Cheap apologies—and why Lent asks for more
When our kids were younger, Amy and I tried to teach them the difference between saying sorry and making things right.
We wanted them to understand the gap between a quick apology and real repair.
So we came up with a plan. For every hurtful thing they did or said to each other, they had to do two kind things to make amends. Not just words—actions. Something that moved the relationship forward again.
In theory, it was brilliant parenting, if I do say so myself. The kind of plan that makes you feel like you’ve cracked the code on raising emotionally mature human beings.
But in real life?
One day, Mallory hurt her brother’s feelings by saying something unkind. I pulled her aside and reminded her of the plan. She nodded, walked over to him, and said:
“Campbell, please tell me something nice I can do for you to make this right?”
His response?
“Mallory! Just quit annoying me—forever!” (Big emphasis on forever.)
And I remember thinking, Well, that went well. Epic parent fail.
But that’s not just a parenting moment. It’s a human moment.
We all know how to apologize. At least in theory.
“I’m sorry.”
“My bad.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
But making amends? That’s different. Making amends costs something.
It requires humility.
It asks for change.
It rebuilds trust one action at a time.
We have to live the amends we’re making.
Which is one of the reasons Ash Wednesday matters.
Lent isn’t about feeling bad. It’s not a forty-day self-improvement challenge. And it’s certainly not about public displays of religious seriousness.
It’s about telling the truth.
The truth about where we’ve caused harm—intentionally or not.
Where our habits have hurt others.
Where our words have been sharp, our patience thin, our love conditional.
Ashes on the forehead are not a performance. They’re more like an honest confession: “I am dust.”
I am limited.
I am capable of hurting people.
I am in desperate need of God’s grace.
And that grace doesn’t just cover our failures—it begins to change us.
Lent isn’t just about apology. It’s about amends.
It’s about letting God shape us into people who don’t just say “sorry,” but live differently. People who repair what we can repair, soften where we’ve grown hard, and stop repeating the same harm—and call that repentance.
When you receive ashes, you’ll hear the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
Those words are meant to ground us. To free us. To remind us that being perfect was never the point.
So maybe this Lent, instead of asking, “What should I give up?” we might ask something else.
Who needs more than my apology?
Where do I need to make amends?
What would it look like to make something right—to move a relationship forward?
And if you’re wondering whether that’s even possible, you’re not alone.
The grace that meets us in the ashes is the same grace that helps us make things right.
Much love,
Pastor Gregg
