We are about to reenter the liturgical season of Lent (which begins next week). In many ways, it feels like we’ve had a year of Lent. A year of deprivation and simplicity. A year of sacrifice. A year of keen awareness of our mortality, weakness, and sin. I wrote last year that our Lent wouldn’t end with Easter, and (sadly) how right I was.
I’ll be honest with you. The thought of “giving up” something for Lent this year makes my eyes glaze over a bit. The younger me might have felt guilty about that. But today, I’m making space for the reality that this has been a hard season. It’s been a season where I’ve needed a discipline of celebration and delight—and a discipline of hope—to counteract life amidst ongoing transition, life amidst sickness, life amidst a pandemic. If you’re in a similar place today, I can at least offer you the assurance that you aren’t alone.
Something I have long appreciated about the season of Lent is its insistence on making me slow down before jumping ahead to a “happy ending.” Before the shouts of resurrection victory on Easter Sunday, we walk through a long season of sitting with the reality of suffering and sin. This rhythm shapes us, and I believe it makes the hope of the resurrection grow that much deeper in our hearts. We sit in the dark so that we can glory in the light.
This is true of rhythms and disciplines in which we voluntarily put ourselves in that place, but it’s also true for seasons when lack and suffering and brokenness in all its forms are thrust upon us. In that sense, this long Lent need not be wasted time. This dark, too, can make us glory in the light.
Saying such things does not remove the pain of this season, just as the resurrection did not remove the pain our Savior suffered on the cross. But it does anchor us in one of the deep truths of our faith: we worship a resurrecting God. Nothing else can speak to our sorrow and grief and uncertainty like the Risen Jesus. And sitting with sorrow, grief, and uncertainty makes us rejoice all-the-more that those realities are not the end of the story.
So as we enter this season of Lent, instead of feeling as though you must engage in a particular form of Lenten practice, ask yourself what will cultivate the power of that Story in your heart. (As with so much else, it may look different this year than it has in the past.) What will help you to slow down and be ready for joy when it comes? What will help you be aware of suffering and sorrow and sin—but also rooted in hope? What will prepare you to glory in the Light?
Because this Lent will not last forever. Resurrection is coming. Thanks be to God.
If you’re looking for a few ideas for how to mark the season of Lent, my friend Kristen has a helpful guide with some resources and links. You can find it here.