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Pope Francis’ Homily for Ash Wednesday
(read by Cardinal Angelo de Donatis)
Basilica of Santa Sabina – Wednesday, 5 March 2025
On Ash Wednesday, we receive the imposition of the holy ashes.
This bris a reminder of what we are, but also the hope of what we will be.
The ashes remind us that we are dust, but they also set us on a journey towards the hope to which we are called.
For Jesus descended into the dust of the earth and, through his Resurrection, has drawn us with him into the heart of the Father.
Thus the Lenten journey to Easter unfolds in the midst of the remembrance of our fragility and the hope that the Risen Lord awaits us at the end of the road.
First, we must remember.
We bow our heads in order to receive the ashes as if to look at ourselves, to look within ourselves.
In fact, the ashes help us to remember that our lives are fragile and insignificant:
we are dust, from dust we were created, and to dust we will return.
Moreover, there are so many times when we look at ourselves or at the reality that surrounds us and realize that “each one but a breath […] for nothing they are troubled; they pile up and do not know who will gather them”” (Ps 39:5-6).
We must remember our own fragility
We learn this above all through the experience of our own fragility: our weariness, the weaknesses we have to deal with, the fears that dwell within us, the failures that consume us, the fleetingness of our dreams and the realization that what we possess is ephemeral.
Made of ashes and earth, we experience fragility through illness, poverty, and the hardships that can suddenly befall us and our families.
We also experience it when, in the social and political realities of our time, we find ourselves exposed to the “fine dust” that pollutes our world: ideological opposition, the abuse of power, the resurgence of old identity-based ideologies that advocate exclusion, the exploitation of the earth’s resources, violence in all its forms and war between peoples.
This “toxic dust” clouds the air of our planet and hinders peaceful coexistence, while insecurity and the fear of the future continue to grow.
Our fragility reminds us of the reality of death
Furthermore, the state of fragility reminds us of the tragedy of death.
In many ways, we try to banish death from our societies, which are so dependent on appearances, and even remove it from our language.
However, death imposes itself as a reality we must reckon with, a sign of the precariousness and brevity of our lives.
Despite the masks we wear and the clever ploys we use to distract ourselves, the ashes remind us of who we are. This is good for us.
It reshapes us, it reduces the severity of our narcissism, it brings us back to reality and makes us more humble and open to one another, None of us is God; we are all on a journey.
Lent is also an invitation to rekindle our hope.
Although we receive the ashes with our heads bowed in remembrance of who we are.
Lent does not end there.
On the contrary, we are invited to lift our eyes to the One who rises from the depths of death and brings us from the ashes of sin and death to the glory of eternal life.
The ashes remind us of the hope to which we are called in Jesus, the Son of God, who took upon himself the dust of the earth and lifted it up to the heights of heaven.
He descended into the abyss of dust to die for us and reconcile us to the Father, as St. Paul tells us: “For our sake, he made him to be sin who knew no sin” (2 Cor 5:21).
This, brothers and sisters, is the hope that gives life the “ashes” of our lives.
Without such hope, we are condemned passively to endure the fragility of our human condition. Especially when faced with the experience of death, a lack of hope can cause us to fall into sadness and despair, and we end up reasoning like fools: “Short and sorrowful is our life, and there is no remedy when a life comes to its end […] the body will turn to ashes, and the spirit will vanish like empty air” (Wis 2:1-3).
But the hope of Easter f Easter toward which we journey assures us of God’s forgiveness.
Even when we are buried in the ashes of sin, hope opens us up to the joyful recognition of life:
“For I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth” (Job 19:25).
Let us remember this: “Man is dust and to dust he will return, but dust is precious in the eyes of God because God created man and destined him to immortality” (Benedict XVI).
Brothers and sisters, having received the ashes, we are moving towards the hope of Easter.
Let us return to God.
Let us return to him with all our hearts (cf. Joel 2:12).
Let us place him at the center of our lives, so that the memory of what we are — fragile and mortal as ashes scattered by the wind — may finally be filled with the hope of the Risen Lord.
Let us direct our lives towards him and become a sign of hope for the world.
Let us learn from almsgiving to go beyond ourselves, sharing the needs of others and nourishing the hope of a more just world.
Let us learn from prayer to discover our need for God or, as Jacques Maritain put it, that we are “beggars for heaven”, and thus nourish the hope that beyond our weaknesses there is a Father who awaits us with open arms at the end of our earthly pilgrimage.
Finally, let us learn from fasting that we do not live only to satisfy our needs, but that, hungry for love and truth, only the love of God and of one another can truly satisfy us and give us hope for a better future.
Let us persevere in the certainty that ever since the Lord took upon himself the ashes of humanity, the history of the earth is the history of heaven. God and man are united in a single destiny, and he will forever sweep away the ashes of death and make us shine with newness of life.
Let us begin our journey with this hope in our hearts.
Let us be reconciled with God.
