by Donny Abbott on March 03, 2025
I was reminded recently of how our modern lives mirror the congested highways of Southern California. A few evenings ago, my wife and I shared a meal with strangers who quickly became friends. As we exchanged our stories, someone asked if I missed California. While there is much to cherish about that place, I certainly don't miss navigating those infamous freeways—the 91, 10, 405, and 5—where patience dissolves into frustration.
It struck me that this is how many of us live: racing through life on crowded emotional highways, our hearts congested with stress, worry, anger, and exhaustion. But I would like to offer an alternative as winter's grip slowly loosens and the first whispers of spring emerge, I invite you to take the next exit ramp into the sacred season of Lent.
Lent is one of the most precious seasons in our spiritual journey. It marks not only the beginning of Easter's approach but also the conclusion of what we call in our Christian tradition "Ordinary Time"—that period between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday when we have dwelled in the everyday mysteries of Christ's presence.
Our Lenten pilgrimage toward the empty tomb begins on March 5th with the sign of ashes. How profound this moment when Christ-followers around the world receive that humble mark upon their foreheads. I have always been moved by this gesture that speaks so clearly of our fragility and complete dependence on God's mercy. "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return." These words pierce through our illusions of self-sufficiency and remind us who we truly are—beloved dust, held and sustained by God's gentle grace.
These forty days of preparation echo the great patterns found in Scripture: Noah's forty days of flood, Moses' forty days on Sinai's heights, and of course, our Lord's forty days of fasting in the wilderness. In each story, we see how solitude, hunger, and waiting become the fertile ground for God's transformative work. The desert—that place of emptiness—paradoxically becomes the place of fullest encounter.
The traditional pillars of Lent—prayer and fasting—are not rigid obligations but rather invitations to greater freedom. Prayer during this season isn't about accumulating spiritual achievements or measuring devout minutes. Rather, it's about quality—the gentle turning of our hearts toward the One who has always been turning toward us. Perhaps you might create a small sacred space in your home, a corner with a candle, a Bible, an icon. Or maybe you'll discover that your prayer arrives in moments of walking, of washing dishes, or sitting in silence.
The practice of fasting is a spiritual discipline that has always intimidated me. I have an extreme love of food and a strong distaste towards failure. Yet I have found that fasting—whether from food, social media, or anything that fills us too quickly—creates a holy vacancy within. I have found that my hunger for what I’m fasting from has become a prayer, an acknowledgment of my deepest longing for God. What might you fast from this Lent? What absence might create presence in your life?
With that said I must confess to you, how often I have failed in my own Lenten commitments. My resolutions dissolve like morning mist, and I find myself reaching again for comfort, for distraction, for anything to fill the silence. But it is precisely in these failures that Lent's true message finds me: I am not called to perfect performance but to perfect reception of grace. My stumbling becomes the place where mercy meets me.
In our world of instant fulfillment and constant noise, Lent speaks a countercultural truth: waiting has value, emptiness has purpose, silence has voice. It offers us a sacred pause, a divine reset for souls too accustomed to crowded highways.
Whether you embrace traditional observances or find new pathways into this ancient practice, the invitation remains unchanged: to prepare our hearts for Easter's transformative reality. Through prayer and fasting, we create space for God to work in ways both subtle and profound.
As we journey through these forty days together, may we remain vulnerable to how God seeks to shape us. The disciplines we practice aren't achievements to be checked off but doorways into a deeper relationship with Him. When Easter morning finally illuminates our path, may we arrive not merely having endured religious observances, but having been genuinely renewed by encountering the living Christ.
I leave you with a prayer from the Catholic Priest, Henri Nouwen. A prayer that rises from my own divided heart as we begin this Lenten journey:
The Lenten season begins. It is a time to be with you, Lord, in a special way, a time to pray, to fast, and thus to follow you on your way to Jerusalem, to Golgotha, and to the final victory over death.
I am still so divided. I truly want to follow you, but I also want to follow my own desires and lend an ear to the voices that speak about prestige, success, pleasure, power, and influence. Help me to become deaf to these voices and more attentive to your voice, which calls me to choose the narrow road to life.
I know that Lent is going to be a very hard time for me. The choice for your way has to be made every moment of my life. I have to choose thoughts that are your thoughts, words that are your words, and actions that are your actions. There are not times or places without choices. And I know how deeply I resist choosing you.
Please, Lord, be with me at every moment and in every place. Give me the strength and the courage to live this season faithfully, so that, when Easter comes, I will be able to taste with joy the new life that you have prepared for me. Amen.
