How Is Your Lent Going?
- Claire Henning
- 11 hours ago
- 3 min read
When we think about the spiritual season we call Lent, the first thought that often comes to mind is deciding what to give up. Many choose to refrain from chocolate, alcohol, or coffee for six weeks. Some create a careful spiritual plan, praying more intentionally and looking for new ways to serve others.
But for many of us, Lent shows up on a random Wednesday in February without much of a plan. Life continues at its usual pace. Responsibilities press in. Worries surface. And before we know it, this sacred season can feel like one more thing we are trying to manage.
If you are holding steady to your Lenten commitments, marvelous! If you began with strong intentions and now feel distracted or tired, you are not alone. If Lent has barely crossed your mind until now, nothing has gone wrong.
Lent is not a performance. It is an invitation. The question is not whether we are observing it perfectly. The question is whether we are willing to let this season meet us where we are and lead us closer to God.
This year, Ash Wednesday fell during a good week in my chemotherapy cycle. I felt strong enough to go to the early Mass. I left with ashes on my forehead and, for the first time in a while, enough energy to stop by the gym just to stretch and feel like myself again.
A woman across the gym saw my ashes and cheerfully called out, “So what did you give up for Lent?” For a moment, I wanted to say, “I gave up having a normal, healthy life for chemo treatments.” Instead, I smiled and answered, “I’m giving up my knee-jerk tendency to assume things about people who think differently than I do.” The words surprised me, but they named the quiet work God was already doing in me.
We often imagine Lent as something we choose. A small, manageable sacrifice that proves our devotion. But many of us enter Lent already carrying something heavy.
An illness.
A grief.
A strained relationship.
A worry that keeps us awake at night.
Sometimes Lent is not about adding something challenging to our plate. Sometimes it is about honoring the difficulties already present in our lives and listening to what they have to say to us. It becomes less about what we give up and more about what we surrender.
Surrendering the need to control
Surrendering the need to be right.
Surrendering the quiet judgments we carry in our hearts.
There is so much in life that is outside of our grasp. I cannot control how my body responds to treatment. I cannot control the pace of healing. But I can open the Sunday Scriptures. I can encounter the Jesus who expands my mercy and steadies my trust.
And as I sit with Jesus in prayer, I am reminded that faith is best lived in communion with others. We gather around the same altar. We receive the same Lord. We all have a place at the same table.
This Lent I ask for the grace to remain at that table. Grace, not only for perseverance in my own health journey, but the grace I need to resist the quiet temptation to pull away when relationships are strained or differences arise. Grace to remember that communion is not built on agreement about everything, but on membership in the Body of Christ.
In The Table We Share: Faith, Difference, and Our Call to Communion, I reflect on how separation quietly takes root and how Lent invites us back toward one another. Each Sunday, as we approach the altar, we practice what Lent is teaching us. We come hungry. We come imperfect. We come carrying our burdens. And still, there is a place set for us.
So, whether you joined the communal table on Ash Wednesday or are pulling up a chair for the first time now, welcome to Lent.
There is room for you here.
Grace is quietly at work.
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