The Ashes of Repentance

I haven’t always followed Jesus very well. If you have been here a while you know that already. If you’re new — surprise! I’ve not been perfect… at any point in my life. We’re moving in that direction now though, which is a good thing because there was a time that I was heading in the opposite direction. I won’t bore you with all of the details. Just know that things were pretty hopeless in my soul. The ashes were all around me. Everything in my life was burned to the ground — by a fire that I had lit and continued to fuel with the same behaviors over and over again until there was nothing left and I was lucky to be alive.

It was in that time that I had to make some pretty serious decisions about where my life was going to go next. I was fortunate enough to be institutionalized in a safe space where I wasn’t a threat to my own well being, which became a safe space to have a spiritual awakening and to look around at the ashes of my life and truly grieve what it all had become. I was given the license, the permission to lament, but also permission to take the next step in the healing journey. Here’s what that looks like for us:

Last week, we sat together in the ashes of lament. We named the things we’ve lost. We gave language to our sorrow. And we learned that God doesn’t rush us past our grief—He meets us right in the middle of it.

But lament isn’t the end of healing; it’s the beginning. It softens the hardened ground of our hearts so that repentance can take root. This is where I needed to eventually find myself — at a place where I could see my self as I really was, where I could see how my own attitudes, ideas, and actions had caused harm or at the very least given me an avenue to continue allow that harm I had experienced to tear at my soul.

Now, repentance isn’t about shame—it’s about transformation. It’s the moment when grief begins to reshape us rather than destroy us. It’s where the pain that once consumed us becomes the soil of new life. Repentance is what happens when lament starts to turn its face toward hope.

Illustration: The Firebreak

In the summer of 2020, a massive wildfire burned through the Sierra Nevada mountains. Entire hillsides were swallowed in flame, the smoke so thick it turned the sky a strange orange-gray.

Helicopters dumped water by the ton, but the fire kept spreading. And then came the command over the radios: “Light it up.”

A team of firefighters began setting fire to the forest themselves. You could see the small, controlled flames racing in the opposite direction of the main blaze. To the untrained eye, it looked reckless—lighting fires while the forest was already burning?

But they knew exactly what they were doing. Those smaller flames consumed the dry brush and fallen branches—the fuel the wildfire needed to keep advancing. When the main blaze arrived, it hit the scorched ground of that firebreak and died out.

A smaller fire stopped a larger one. Destruction gave way to protection.

That’s what repentance is. It’s the holy fire God uses to burn away what no longer gives life—so that the inferno of destruction stops with us. Repentance isn’t God punishing us; it’s God protecting us. It’s God saying, “Let Me light a refining fire in your heart before the consuming one finds you first.”

Historical Context: From Disaster to Renewal

By Joel 2, the people of Judah have already endured unimaginable loss. The locusts have come like an invading army—waves upon waves until every vine, every tree, every blade of grass is stripped bare.

The economy collapses. Families starve. And for the people of Israel, who believed the health of the land reflected the health of their covenant with God, this was more than tragedy—it was theological disorientation.

Had God abandoned them? Had they finally gone too far?

But then Joel’s tone shifts. The prophet who once described destruction now speaks of return:

“Yet even now,” says the Lord, “return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.” (Joel 2:12–13)

These are not words of wrath; they’re words of welcome. They echo God’s self-revelation to Moses on Mount Sinai (Exodus 34)—the same promise spoken over a people who had already failed Him once before.

Joel’s message is this: even now—after loss, after silence, after exile—God still wants His people back.

Repentance Reimagined: From Indictment to Invitation

The Hebrew word Joel uses for “return” is shuv (שׁוּב)—one of the most important words in all of Scripture. It appears over a thousand times in the Old Testament.

It doesn’t just mean to stop sinning. It means to turn back, to reorient, to come home.

It’s not a word of accusation—it’s a word of invitation. It’s God saying, “You’ve wandered, but you still have a home here.”

Somewhere along the way, though, the church took this word and twisted it. We turned “repent” into a threat instead of a promise. We shouted it like a warning, when it was always meant to be a whisper of welcome.

Repentance isn’t God saying, “You’re bad.” It’s God saying, “You’re loved too much to stay the same.”

To shuv is to let God deal with the dark parts of our humanity—our anger, our control, our pride—and take responsibility for letting Him do so. It’s a holy turning: away from self-reliance, toward mercy; away from shame, toward belonging.

Connecting to Jesus: The Kingdom Invitation

Centuries later, Jesus began His public ministry with nearly the same words. In Mark 1:15, His very first sermon was just one sentence long:

“The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe the good news.”

The Greek word Jesus uses—metanoeō (μετανοέω)—means “to change one’s mind,” or “to think differently afterward.”

It’s the same heartbeat as shuv. Both words describe a turning—not just away from sin, but toward God. Not away from wrath, but toward life.

When Jesus says “repent,” He’s not shouting from a street corner. He’s smiling and saying, “The Kingdom is already here—turn around and see it.”

Both Joel and Jesus show us that repentance isn’t about punishment—it’s about proximity. It’s about turning toward the God who’s already walking our way.

Theological Thread: The God Who Rebuilds

Joel’s entire book follows a divine rhythm:

Devastation — everything lost.

Repentance — hearts return to God.

Restoration — new life begins again.

It’s the same rhythm we see in the Gospel—death, surrender, resurrection. Repentance is the hinge between ruin and renewal.

God’s people discover that what feels like the end is actually the invitation to begin again.

Transformation: The Practice — “Return and Release”

So this week, we keep walking through The Ashes Journal together. [hold up journal]

Last week, you named your grief. This week, God invites you to return and release.

Step 1 – Revisit What You Wrote

Look back at your lament. Read it slowly, as prayer. Ask:

“What has this grief been shaping in me?” Has it made me fearful? Bitter? Closed off? Or has it made me long for something deeper?

Step 2 – Write Your Response

Now, write one thing God might be asking you to release. It might be resentment. It might be control. It might be the guilt you’ve been carrying far too long.

Write it down in your journal, and pray:

“God, I release this to You. Burn away what is lifeless within me, and make space for Your renewal.”

Step 3 – Return in Prayer

Each day, pray Joel 2:13 aloud:

“Return to the Lord, for He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.”

Then breathe deeply and pray: Inhale: “I return to You.” Exhale: “Renew my heart.”

Because repentance isn’t about perfection—it’s about proximity. It’s not about punishment—it’s about presence. Every time you return, you find God already waiting for you.

Closing Reflection: Fire That Saves

In 1988, a wildfire swept across Yellowstone National Park, scorching more than a third of its trees. For months, it looked like a wasteland—nothing but smoke, ash, and silence.

But when spring came, something unexpected happened. Tiny green shoots began to break through the soot. Ecologists discovered that the heat from the fire had cracked open the lodgepole pine cones—cones that only release their seeds when exposed to flame.

The same fire that had destroyed the forest had also made its renewal possible.

That’s repentance. It’s not destruction—it’s preparation. It’s the refining fire that opens what’s been sealed too long.

So this week, don’t fear the refining work of God. Let Him light a firebreak in your heart—burning away what no longer gives life, clearing space for grace.

Because when you return, the same God who once restored a ruined land will begin to rebuild your heart— seed by seed, grace by grace, until beauty rises again from the ashes.

Closing Prayer

Gracious and merciful God, You call us home again and again— not with wrath, but with love.

Teach us to return, to let You into the dark corners we’ve been hiding, to release what keeps us from life.

Burn away what is dead, that something new might grow.

Create in us clean hearts, O God, and renew a right spirit within us.

Through Jesus Christ, who turns ashes into life, Amen.