receive ashes, let this not be just another ritual. Let this action we take today be an outward and visible sign of our commitment—

To see what we have not seen.
To listen to voices we have ignored.
To open ourselves to the work of healing and reconciliation.

Ashes remind us of our mortality, but they also mark the beginning of renewal. May God give us grace that this Lent will be a season of return—not just as individuals, but as a community longing for justice, reconciliation, and transformation. May God accept our repentance. And may God turn us—toward mercy, toward justice, toward love. May God turn us even more toward each other. Amen.