Rend Your Hearts

Lent isn’t about following rules. It’s about finally being honest—with yourself and with what’s broken inside you.
— Michiel Peters
Rend your hearts.
Michiel Peeters

Michiel Peeters - Rend Your Hearts

Friends, we have gathered to begin Lent together. "Rend your hearts, not your garments," says God through the prophet Joel. In Jewish culture, rending one's garments expressed intense emotion—grief and mourning upon hearing of a calamity, or shock, outrage, or repentance. Ripping one's garment over the heart symbolized a broken heart. The torn clothing was worn for several weeks so that all could see it. "Rend your hearts, not your garments" means that the change proposed to us in Lent is an inner change, a change of heart—not the outward observance of certain rules.

Thus, the three instruments of Lent—giving alms, praying, and fasting, as the Gospel points out—should be outward expressions of a growing inner awareness. When do we give alms in a true sense? When we realize that everything we have has been given to us and that we cannot take anything from this life with us. That is why St. John Chrysostom said that the best investment is almsgiving.

When do we fast in a true way? We fast when we feel a hunger greater than the hunger for food—like the Lord, who, after his conversation with the Samaritan woman at Jacob's well, felt a profound desire that all people would be reached by his word. When the disciples urged him, "Rabbi, eat," he answered, "I have food to eat of which you do not know." And when they said to one another, "Could someone have brought him something to eat?" he said to them, "My food is to do the will of the one who sent me and to finish his work" (John 4:31–34). Real fasting is not about not eating. It is having another food to eat, longing for another food. As Jesus answered when people protested that he and his disciples ate and drank: "The disciples of John [and the Pharisees] fast often…; but yours eat and drink." Jesus answered, "Can you make the wedding guests fast while the bridegroom is with them? But the days will come, and when the bridegroom is taken away from them, then they will fast in those days" (Luke 5:33–35)—longing for the bridegroom.

I pray when I realize my need and know I cannot give myself what I need. Has it ever happened to you that you had a real question or a real problem, and when you went to Mass, you heard something—a word or a sentence—that spoke directly to you? We pray—that is, we ask God—when we feel our poverty, our neediness, our need. I pray when I am aware of the drama I am living through.

The goal of Lent is to awaken us to our truth: that we are people with wounded hearts living in a dramatic reality.

As an invitation for this Lent, I would like to highlight the most beautiful and simplest way of prayer: the Sacraments. The Sacraments are Christ's acts in time and space, the effective signs of his grace—or, in Newman's words, a "prolongation of the Incarnation." There are the Sacraments through which we become Christians: Baptism, Confirmation, and Communion. But there are also the "daily" Sacraments: Confession and Communion. The Sacraments are not the last step for the privileged few; they are for every Christian, and they are the simplest and most beautiful form of prayer. You don't need to feel anything; you just need to be there and open the door of your heart to the Lord who is knocking.

Ash Wednesday, February 18, 2026 (Joel 2:12–18; Matt 6:1–6, 16–18) Homily by Fr. Michiel Peeters, Tilburg University Chaplaincy.

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