Homilies
Our God Who Sees All Things
Holy Spirit take my words and speak to each of us according to our need.
Today, we begin Lent not with celebration, but with ashes. We come forward and hear the words “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” It is humbling and yet also freeing. Because ashes tell the truth.
They tell the truth about our mortality and our limits, about the fact that we are not self-made, self-sufficient, or self-saving. Jesus speaks these words from the Sermon on the Mount: “Beware of practising your piety before others in order to be seen by them.” Precisely for us to acknowledge these things.
Most of us won’t think of ourselves as especially showy about religion. In fact, in British culture, we’re often more comfortable keeping faith private. So we might be tempted to think that this message is for other people.
But Jesus is not really talking about our visible faith. He’s talking about our motivation for the things we do. Not whether people see us, but whether being seen is the reason we do what we do.
Jesus gives three examples: giving, praying, and fasting. These were pillars of Jewish spiritual life, just as generosity, prayer, and self-discipline remain pillars of Christian discipleship today. Jesus assumes that his followers are already doing these things. He doesn’t say if you give, if you pray, or if you fast. He says when. So the issue is not about whether we practise our faith. The real issue is why.
“Do not sound a trumpet before you,” Jesus says this, describing those who give in order to be praised. It’s almost humorous imagery but beneath the humour is a serious warning: it is possible to do something outwardly good for inwardly distorted reasons. And if we’re honest, we know how easy that temptation can be.
We may not literally blow trumpets, but we do live in a world shaped by performance and approval. We instinctively know how to present the version of ourselves that we’d like other people to see. And that instinct doesn’t magically disappear when we enter church.
We might find ourselves from time to time, considering: Do people notice how involved I am? Do they see how kind I’m being? None of those questions sound terrible on the surface. But Jesus gently exposes what sits underneath them: the desire to be seen and admired. The desire for applause rather than transformation.
Jesus says that when recognition is the goal or is the reward. “They have received their reward.” In other words, if what we want is admiration, and we get admiration, then the transaction is complete. There’s nothing more to receive. But God offers something deeper than admiration. God offers relationship and transformation. Things that cannot be performed, only received.
That’s why Jesus returned again and again to the phrase “your Father who sees in secret.” Your Father sees. Your Father knows. Your Father notices what no one else notices.
That can be one of the most comforting truths in Scripture. Because much of the good we do in life is unseen. Quiet acts of care and hidden struggles. Prayers whispered when no one else is awake. Often our actions go unnoticed but none of it is invisible to God. The kingdom of heaven is not built on display. It is built on devotion.
There is something paradoxical about receiving ashes on our foreheads and hearing Jesus warn us not to practise piety before others. After all, ashes are visible. They mark us publicly. It could be seen to contradict what Jesus is saying. But ashing is not a performance. It is a visible sign of confession.
We do not wear ashes to impress anyone, we wear them to admit that we are human; dependent and fallible. Ashes are the sign not of spiritual achievement, but of spiritual need. They are not a badge of honour; they are a sign of surrender. Where we show our true selves, not the polished version of ourselves.
Jesus is not condemning public expressions of faith. He prayed publicly, taught publicly and worshipped publicly. The issue isn’t visibility, it is whether our hearts are oriented toward God or towards recognition.
It is possible to do the right thing for the wrong reason. But it is also possible to do the ordinary thing for the right reason and that is where holiness quietly grows.
Lent is a season that gently recalibrates our motivations. It asks us not just what we are doing spiritually, but why. Why do we pray? Why do we give? Why do we fast? Why do we serve? And if the honest answer is, “Because I want to be seen as good,” then Lent doesn’t condemn us either. It invites us deeper. It says: come and discover a better reason. Discover the God who sees in secret and loves you not for how impressive you appear, but for who you truly are. And that shift from performance to presence is the heart of repentance.
Repentance is often misunderstood as need to deservedly feel terrible about ourselves. But in Scripture, repentance just means turning. Turning away from self-display and toward God. Turning away from the exhausting task of managing our image and toward the restful grace of being known. Jesus ends with a simple statement: “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
So, what do we treasure? Approval? Reputation? Or do we treasure communion with God? Because whatever we treasure will shape us. It will quietly form our habits, our priorities, our prayers, and our lives.
Lent is not about proving how disciplined we can be. It is about gently relocating our treasure. It is about learning, to desire God more than we desire admiration.
The God who sees in secret is not watching us with a clipboard, grading our performance. He is watching us with love, drawing us toward himself.
He sees the prayers we struggled to finish. He sees the generosity no one thanks us for. He sees the quiet resistance to temptation. He sees the kindness almost left unoffered, and He sees the longing in your heart to be closer to him. Nothing offered to God in sincerity is ever wasted.
So as we begin Lent today, perhaps the invitation is simply this: let God see you. Just you. Let him see your hopes, your fears, your doubts, your weariness, your longing. Let him see the places that still need healing. Let him see the faith that flickers, even when it feels small.
Because the miracle of grace is this: the God who sees everything, loves us completely. And that is why we can wear ashes without shame. We do not need to be spectacular. We only need to be sincere.
So may we pray, not to be noticed, but to be known. May we give, not to be praised, but to show love. And may we fast, not to impress, but to hunger for God instead.
Amen.