I wanted to share a part of what I shared at the Lenten Lunch this past Thursday. I share not because I think it was the best words I have shared, but because many who were in attendance have reached out saying how much my words meant them, resonated with them, etc. So here you are.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Lent this year.
For much of my life, Lent meant giving something up—chocolate, meat, a favorite comfort. Over time, I began taking something on instead: a practice, a rhythm, a way of paying closer attention to God. Structure can be grounding. It gives the season shape.
But the last few years have felt different. Between the challenges of church life and the tender places in my own story, I’ve often felt like I was already living in the wilderness Lent points toward. When life already feels stripped down and raw, Lent can feel less like a season we enter and more like a place we’ve never quite left.
So this year, I’m holding Lent through the lens of permission.
Permission to rest.
Permission to tell the truth about where we are.
Permission to stop pretending the wilderness is over.
Permission to trust that Lent is not a competition—there is no prize for the most disciplined or the most dramatic sacrifice.
As a community, perhaps this is our invitation: not to perform Lent, but to practice it together. To make room for honesty. To carry one another’s stories with gentleness. To remember that even in the wilderness, we do not walk alone.
Lent is not about proving our faithfulness. It is about opening ourselves—together—to the quiet, steady faithfulness of God.
May this season give you permission to be exactly where you are.