Before anyone brings out the ashes, the Church invites us to do something far less dramatic: look around.
Not repent.
Not renounce.
Just… notice.
This is the spiritual equivalent of opening the cupboard under the stairs and discovering three umbrellas, a stack of old parish newsletters, and something that might once have been a casserole dish.
We all carry things we no longer need — habits, worries, grudges, unfinished conversations, well-intended promises that have quietly expired. Lent will eventually ask us what we want to do about them. But first, these in-between days simply ask us to acknowledge what’s there.
And that is harder than it sounds.
Because noticing requires honesty. And honesty, unlike ashes, cannot be imposed ceremonially. It must be chosen gently, patiently, and preferably with a sense of humour.
The Church, bless her, knows this. So she gives us time to peek into the corners of our lives without yet asking us to empty them. Time to say, “Ah. So that is still here,” without immediately demanding a solution.
This is holy work.
Because nothing real ever changes until it is first seen. And nothing seen honestly is ever beyond God’s mercy.
So consider this a season of holy noticing. No heroics required. Just attention. Lent will come soon enough with its clear invitations. For now, God seems content to stand beside us, flashlight in hand, smiling knowingly.
Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual
Companion Prayer
Patient God,
before you ask us to let go,
you invite us to look.
Give us courage to notice
what we carry,
gentleness toward ourselves
in the seeing,
and trust that nothing revealed
is beyond your love.
Prepare us not through pressure,
but through truth.
Amen.