Sermon for Ash Wednesday 2026

February 18, 2026, Ash Wednesday
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 6:1–6, 16–21


A lot of us approach Ash Wednesday as a kind of wake up call, a reminder that we all die in the end, and so we better get on with it and start living better lives. Because we live in a secular culture that wants us to forget this reality, in many ways the Ash Wednesday message that we're returning to death is an important one.


And yet, the older I get, the less I need this reminder. When I was younger, the Ash Wednesday message—we are dust and to dust we shall return—that message still had the power to shock me. For a very long time, my maternal grandmother was one of the oldest people I knew, and she always had more energy than the rest of us combined. But now I’ve seen death come for former classmates, former colleagues, and friends and family. Some weeks, it feels like every day comes with the Ash Wednesday wake up call, as people younger than me die, and now it seems predictable, no longer freakish.


So we might be tempted to choose a Lenten discipline with an eye to cheating death. We might want to give up alcohol, for example, in the hopes that we get a few more years. We might give up sugar, thinking that we’ll say a prayer whenever we have a sugar craving, but also hoping to lose some pounds along the way.


One of the problems that comes with thinking about our Lenten disciplines this way is that many of us go right back to our former habits once we get to Easter. Shouldn’t a Lenten discipline change us more profoundly and permanently? What does it say about our discipline, Lenten or otherwise, that we can drop it so quickly?


If you were at church on Sunday, or if you listened to the sermon (thank you tech wizard Katie!), you hear me think out loud about giving up something that’s really hard. We live in a culture that’s always giving up sugar or dairy or gluten or extra calories. There’s lots of support for that effort. On Sunday, I made this impromptu suggestion: If we’re giving up something for Lent, let’s give up talking badly about other people, both the people we know personally and the ones who are famous. If we want to do something really hard, let’s giving up thinking bad thoughts about others—let’s give everyone the benefit of the doubt and tell ourselves, “They’re doing their best.”


Luther encourages this behavior. In The Small Catechism, in interpreting the Eighth commandment, “Thou shalt not bear false witness against your neighbor, he tells us that the commandment is about so much more than refraining from lying. He says that we are to interpret everything that our neighbors do in the best possible light.


But I’ve decided not to do this as my Lenten discipline. Just thinking about it for 48 hours made me realize how hard it would be and how much of my time would be consumed with reminding myself that people are doing their best. Maybe I would retrain my inner thoughts. But maybe there’s another way to do this, a way that would benefit not just me, but others.


I like the idea of adding something for Lent, although I realize that for some of us, just thinking of where we would add the extra something might make us ready to throw up our hands in defeat before we even start. In the past, I’ve added a daily devotional, and if that’s your preference, know that the publishing world has noticed—you’ll have a lot of books to choose from.


As I was reflecting on Lenten disciplines, my mind wandered to how many people I know personally who are facing crises of various sorts and how few are not. I made a note to myself to pray for them. And then, my Lenten discipline revealed itself.


I’m going to send at least one note of encouragement to someone each day. It will be a physical note, written by hand on paper, and sent through the mail. As I’m writing the note, I’ll be praying for them and for the larger world. My hope is that the recipient will have their spirits lifted, at least for a time. They’ll have something to keep on paper, a reminder that someone is praying for them and with them.


Some of you might ask, “Don’t you already do send hand written cards?” Yes, for friends who really need it, for people for whom it is the only way to communicate, like my friend who had a stroke and is confined to a skilled nursing unit. I send a note at times of acute crisis. But I’d like to send notes as a matter of routine.


It may seem like a little thing, especially when compared to the big, difficult thing of refusing to think bad thoughts about anyone that might flit through my brain. But refusing to think bad thoughts would only be changing me. Sending notes of encouragement has the potential to change over 40 individuals, at least for a brief moment at the mailbox. Sending notes of encouragement will give me a tactile prayer discipline. If I begin this practice now, my hope is that it will be cemented by Easter, that I can continue sending notes and cards of encouragement throughout the year.


We might think that a Lenten discipline needs to be something dour or something that imposes order on chaos. But what would happen if we looked for ways for our Lenten disciplines to bring us joy? Writing cards will bring me joy, from the creating of the card to the affixing of the stamp. I’ve been buying more stamps than I have been using, and the post office creates so many beautiful stamps.


I’ve found it useful to think about Lenten enrichment, instead of Lenten discipline. The theologian Diana Butler Bass reminds us that the earliest Christians saw the season of Lent as preparation for meeting the risen Lord. It’s an interesting idea—if you knew that Jesus was coming here, in the flesh, to celebrate Easter with us in this sanctuary, and then spending the week with you, in your house, what would you be doing right now to prepare?


Don’t say you would be deep cleaning the house, unless that brings you joy. I’d be reaching out to people, planning some get togethers. I’d bake a poundcake or two, because they freeze well, and they’re a versatile dessert. I’d get together the art supplies we’d need to have a fun morning creating together, where I would see the creative process of God in real time.


I could go on and on, but you get the idea. Let’s approach this Lent as a time where we’re getting ready to meet Jesus, where we have the courage to put aside all the stuff that hasn’t served us well, and we have the discipline to commit to joy, and to choose the joy of living in the Kingdom of God even before death. Death will come for us all soon enough. Choose joy. Choose Jesus.