Why I Need Lent

The post-game interview in sports can be painful. Full of clichés and stock responses. Lately, however, one of those cliches has hit home. Maybe you’ve heard it, “We just went out there and did our best and let the results take care of themselves.” The sentiment is simple and a familiar one for those who’ve played sports. It expresses the satisfaction that comes with knowing you’ve left it all out on the ice, court, or field. That, while you can’t speak for anyone else, you did all within your power to help your team. 

I bring this up because this year I’m turning thirty-seven and, we all know, that thirty-seven is pretty much forty. And forty? Well, that’s one foot in the grave. While I’ve long taught that contemplating our mortality is a necessary and good thing (see Psalm 90:12), I never thought it would be so disruptive, so jarring. Specifically, it’s brought with it the question, “Have you given it your all, Jake? Have you let Christ rule and reign in EVERY part of you?”

This question was deepened recently while I was reading Rolheiser’s, Sacred Fire.^[1] At one point he looks at the story of Jesus and the rich young ruler found in Matthew 19:16-22. Rolheiser is right to point out that we often vilify the young man. However, all of us who’ve walked with Jesus for a while, committed to him and to a morally rigorous life, should be able to relate to the man. He is trying his best. He is earnest in his approach. He wants to move from good to great. As such, “no one in the Gospels more clearly represents the habitual struggle of the mature, committed man or woman than does this young man.” 

When the young man does eventually walk away sad, not accepting Jesus’ invitation, Rolheiser offers this story from the Desert Fathers by way of explanation:

“Abbot Lot went to see Abbot Joseph and said: ‘Father, according as I am able, I keep my little rule, and my little fast, my prayer, meditation and contemplative silence; and according as I am able I strive to cleanse my heart of bad thoughts: now what more should I do?’ The elder rose up in reply and stretched out his hands to heaven, and his fingers became like lamps of fire. He said: ‘Why not become all flame?’

To become ‘all flame’, Rolheiser goes on to say, is to give yourself over completely and entirely to the rule and reign of Christ. To borrow from an image he employs later in the book, it’s to invite Jesus, not only into the 27 rooms that make up who you are, but to allow him entry into all 30. 

In my life it sounds like:

What if I became all flame?

It is a haunting thought. To be clear: to become “all flame” is not to move from death to life. From unconverted to converted. It’s to go deeper into what God has already done. Deeper in our discovery of who God is. It’s like that scene in Prince Caspian between Aslan and Lucy:

“Aslan,” said Lucy, “you’re bigger.”

“That is because you are older, little one,” answered he.

“Not because you are?”

“I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger.”

Several years ago I was greatly helped by Dane Ortlund’s book, Deeper. In it, he asks the all-important question, “How do Christian’s change?” He writes:

Some believers think change happens through outward improvement…Others think change happens mainly through intellectual addition…Others think it comes centrally through felt experience…(But) my argument is that (while) all three of these elements are included in healthy Christian development…real growth transcends them all. Growing in Christ is not centrally improving or adding or experiencing, but deepening…Christian growth is bringing what you do and say and even feel into line with what, in fact, you already are.

And one of those avenues of going deeper is found in observing the season of Lent.

If you’re unfamiliar with Lent (or think it’s just for Catholics), let me give you a 30,000 overview. Lent, it must be said, “is inescapabilty about repenting…(and) Repentance is a change in direction, a Spirit-empowered turning around.”^[2] The origins of Lent are not entirely clear. But we do know that it has its roots in a period of fasting that baptismal candidates would undergo before being plunged under water. Gradually, over a period of time, Esau McCaulley writes:

Lent came to be about three things: the preparation of new converts for baptism, the reconciliation of those estranged from the church, and a general call for the whole church to repent and renew its commitment to Jesus.

Additionally, and good news for us Protestants wary of Lenten legalism, the practices around Lent have also varied. Meaning, there is no one true way to observe it. Instead, to quote McCaulley again:

We should not see the season of Lent as a series of rules but as a gift of the collected wisdom of the church universal. It is one of many tools of discipleship pointing us toward a closer walk with Jesus.

To be abundantly clear, I don’t need Lent for my justification. I don’t need it to twist God’s arm into giving me a spiritual blessing. I don’t need it as one needs a bargaining chip in a game of high-stakes cosmic poker. God is my good Father, eager to give good gifts to His children (Luke 11:5-13).

But Lent, and all its disciplines of fasting and deprivation, in the words of the late Thomas McKenzie, “…are meant to empty us so that the Lord may fill us. We are making ourselves available to Christ in hopes of growing in our faith.” Or, as my friend Daniel says, “Not only does God meet us in our ‘lack’ during Lent but, if I can see at the end of forty days that my life is richer for it, then I realize life is truly better when I give up control to Him.”

Lent helps me not only see the “unconverted” parts of me, but to hear God’s voice more clearly, and in hearing His voice find the courage to surrender those parts anew.

What does this practically look like? How do we create opportunities to surrender to Christ?

One of the ways people have thought about Lenten disciplines through the ages has been to observe the three practices Jesus unpacks in Matthew 6:1-18: giving money to the poor and needy, praying, and fasting. We can turn those practices into three questions:

As people who love God’s Word, we might also add:

Again, none of these practices earn us super-saint status in the Kingdom of God. If you’ve not yet bent your knee to King Jesus, none of these disciplines are an acceptable substitute for complete and total surrender to His Lordship. What we are pursuing in Lent is not our salvation, but a deeper intimacy. All-flame. The wonder of discovering that God is bigger and better than we ever could have imagined. 

As I said, I’m turning 37 this year and, barring any tragic accident or illness, if family history is anything to go by, I’ve got about 40 years left. Tops. And as I close my eyes to be welcomed home by my Heavenly Father, I want to know that I’ve left it all out there on the field. 

^[1] I recommend Rolheiser’s book with significant hesitation. For the discerning reader it is full of gold nuggets, but one must wade through some, at times, very questionable theology and exegesis to get it.

^[2] Esau McCaulley, Lent: The Season of Repentance and Renewal

^[3] Fasting from food should be done wisely and, if needed, in consultation with a medical professional. 

^[4] One can comfortably read their way through the Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John) during Lent at a pace of three chapters per day.