Dear Friends in Christ,
Lent is upon us once again.
Each year, this season arrives quietly, almost gently, inviting us to slow our pace and listen more deeply. And yet, the world around us does not slow down. The noise persists. The urgency of headlines continues. The divisions remain sharp. The suffering of the vulnerable is not theoretical but painfully real.
It is into this very world, not apart from it, that Lent speaks.
On Ash Wednesday we hear the ancient cry from the prophet Book of Joel: “Return to me with all your heart.” That call is not thundered in anger. It is spoken in longing. It is the voice of a God who does not abandon, but beckons.
Lent is not about spiritual theatrics. It is not about performative piety or public displays of righteousness. Jesus warns us in the Gospel of Matthew to beware of practicing our faith “in order to be seen.” Instead, Lent draws us inward, toward honesty, humility, and renewed clarity.
We begin with ashes. Ashes remind us of our mortality. They confront our illusion of control. They level every hierarchy. The powerful and the powerless alike are dust. The wealthy and the poor alike are dust. The certain and the uncertain alike are dust.
And yet, the ashes are traced in the shape of a cross.
We are dust, but beloved dust.
This season is not about self-condemnation. It is about self-examination. It is about asking difficult questions with courage:
Where have I grown complacent?
Where have I participated in systems that wound others?
Where have I allowed fear to shape my choices more than love?
Where is God inviting me to deeper trust?
Lent gives us the ancient practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. These are not spiritual punishments. They are spiritual recalibrations.
Prayer recenters us.
Fasting clarifies our hunger.
Generosity loosens fear’s grip.
In a culture driven by consumption and speed, fasting teaches restraint. In a political climate fueled by outrage, prayer teaches stillness. In an economy shaped by scarcity thinking, generosity proclaims abundance.
Lent is resistance to everything that dehumanizes.
As we move through these forty days, the lectionary will guide us through wilderness, thirst, blindness, and even the valley of dry bones. We will encounter a woman at a well who dares to ask questions. A man born blind who learns to see. A grieving family called to roll away a stone.
These stories are not merely ancient narratives. They are mirrors.
The wilderness is not only a desert in Judea. It is any season where we feel disoriented or tested.
The thirst is not only physical. It is the longing for meaning and connection.
The blindness is not merely about sight. It is about perception, about learning to see the image of God in those we have overlooked.
Lent prepares us for Holy Week, where the contradictions of human power and divine love are laid bare. We will walk from palm branches to betrayal, from a shared meal to a lonely cross. And we will sit in the silence of Holy Saturday, that most honest of days, when hope feels hidden and God seems absent.
But Lent does not end in silence.
It ends in resurrection.
And resurrection is not simply an event to be remembered. It is a reality to be embodied. Resurrection is God’s refusal to let violence have the last word. It is love’s quiet but unstoppable insistence that death does not win.
I invite you into this season with intention. Choose a practice that stretches you. Engage Scripture not as obligation but as conversation. Participate in worship not as routine but as encounter. Seek reconciliation where it is possible. Stand with those who are vulnerable. Let Lent make you braver in love.
Above all, remember this: the call to return is never a call into shame. It is a call into relationship.
God does not wait at the end of Lent with a ledger. God walks with us through it.
May these forty days soften what has hardened, awaken what has grown dull, and strengthen what has grown weary. May they deepen our compassion and steady our courage. May they prepare us not only to celebrate Easter, but to live as Easter people in a Good Friday world.
I look forward to walking this holy road with you.
Blessings and Peace,
+Peter
