Don’t Let This Be Just Another Lent
Now that Lent is underway, this is often the moment when we quietly realize that the resolutions we made with the best of intentions may need a second look. Not because they were wrong, but because Lent has a way of revealing what we didn’t see at the outset. The practices that seemed manageable on Ash Wednesday can begin to feel superficial—or insufficient—a week or two in. That discomfort may actually be a grace, inviting us to pause, reassess, and ask whether our Lenten commitments are truly leading us toward the conversion of heart that the Church intends.
I’ve been walking through Lent for many years now, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the familiar patterns can become so routine that we stop paying attention to what the Church is actually asking of us. We give something up, grit our teeth, and count down the days. And when Easter arrives, we breathe a sigh of relief and go right back to business as usual.
But Lent was never meant to be endured. It was meant to change us.
Lent as a Time of Conversion
The Church gives us Lent as a gift—a sacred stretch of time modeled on Christ’s forty days in the desert. That desert wasn’t comfortable, and it certainly wasn’t convenient. It was a place of stripping away, of temptation faced head-on, of total reliance on the Father. When I measure my own Lenten practices against that reality, I sometimes have to admit that they fall short.
Giving something up can be helpful. Fasting has deep roots in our Catholic tradition, and when it’s done well, it sharpens our awareness of our dependence on God. But over time, I’ve found that giving up the “usual stuff”—foods, treats, minor indulgences—doesn’t always do much to move me toward real conversion. Sometimes it just makes me more aware of my own irritation.
And irritation, by itself, isn’t repentance.
What Lent continually calls me back to is the deeper purpose behind the practices: conversion of heart. Every Lent, I’m being invited to undergo that ongoing shift from the old self to the new, from who I am to who Christ is calling me to become. That’s not a one-size-fits-all process, and it doesn’t look the same every year.
Which is why I’ve come to believe that Lent needs to be rethought—not reinvented, but reclaimed.
A More Intentional Lent
The Church gives us three pillars for a reason: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. They’re not independent projects; they’re interconnected paths that lead us out of ourselves and back to God. When one of them is neglected—or reduced to a token gesture—the whole structure weakens.
Prayer during Lent, for example, isn’t meant to be impressive or elaborate. It’s meant to be honest. Lent invites me to step into the quiet, to examine my conscience without excuses, and to listen—really listen—for where God is asking for change. Sometimes that listening is uncomfortable. Sometimes it reveals habits or attitudes I’d rather not deal with. But that’s where grace does its work.
Almsgiving, too, challenges me more than I often expect. It’s easy to give from abundance; it’s harder to give in ways that actually cost something—time, attention, patience, mercy. Lent reminds me that conversion isn’t just about my private spiritual life; it’s about how I love the people God places before me, especially when it’s inconvenient or unseen.
And then there’s fasting—not as an end in itself, but as a means of clearing space. Space for God, space for compassion, and space to recognize where I’ve grown too comfortable or too attached.
So maybe the better Lenten question isn’t What am I giving up? but What is God inviting me to take on? Or even more honestly: What is God asking me to let go of so that I can follow Him more freely?
From a Catholic perspective, Lent only makes sense when it’s oriented toward Easter. The point isn’t deprivation for deprivation’s sake. The point is resurrection. And resurrection requires death—death to sin, to self-centeredness, to whatever keeps us from loving God and neighbor more fully.
Every Lent places me, once again, between Baptism and mission—stepping into the desert so that I can emerge more closely conformed to Christ. That’s not something I accomplish through sheer willpower. It’s something I consent to through grace.
So as Lent unfolds, I’m trying to resist the temptation to make it just another season to get through. Instead, I’m asking for the courage to let it do its work in me—quietly, steadily, and perhaps more deeply than I planned.
And maybe that’s the real challenge of Lent after all.
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