In my past, the season of Lent often arrived with a quiet sense of dread.

What will I give up this year?
What will I deny myself?
What comfort will be taken away?

Initially, I used to think of Lent primarily as a season of restraint. It was time to tighten, to narrow, to control, and exert greater spiritual dominance over an area of my life. I treated Lent as an annual discipline of willpower, but even with the best intentions, it frequently produced frustration, failure, and inconsistent results. 

But the longer I have lived with this beautiful season of the Church’s liturgical calendar, the more I have come to see something surprising.

Lent is not about restriction.
It is about freedom. 

The Meaning of Lent: Not Willpower, but Surrender

At its core, Lent is not an annual test of spiritual willpower. It is an invitation into surrender.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus speaks about freedom in a way that still unsettles me:

“If you remain in my word . . . the truth will set you free.”

What strikes me is not the promise of freedom, but the path that leads to it.

Not striving.
Not performing.
Not escaping.

Remaining.

What Does It Mean to "Remain" in Christ?

It means staying long enough in God’s presence, via His Word, for His holy love to tell the truth.

Lent has become the season when I notice how much I carry without realizing it.

• Patterns that once felt helpful.
• Habits (good and bad) that promise relief but leave me empty.
• Rhythms that kept me moving, but not necessarily alive.

None of them are necessarily dramatic. None of them are overtly destructive. Over time, however, they begin to crowd my attention and dull my affection for God and others.

What Lent offers is not condemnation, but clarity.

Why Letting Go Feels So Risky

When I slow down enough to remain present with Jesus rather than rush toward solutions, I begin to see how often I reach for substitutes. Things that keep me functional, but not free. Letting go of the counterfeits feels risky, even uncomfortable. Yet God’s love, His real, holy love, always asks for release before it offers renewal.

Remaining also has a way of lowering me. Lent has taught me that humility is not something I achieve; it is something I consent to. Ashes, silence, praying, giving, serving, fasting . . . these actions gently remind me that I am not self-sufficient. I am dust, and I am loved. I (you, we) don’t have to prove my/our worth or secure my/our future. This comes to me as an utter relief. In this truth I sit, drop my shoulders, release my tension, and simply rest in the presence of a God who is holding all things together without my consent or need to help Him out. There is a strange comfort in remembering this truth.

The Cross Reveals What Real Love Costs

Of course, staying present means I cannot avoid my failures. Lent does not allow me to bypass what is unfinished or broken, but neither does Jesus. In John’s Gospel, He does not flinch when truth is spoken aloud. He does not withdraw when things become uncomfortable. Jesus is consistent and therefore, he remains present to those with whom he’s interacting with and in his staying, healing begins.

Somewhere along the way, I realized this is not just my story. It’s all of ours.  

We are a people formed by movement, distraction, and speed. We prefer progress to presence. We want to be given answers rather than giving attention. Lent invites us with an unrelenting quiet patience to a different way. Remain long enough to be shaped by love that does not rush or retreat.

This kind of holy love is not dramatic or loud. It is steady and gently persistent. It stands when prayer feels thin and growth feels slow. It stays present when leaving would be easier. Over time, by the power of the Holy Spirit, this type of faithfulness does its work, not by force, but by formation.

Here’s the catch. There is a cost. In John’s Gospel, he never hides that fact from us. A love that is willing to remain will eventually be asked to suffer. Isn’t this the witness of the Cross? The cross of Christ points to this very reality. Thus, God uses the season of Lent to teaches us that what love costs us also will free us from living guarded, anxious, and divided lives.

So where does this leave us? Lent is not about surviving until Easter arrives. It is about learning a spiritual posture we can carry into the rest of our life. Lent is a way of loving God and loving people that is less reactive and more rooted in holy love, which is nothing less than the amazing grace of God through Jesus Christ. It’s less performative and more faithful.

My Prayer

So, I am learning, (rather slowly I must admit) to stay. To remain when it would be easier to doom scroll and distract myself. To tell the truth when avoidance feels safer. To trust that holy love, when lived fully, always leads toward freedom.

I cannot not rush this work. I cannot resolve it neatly. Instead, I simply remain, give permission to God’s Spirit, and let love do what it has always done: tell the truth, make room, and open the way toward a life more free than I could ever expected or created on my own.

 Here’s my prayer.

“Lord Jesus, teach me to remain with You when distraction feels easier and truth feels costly. Loosen my grip on the things I use to feel secure, but that quietly keep me from freedom. Form in me a holy love that stays, trusts, and makes room for the life You long to give. Amen.”

Thanks for reading,
JC

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