Despite its emphasis on abstinence, the faith tradition I grew up in taught me nothing about Lent. But I won’t be critical or hold anyone in contempt. From what I can gather, the same would’ve been true if I’d grown up in the early church. Apparently the custom of spending forty days in self-denial and repentance in preparation for Easter wasn’t introduced until after the initial surge of Christian adrenalin waned and believers became lackadaisical about their faith.
Slowly but surely people who’d closely followed Jesus started lagging behind and before long they were blending in with the population at large. Fewer and fewer were distinguishing themselves by their bold devotion to God and love for others. And the most tragic thing of all: the unlimited, unbridled and unrelenting love of God that had once dominated their life began to fade and the revolutionary revelation of God’s unconditional acceptance grew dim.
Finally someone suggested that it was time for followers of Jesus to narrow the gap and return to following Jesus more closely. Fortunately for them (and us too) the Bible provided some very clear indications about how to do that: Like when the children of Israel spent forty years in the wilderness learning to trust God and Elijah spent forty days waiting to hear God’s “quiet and gentle whisper” on the same mountain where Moses spent forty days listening as God laid down the law. And of course there’s Luke’s telling about Jesus’ own desert journey where he spent forty days prayerfully pondering what it meant to be Jesus.
So the church established a forty-day “Outward Bound for the Soul,” so that during Lent we can experience our own wilderness journey and ask one way or another what it means for us to be ourselves.
Sometimes when we journey, we wind up on a road that requires us to pay a toll. I believe it’s natural to sometimes view Lenten disciplines (especially when we’ve given something up) as paying a toll or trying to make ourselves more acceptable to God. We might imagine we’re cleaning up our record or putting more points on God’s spiritual scoreboard. But there’s no such thing as a toll road on a spiritual journey. What Jesus has done for us has settled those matters.
So if you choose to give up something for Lent or decide to let go of a habit, don’t let the “giving up” be for the purpose of paying a toll that doesn’t exist. The gift God has given us cannot be improved upon or added to.
The purpose of the Lenten journey is to help us open more space in our lives to the love and acceptance of God and to help us respond to that love more generously through our compassion for others.
- Think back over your life, recalling the evidence of God’s love for you. Who are the people who have cherished and cared for you? What specifically did they do that caused you to feel loved? Make a list of the people and circumstances that come to mind.
- What events have had special significance in helping you know you are loved?
- Give thanks by lifting up to God each person and each event that you listed. Reflect on what God has given to you in Jesus Christ. And again and again give thanks.
Join the Conversation
Does it reframe Lent at all for you to think of it as an “outward bound for the soul”?
Share, if you’d like, one of those events that helped you know that you were deeply loved.
 Fil Anderson is Executive Director of Journey Resources, based in Greensboro, North Carolina. He’s a frequent speaker at conferences, offers individual spiritual direction, and directs retreats and workshops around the country. He's the author of two books, Running on Empty: Contemplative Spirituality for Overachievers and Breaking the Rules: Trading Performance for Intimacy with God.
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As always, your words are full of grace and truth, Fil. This piece serves as a critical reminder that Lent, like every other season in the Christian life, is yet another call to turn our hearts towards home. Thanks for reminding us as well that the road we travel on the way home is a “toll-free” highway.
As Henri Nouwen asserts in The Return of the Prodigal Son, the One who waits for us not a harsh task-master, but a gracious and compassionate Father, and he welcomes both rebellious and religious sinners with equal pleasure.