Peoples of the world,
A poor season begins.
A season without decoration.
A season where dust speaks the truth
that masks refuse to hear.
Ash on the forehead:
not to humiliate,
but to awaken.
Not to condemn,
but to open a breach
in the armor of the heart.
Peoples of the world,
you tear cities,
you tear families,
you tear nations—
and you dress yourselves in slogans
as if they were garments of justice.
But the Lord says:
“Tear your hearts.”
For the root of war
is not first in weapons;
it is in the unconfessed wound,
in anger that has become a home,
in pride that refuses to bend,
in fear that demands a scapegoat.
Return to Him with all your heart.
Not halfway.
Not “when the world gets better.”
Not “after the others.”
Return now,
with fasting, tears, and mourning—
not as a performance,
but as truth.
For God is not humanity’s executioner.
He is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, rich in love,
relenting from punishment.
And here is the question that pierces the century:
Who knows?
Perhaps He will turn back,
perhaps He will leave behind His blessing.
Perhaps, instead of destruction,
a path of healing.
Sound the trumpet in Zion:
not to summon revenge,
but to summon awakening.
Gather the people.
Bring together the elders.
Bring together the children.
For the future cannot be saved
without the conversion of adults,
nor without the prayer of the little ones.
Between porch and altar,
the priests weep and say:
“Spare your people, O Lord.”
Today this prayer must pass beyond walls:
let it rise from homes,
from hospitals, from prisons,
from refugee camps,
from streets where people merely survive.
For it is too easy
to ask heaven for peace
while keeping war within.
The psalm cries:
“Have mercy on me, O God, in your kindness.”
Wash us from guilt—
not only from visible crimes,
but from hidden violence:
words that crush,
contempt that kills slowly,
judgments without mercy.
Create in me a clean heart, O God.
Renew a steadfast spirit within me.
For an unclean heart builds borders,
and a clean heart builds bridges.
And Paul speaks as an ambassador:
“Be reconciled to God.”
Not as one signs a paper,
but as one lays down weapons inside.
Now is the acceptable time.
Now— because grace is not stockpiled;
it is received.
And Jesus overturns religion as spectacle:
almsgiving in secret,
prayer behind a closed door,
fasting without a gloomy face.
For peace is not born
from what is displayed,
but from what is transformed.
If you want peace on earth,
begin with peace in the hidden place:
in the inner room,
where God sees,
where you cannot cheat.
Fast from revenge.
Fast from insults.
Fast from contempt.
Give an alms of gentleness
to the one who irritates you.
Pray for the enemy
until your heart
stops reducing them to a caricature.
Inner reset phrase:
Today, I tear my heart, not my brothers: I choose peace in secret.
And your Father,
who sees in secret,
will repay you—
in light,
in strength,
and in peace that begins to move again.