Rediscovering Repentance
Lent begins each year in a quiet and recognizable way, marked by symbols and words that are meant to draw our attention. We receive ashes on our foreheads and hear the familiar reminder: you are but dust, and to dust you shall return. Or, repent and believe in the Gospel. These words are meant to startle us, to invite a pause, and to shift our attention — and hopefully our lives — toward what matters most.
And yet, for many of us, Lent can easily become just another routine on the calendar. There are fish fries and parish gatherings, simple traditions we look forward to each year. We think about what we might give up — chocolate, social media, coffee — small acts of self-mastery that feel manageable and familiar. None of these things are wrong, but they can subtly pull our focus away from the deeper call the season of Lent holds.
It’s not really our fault. The language can feel distant from the way we experience life today. Repent is not a word most people use in ordinary conversation, especially in 2026. It can carry echoes of another time, sometimes tied to memories of obligation, fear, or other responses formed long ago, and that can make it difficult to feel personally moved by it now.
When words like repent lose their connection to lived experience, they risk becoming ritual without real reflection. We repeat them, we participate, but we may not experience them as a call meant specifically for our lives. Yet the deeper work of Lent has never been about performing a season correctly. It has always been about returning — gently, honestly — to God and to the truth of our lives. This call is meant for each and every one of us. None of us is exempt.
When we receive ashes on Ash Wednesday, do we consider that we are only here for a short time? We truly are dust, and to dust we will return. The Church places this reality before us not to frighten us, but to remind us of what matters most. She offers an opportunity to consider the gift of life we have been given and to ask whether we are living it with intention — as disciples of Christ who practice prudence in our choices, justice in our relationships, courage in the many challenges we face, and temperance in the many desires that compete for our attention; who love generously, serve quietly, notice suffering, and respond with acts of mercy.
What if we began Lent with a word that feels more familiar: reflect? Reflect on your actions, your words, your thoughts throughout the day. Reflect on what fills your life — what you look at, what you listen to, the conversations you enter, the ways you spend your time and money. Notice the small patterns that shape your life: the automatic reflex to reach for a phone, the endless scrolling, the background noise that replaces silence, the constant checking, the unnecessary purchases, the busyness that leaves little room for presence and encounter. These are the habits that quietly shape the direction of our lives.
Such reflection will naturally lead to deeper questions. Are these choices drawing me closer to God and to the person I am called to become, or quietly pulling me away? What is forming my sense of meaning and purpose? How does my interaction with technology, entertainment, work, or even distraction shape the direction of my life? How might these choices matter at the end of my life? Reflection opens the door to repentance — the sorrow we feel for the ways we have gone astray and the desire, with God’s grace, to live differently. Repentance is not simply looking inward; it is recognizing where we have drifted and choosing to turn back toward Him.
At the end of our lives, we will look back on what mattered — how well we loved God and loved others as ourselves (Matthew 22:37–39). Lent provides an opportunity to make those adjustments now, while change is still possible. It’s a continual process, at least for me — this repentance — because if I am truly reflecting, I will always notice places where I have fallen short, where I could love more, listen more, trust more, and choose to begin again with God’s grace.
I’m not ashamed of this; I am human. The Church understands this about us: we drift. That is why seasons like Advent and Lent return each year, not as obligations but as doorways. They create space for reflection — and yes, for repentance — so that change can happen over time, while we still have time. By God’s grace, and through my willingness to cooperate with that grace, I am given opportunity after opportunity to live this life well. May we always accept that gift — and reflect, turn away from what pulls us from God, and return to Him — again and again.
All Reflections are written by Dr. Nina Marie Corona, founder of AFIRE Ministries. To explore more of her reflections on finding God in everyday life, visit When on Earth: Discovering Christian Spirituality in the Daily Happenings of Ordinary Life
© 2026 Nina Marie Corona. All rights reserved.
