Returning to the heart

When you give alms, when you pray, when you fast, make sure that it is done in secret: for your Father sees what is done in secret (cf. Mt 6:4). Entering into secrecy: this is the invitation that Jesus extends to each of us at the beginning of the Lenten journey.

Entering into the secret means returning to the heart, as the prophet Joel exhorts (cf. Joel 2:12). It is a journey from the outside to the inside, so that everything we experience, even our relationship with God, is not reduced to an exteriority, to a frame without image, to a covering of the soul, but arises from within and corresponds to the movements of the heart, that is to say, to our desires, our thoughts, our feelings, the original core of our person.

Lent then immerses us in a bath of purification and stripping away: it seeks to help us remove all "makeup," all the things we put on to appear adequate, better than we are. Returning to the heart means returning to our true selves and presenting them as they are, naked and stripped bare, before God. It means looking within ourselves and becoming aware of who we truly are, shedding the masks we often wear, slowing down the pace of our frenzies, embracing our life and our truth. Life is not a play, and Lent invites us to step down from a fictional stage to return to the heart, to the truth of who we are. Returning to the heart, returning to the truth.

That is why, this evening, in a spirit of prayer and humility, we receive ashes on our heads. It is a gesture that seeks to bring us back to our essential reality: we are dust, our life is like a breath (cf. Ps 39:6; 144:4), but the Lord – He and He alone, no others – allows it not to disappear; He gathers and shapes the dust that we are, so that it may not be scattered by the impetuous winds of life and dissolve into the abyss of death.

The ashes placed on our heads invite us to rediscover the secret of life. They tell us: as long as you continue to wear armor that covers your heart, as long as you camouflage yourself with the mask of appearances, displaying an artificial light to appear invincible, you will remain empty and barren. When, on the contrary, you have the courage to lower your head and look within, then you will discover the presence of a God who loves you and has always loved you; the armor you have built for yourself will finally be shattered, and you will feel loved with an eternal love.

My sister, my brother, I, you, each one of us, are loved with an eternal love. We are ashes upon which God breathed his breath of life, we are the earth he shaped with his hands (cf. Gen 2:7; Ps 119:73), we are dust from which we will rise again to an endless life prepared for us from all eternity (cf. Is 26:19). And if, in the ashes that we are, the fire of God's love burns, then we discover that we are made of this love and that we are called to love: to love our brothers and sisters who are near, to be attentive to others, to live compassion, to practice mercy, to share what we are and what we have with those in need. This is why almsgiving, prayer, and fasting cannot be reduced to mere outward practices, but are paths that lead us back to the heart, to the essence of Christian life. They help us discover that we are ashes loved by God and enable us to spread that same love over the “ashes” of so many everyday situations, so that hope, confidence and joy may be reborn in them.

Saint Anselm of Aosta left us this exhortation, which we can make our own this evening: “Flee for a moment from your occupations, hide yourself a little from your tumultuous thoughts. Cast aside now your heavy worries, and postpone your laborious tensions. Devote yourself a little to God, and rest a little in Him. Enter the cell of your soul, exclude everything except God and that which helps you to seek Him; with the door closed, seek Him. Say now, with all my heart, say now to God: I seek Your face, Your face, Lord, I seek it” (Proslogion, 1).

Let us listen, then, in this Lenten season, to the voice of the Lord who never tires of repeating to us: enter into the secret. Enter into the secret, return to the heart. It is a salutary invitation for us who often live superficially, who bustle about to be noticed, who always need to be admired and appreciated. Without realizing it, we find ourselves without a secret place in which to stop and protect ourselves, immersed in a world where everything, including our most intimate emotions and feelings, must become “social”—but how can that which does not spring from the heart be social? Even the most tragic and painful experiences risk having no secret place to protect them: everything must be exposed, exhibited, given over to the chatter of the moment. And here the Lord tells us: enter into the secret, return to the center of yourself. It is precisely there, where so many fears, feelings of guilt, and sins also reside, that the Lord came down; he came down to heal and purify you. Let us enter our inner chamber: it is there that the Lord dwells, where our fragility is welcomed, and where we are loved unconditionally.

Let us return, brothers and sisters. Let us return to God with all our hearts. In these weeks of Lent, let us make room for the prayer of silent adoration, in which we remain attentive to the presence of the Lord, like Moses, like Elijah, like Mary, like Jesus. Have we realized that we have lost the meaning of adoration? Let us return to adoration. Let us lend the ear of our hearts to the One who, in silence, wants to tell us: “I am your God: God of mercy and compassion, the God of forgiveness and love, the God of tenderness and care. […] Do not judge yourself. Do not condemn yourself. Do not reject yourself. Let my love touch the deepest and most hidden corners of your heart and reveal to you your beauty, a beauty you have lost sight of, but which will become visible to you again in the light of my mercy.” The Lord calls us: “Come, come, let me dry your tears and let my mouth come closer to your ear and say to you: I love you, I love you, I love you” (H. Nouwen, In cammino verso l'alba, Brescia 1997, p. 233). Do we believe that the Lord loves us, that the Lord loves me?

Brothers and sisters, let us not be afraid to strip ourselves of worldly adornments and return to the heart, to what is essential. Let us think of Saint Francis who, after stripping himself bare, embraced with his whole being the Father who is in heaven. Let us recognize ourselves for what we are: dust loved by God, called to be dust in love with God. Through Him, we will be reborn from the ashes of sin to new life in Jesus Christ and in the Holy Spirit.

HOMILY OF POPE FRANCIS

Basilica of Saint Sabine

Wednesday, February 14, 2024