Ash Wednesday 2026: The Jubilee of St. Francis
Homily by friar Mario Serrano, OFM Conv.
If you are still wondering which penitential practices to undertake during Lent, Pope Leo has asked us to consider listening and fasting. That is to make room for the Word and to listen to the cry of the poor, “throughout human history, constantly challenges our lives, societies, political and economic systems, and, not least, the Church.” And to fast by “refraining from words that offend and hurt our neighbor. Let us begin by disarming our language, avoiding harsh words and rash judgment, refraining from slander and speaking ill of those who are not present and cannot defend themselves… In this way, words of hatred will give way to words of hope and peace.” (Message of the Holy Father Leo XIV for Lent 2026)
This year, we Franciscans celebrate the Jubilee of St. Francis (from January 10, 2026, to January 10, 2027). It is a special holy year proclaimed by Pope Leo XIV to mark the 800th anniversary of St. Francis of Assisi’s embrace of Sister Death. Francis sought to live and practice what we will hear as ashes are put on our foreheads: “Repent and believe in the Gospel.”
Today, as we begin anew, Ash Wednesday is not a day of condemnation but one of clarity. The ashes traced on our foreheads speak a quiet truth: we are dust, yet beloved dust. Mortal, fragile, fleeting, yes, and still held in God’s love and mercy. The Church does not place ashes on us to shame us, but to awaken hope in us.
“Repent and believe in the Gospel.” Repentance is often misunderstood. It is not mere regret, not spiritual self-criticism, not a gloomy obsession with failure. In the Gospel, repentance means returning, that is, turning our minds, our hearts, our whole lives back toward God. It is the courage to say: Lord, I want to walk toward You again. And this year, as we live the grace of the Jubilee connected to St. Francis of Assisi, that call us to take a particularly Franciscan tone to our Lenten journey.
Francis, the poor man of Assisi, heard this same invitation in his own life. His conversion did not happen all at once in a dramatic moment but through many small surrenders and encounters. The crucifix of San Damiano speaks in a chapel falling into ruin. Francis makes room for the Word and listens. His conversion deepens as he embraces a leper with trembling love, disregarding the noise and disarming the harsh words that society and the used for “this other.” Francis teaches us that repentance is not primarily about what we give up; it’s about Who we return to.
We fast, yes, and this fasting is not about dieting for holiness. We pray, yes, and our prayer is not meant to be a performance. We give alms, of course, but not as a sacrifice; we give out of compassion and generosity, not for show. These are not Lenten practices we undertake to impress God. They are pathways to deepen our love for God and our neighbor.
Sin is the failure to bother to love; it is not simply rule-breaking; it is also relationship-wounding. And repentance is to move us toward healing love, Divine love.
“Repent and believe in the Gospel.”
Notice the order. First repent. Then believe. Because it is difficult to believe the Gospel, to truly believe the Word while clinging to illusions:
The illusion that we are self-sufficient.
The illusion that wealth or status will save us.
The illusion that resentment protects us.
The illusion that we have plenty of time.
Ashes sweep away illusions. When Francis stood naked in the public square, it was not to dramatize poverty, but to proclaim a truth: Nothing but God is enough.
Lent asks us the same question: What am I clinging to that keeps me from trusting God completely?
Perhaps it is not material wealth but control, not comfort but distraction caused by all the noise we call politics and news. Maybe it’s not pleasure but fear. Fear learned from slander and the ruminations of false narratives about those who are absent and can’t defend themselves.
Repentance means turning toward God and walking with God’s people, allowing God to gently loosen our grip on all the things and thoughts we believe we need to “make it” to obtain some of that salvation for ourselves.
And then comes the second half of the command: “Believe in the Gospel.”
Believe that mercy is stronger than sin.
Believe that grace can reshape habits.
Believe that forgiveness is healing.
Believe that holiness, living a different way, is not reserved only for a few.
Believe that hope isn’t just wishful thinking but a confidence rooted in Divine promises, an active resilience of God’s faithfulness and love. A love stronger than hate and death. Hope is the anchor for the soul.
St. Francis saw this not just as an idea, but as a way of life. He believed in the Gospel and aimed to live it so completely and joyfully that his life became a visible reminder of Christ. That is the goal of Lent. Not self-improvement. Not spiritual acrobats. But transformation into love for God and the other, God’s people.
May this Lent, in the spirit of St. Francis, become for us not a season of heaviness but a season where we deepen and experience God’s love for us and share that love with others. Turn back. Trust again. Believe the Gospel. Because God is not tired of us.
Our God of Hope is waiting, as always, with mercy. To hear us say, like St. Francis, “This is what I want. This is what I seek, this is what I desire with all my heart.”
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