At the beginning of Lent, the liturgy places us before a fruitful tension: a visible sign—ashes on the forehead—and a deeply interior call. In this commentary on the Gospel (Mt 6:1-6, 16-18), Brother Luciano Audisio invites us to step out of the “theater” of external religiosity and return to the heart, where the Father sees in secret and awaits us.
Stepping Out of the Theater and Into the Secret
Today we begin Lent with a sober and powerful gesture: ashes on the forehead. It is a visible, public sign. And yet, the Gospel we hear, Mt 6:1-6, 16-18, insistently speaks to us of what is secret, hidden, of what only the Father sees. There is a beautiful tension in this liturgy: we receive a sign before everyone, but the path that opens up is profoundly interior.
Jesus warns us: “Beware of practicing your righteousness before others to be seen by them.” The word the Greek text uses for “to be seen” is theathēnai (θεαθῆναι), from which the word “theater” comes. It is as if He were saying: do not turn spiritual life into a spectacle. Do not make faith a stage where you perform to receive applause. It is not about ceasing to do good, to pray, or to fast. It is about purifying the intention.
In the Old Testament, justice—ṣĕdāqâ (צדקה)—is faithfulness to the covenant, a right relationship with God and with one’s brother. Giving alms, praying, and fasting were central practices of the people of Israel. Jesus does not eliminate them; He brings them to the heart. He removes them from human applause and places them under the gaze of the Father. “Your Father, who sees in secret, will reward you.” He repeats this promise three times. The focus is not on the deed, but on the Father.
Ashes: Truth, Fragility, and Return
The ashes we receive today remind us: “You are dust, and to dust you shall return” (cf. Gen 3:19). It is the truth of our fragility. In Scripture, sitting in ashes was a gesture of repentance, humility, of returning to God with a broken heart. The prophet Joel says it forcefully: “Return to me with all your heart” (Joel 2:12). Do not tear your garments only; tear your hearts.
Lent is not a campaign of good deeds to improve one’s image. It is a time of return. A return to the heart, a return to truth, a return to the Father. Jesus invites us to enter the room, close the door, and pray in secret. That room is the heart, that place where no one enters, where there is no audience, where masks fall. There the Father awaits us.
Fasting, which we can so often reduce to an external practice, is also presented by Jesus as something that does not seek to show sadness. “Anoint your head and wash your face.” True fasting, as Isaiah said, is breaking unjust chains, sharing bread with the hungry, opening one’s home to the poor. It is not a theater of sacrifice; it is a concrete conversion of the heart.
Living Under the Only Gaze That Saves
Today, in a world where everything is exposed, where everything is published, where even the most intimate becomes content, this Gospel is profoundly counter-cultural. It invites us to fruitful secrecy. To do good without needing recognition. To pray without needing approval. To fast without needing to be admired.
The question that runs through this day is simple and demanding: for whom do I live my faith? For the gaze of others or for the gaze of the Father? Because if we live for applause, “we have already received our reward.” But if we live for the Father, then even the small, the hidden, the silent, has eternal value.
The ashes will be erased in a few hours. But the call remains: return to the heart. Step out of the theater and enter into truth. Drop the mask and embrace the identity of children. This Lent can be just another time on the calendar… or it can be a real return to the Father who sees in secret and loves us there, where no one else sees.
May the ashes not remain only on the forehead. May they descend to the heart. And may, in these forty days, we learn anew to live under the only gaze that saves: that of the Father.
