"Remember that you are dust. And remember whose dust you are." Ash Wednesday 2026

18. February 2026
Ash Wednesday
Joel 2:12–19; 2 Peter 1:2–11; Matthew 6:16–21

When you fast, do not be like the hypocrites, with a sad countenance. For they disfigure their faces that they may appear to men to be fasting (Mt 6:16).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Ash Wednesday confronts us with who we are and who God is. There is no room for pretense tonight. The ashes are not decorative. They are not sentimental. They are the Church’s blunt confession of the truth: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19).

Dust. Not basically good with minor flaws. Not slightly misguided. Dust—under judgment. The words spoken to Adam are spoken to us. The wages of sin is death. And death is not natural. It is not a neutral part of the cycle of life. It is the sentence of a holy God against rebellion.

The prophet Joel strips away every excuse and every shallow religious performance. “‘Return to Me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning.’ So rend your heart, and not your garments; return to the LORD your God” (Joel 2:12–13). That is the point of this day. Not an external show. Not pious theatrics. Not temporary spiritual enthusiasm. God is not impressed by torn clothes or public sorrow. He demands the heart.

And if we are honest, that is precisely what we have not given Him.

Lent is the time for honesty. We have given Him leftovers. We have given Him distracted prayers. We have given Him convenient obedience. We have loved other things more—comfort, reputation, money, lust, control. We have justified bitterness. We have nursed grudges. We have spoken carelessly. We have failed to love those entrusted to us. We have feared one another more than God.

So Joel says what we would rather not hear: “Blow the trumpet in Zion, consecrate a fast, call a sacred assembly” (Joel 2:15). Gather everyone. No exemptions. Bridegroom. Bride. Infant. Elder. All stand under the same verdict. All need mercy.

And yet the same prophet who announces judgment also reveals the heart of God: “For He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness; and He relents from doing harm” (Joel 2:13). This is not cheap grace. It is costly mercy. But it is real.

Saint Paul speaks even more urgently: “We then, as workers together with Him also plead with you not to receive the grace of God in vain” (2 Corinthians 6:1). In vain. That is possible. To hear forgiveness but refuse repentance. To admire the cross but cling to the sin that nailed Him there. To treat grace as a religious accessory rather than life from the dead.

Then comes the word that cuts through delay and procrastination: “Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation” (2 Corinthians 6:2). Not tomorrow. Not when life settles down. Not when you feel more spiritual. Now.

Our Lord Himself warns against false piety in the Gospel. “Take heed that you do not do your charitable deeds before men, to be seen by them” (Matthew 6:1). Ashes on the forehead mean nothing if the heart remains proud. Fasting means nothing if it feeds self-righteousness. Long prayers mean nothing if they are staged performances.

“When you fast, do not be like the hypocrites, with a sad countenance” (Matthew 6:16). Hypocrisy is religious theater. It seeks the praise of men. But men cannot absolve. Men cannot raise the dead. Men cannot silence the conscience.

Instead, Jesus directs us to the Father who sees in secret. The Father who sees not only the outward act but the inward corruption. The Father who sees the heart we try to hide even from ourselves.

And here is the accusation: He sees it all.

But here also is the Gospel: He has already judged it—in His Son.

Ash Wednesday is not merely about dust. It is about dust claimed by God. It is about sinners marked not only with ashes but with the cross. The same forehead that hears, “Remember that you are dust,” was once washed with water and the Word. In Holy Baptism, you were buried with Christ and raised with Him. The ashes do not erase that. They intensify it.

Christ entered our dust. “He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him” (2 Corinthians 5:21). That is the exchange. Our filth for His righteousness. Our death for His life. Our condemnation for His obedience.

He rode into Jerusalem not as a conqueror on a war horse but lowly and mounted on a donkey. He went to the cross willingly. He did not die as a victim of circumstance but as the Lamb of God under divine judgment. The wrath that should reduce us to ashes fell on Him.

And on the third day, He rose. Dust did not hold Him. Death did not keep Him. The grave was not final.

So tonight, when you hear that you are dust, you hear only half the story if you stop there. Yes, you will return to dust. But that is not the last word. Because Christ has entered the dust and come out the other side. And those united to Him share His future.

Lent is not for pretend seriousness. It is training in truth. We do not deny our sin. We name it. We do not excuse it. We confess it. We do not manage it. We bring it to the cross.

The hymn prays, “Chief of sinners though I be, Jesus shed His blood for me.” That is not poetic exaggeration but reality. If you minimize your sin, you minimize your Savior. If you justify yourself, you make the cross unnecessary. But if you admit that you are dust under judgment, then Christ becomes everything.

Joel asks, “Who knows if He will turn and relent?” (Joel 2:14). We know. We know because He already has. He turned toward us in the incarnation. He relented by placing judgment on His Son. He poured out His Spirit on all flesh, just as He promised.

The altar before you is not a decoration. It is where the crucified and risen Lord gives Himself to you. The same body that hung on the cross. The same blood that was poured out for the forgiveness of sins. You do not climb to Him. He comes to you.

That is why Lent is not a self-improvement program. It is not a religious fitness challenge. It is a return. A return to the Lord who is gracious and merciful. A return to the font. A return to confession. A return to the Supper.

Ashes will fade. They will wash off. But the Word spoken over you does not fade. The absolution pronounced in Christ’s stead does not evaporate. The promise attached to His body and blood does not expire.

You are dust. That is true. You are redeemed dust. That is also true.

And the day is coming when even this dust will be raised. When the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable. When what was sown in weakness will be raised in power.

Until then, we repent. We fast. We pray. Not to earn mercy—but because we have received it. Not to impress God—but because we fear, love, and trust in Him above all things.

“Remember that you are dust.” Yes.

And remember whose dust you are.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin