The Last Days of Lent

It's almost the end of the season of Lent, and Easter is just a little over a week away.  We still have the story of Holy Week to journey through, but Lent's long and often arduous paths have nearly run their course. 

Maybe you have been soldiering these past many weeks, deprived of coffee, chocolate, social media, meat on Fridays, or whatever you decided to relinquish for Lent. In that case, you might already be thinking about how it will feel to end that fast. 

It's easy to feel some optimism as we close out Lent, and the last vestiges of winter that have begun to turn to Spring.  But there is a marked difference between feeling optimism and embracing hope.  

God knows, I've done my best to be optimistic these past few months.  It hasn't been easy, but I've offered up the most optimistic epithets to share with friends and family, to do my best to be positive and project that positivity even as the world outside seems to be falling apart.  

Perhaps you have done the same, and like me, still have a troubled feeling in your gut.  To that end, I think that these last days of Lent can be instructive.   

As we mark the end of Lent, we have the chance to reflect on how Lent reminds us that even in our darkest moments, an unwavering light exists—a divine promise guiding us towards peace and fulfillment.

Henri Nouwen poignantly encapsulates this sentiment when he writes: 

“While optimism makes us live as if someday soon things will soon go better for us, hope frees us from the need to predict the future and allows us to live in the present, with the deep trust that God will never leave us alone but will fulfill the deepest desires of our heart... Joy in this perspective is the fruit of hope.” 

Nouwen underscores the essential distinction between optimism and hope in this profound insight. Optimism often brings a fleeting sense of comfort, tied to our desire for specific outcomes. In contrast, hope invites us to embrace the present, relinquishing our need to control the future--even when there's not much to be optimistic about.

The biblical story of the Israelites provides a perfect illustration of this journey. 

After years of suffering in Egypt, the people hoped for freedom. When they finally escaped, challenges continued to arise—the Red Sea loomed before them, and enemies followed closely behind. 

Yet they learned to trust in God's promise in these moments of despair. As Exodus 14:14 assures us, “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” Here, we find a call to surrender to God’s plan, timeline, and purposes, trusting that He is working all things for our good.

This season has encouraged us to confront our struggles, cultivating a posture of surrender and an openness to God’s transformative work in our hearts. 

As we learn to let go of our tightly held desires and anxieties, we open ourselves to the peace that comes from knowing we are not alone. God walks us through every valley, bringing light to our darkness and hope to our despair.

As we conclude this Lenten journey, please consider what surrendering your need for control means. 

Your worries, the outcomes you seek, and the pressures of daily life can be laid at the feet of the One who cares dearly for you. In this surrender, you will discover a transformative power that replaces anxiety with hope—a hope that propels you forward, regardless of external circumstances.

May we move forward with the assurance that God’s purposes are greater than our own and that His plans are filled with hope and a future. 

As we live in hope, let us carry this spirit beyond Lent, illuminating the world around us with the peace and joy that spring from our faithful trust in God. Embrace this journey, and let hope be your guiding light.

May it be so, and may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with us all, now and forever. Amen.