Lent arrives every year like a quiet knock at the door. In a world marked by exhaustion, conflict, distraction, and the relentless pull of busyness, Lent offers a different rhythm. It is the season when the Church calls us to step aside from the noise, to slow the pace of our lives, and to remember our humanity. Rather than a burdensome obligation, Lent is a spacious gift: forty days of honest reflection, deepened prayer, spiritual re-centring, and renewed intimacy with God. At its heart is the simple but profound truth that God desires to meet us where we truly are—not where we pretend to be.
The origins of Lent stretch back to the earliest centuries of Christian life. Its shape is inspired by Jesus’ own forty days in the wilderness, where he withdraws from everything familiar to face the deeper movements of his heart and to listen for the call of God the Father, the Creator. The Gospel of Mark tells it with stark simplicity: “The Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him” (Mark 1:12 -13). In Matthew and Luke, we hear more detail, but the essence remains: Jesus enters the desert to strip away distractions, to confront falsehood, and to realign himself with the heart and will of God. Lent is the Church’s way of following him into that same inner terrain.
In the early Church, Lent was a time for people to prepare for baptism at Easter, and for the whole community to participate in their preparation through prayer, fasting, and acts of mercy. Today, Lent still invites us to prepare—only now the preparation is for a renewed encounter with the living Christ. Lent is not about self-punishment or spiritual heroics. It is about returning to what is essential. “Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful,” the prophet Joel says (Joel 2:13). This is the tone of Lent: not fear, but return. Not shame, but honesty. Not despair, but hope.
Our post-secular world makes such a return difficult. We live within layers of distraction that pull us away from the deeper questions that form the substance of spiritual life. The pace of our days leaves little room for stillness. Our culture encourages achievement, productivity, and constant motion, but leaves far less space to reflect on who we are beneath the surface. Lent interrupts that momentum. It asks us to pause and to ask: What has shaped me this year? What patterns of living limit my freedom in Christ? What resistances arise when I try to be still before God? What have I avoided facing within myself? These questions do not accuse us; rather, they invite us toward the healing and wholeness God desires for every one of God’s children.
This is the gentle but necessary work of Lent: to face the internal blocks that keep us from going deeper with God. Every person carries such blocks. Some arise from fear—fear of being unmasked, fear of change, fear of letting go of familiar patterns. Some come from wounds and experiences that make trust difficult. Others come simply from habit, inertia, or the comfort of the known. Lent does not demand that we fix ourselves. Instead, it invites us to recognize these barriers and to place them, slowly and prayerfully, into the hands of Christ. The psalmist prays, “Search me, O God, and know my heart… and lead me in the way everlasting” (Psalm 139:23–24). This is the posture of Lent: the willingness to let God search us—not to expose us in judgment, but to bring us into freedom.
Jesus’ own experience in the desert shows us what this can look like. In the wilderness, he confronts the temptations that distort human desire: the temptation to rely on power, to grasp after recognition, to avoid vulnerability. These temptations still echo through the human heart today. Lent gives us space to examine where they surface in our own lives: the temptation to rely on our own strength rather than God’s grace; the temptation to seek affirmation from others rather than resting in God’s love; the temptation to avoid hard truths rather than allowing God to guide our transformation. When Jesus resists these temptations, he shows us what a life aligned with God looks like: grounded, humble, courageous, and free.
In a world overwhelmed by division, anxiety, injustice, and spiritual hunger, Lent feels more necessary than ever. We are constantly told who we should be, what we should fear, and what we must accomplish. The season of Lent reminds us that our identity is not earned but received. As St. Paul writes, “You are not your own… you were bought with a price” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20). Lent calls us back to the deepest truth of the faith: our lives belong to God, and God longs for our healing.
The practices of Lent—prayer, fasting, self-examination, generosity, simplicity—are not ends in themselves. They are tools to help us clear away the inner clutter so that we can hear the quiet voice of God again. They help us pay attention to the movements of our hearts, to recognize what is life-giving and what is not. Prayer in Lent need not be elaborate; it can simply be sitting in silence, offering God our undivided presence for a few minutes each day. Fasting is not about rigidity but about creating space. It can be fasting from food, from noise, from screens, or from habits that distract us from God. Generosity becomes a way to loosen the grip of self-centredness and to open our hearts to the needs of others.
Lent also reminds us that the Christian journey is not solitary. The whole Church enters this season together. We pray together, repent together, wait together, and look toward Easter together. Lent binds us to the Body of Christ in a profound way. In a time when many people feel disconnected—from community, from meaning, or from God—this communal dimension of Lent is an antidote to isolation. It whispers the truth that none of us walks this path alone.
The deeper purpose of Lent becomes clear when we remember where it leads. Lent is not an end. It is a journey toward resurrection. Every moment of reflection, repentance, honesty, and surrender prepares us to experience the joy and freedom of Easter more fully. St. Paul captures this dynamic beautifully: “If we have died with him, we will also live with him” (2 Timothy 2:11). Lent invites us to set down whatever keeps us from life so that when the Easter light dawns, our hearts are ready to receive it.
In this fractured and frantic world, Lent offers the Church – and each of us individually—a chance to rediscover the quiet, steady, renewing presence of God. It calls us to enter the desert with Jesus, not to escape the world but to return to it with renewed clarity, compassion, and hope. Lent invites us to remember that the God who meets us in our weakness is the same God who leads us into new life.
Into the Desert with Christ: Why Lent Still Matters in a Frantic and Fractured World
Lent arrives every year like a quiet knock at the door. In a world marked by exhaustion, conflict, distraction, and the relentless pull of busyness, Lent offers a different rhythm. It is the season when the Church calls us to step aside from the noise, to slow the pace of our lives, and to remember our humanity. Rather than a burdensome obligation, Lent is a spacious gift: forty days of honest reflection, deepened prayer, spiritual re-centring, and renewed intimacy with God. At its heart is the simple but profound truth that God desires to meet us where we truly are—not where we pretend to be.
The origins of Lent stretch back to the earliest centuries of Christian life. Its shape is inspired by Jesus’ own forty days in the wilderness, where he withdraws from everything familiar to face the deeper movements of his heart and to listen for the call of God the Father, the Creator. The Gospel of Mark tells it with stark simplicity: “The Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him” (Mark 1:12 -13). In Matthew and Luke, we hear more detail, but the essence remains: Jesus enters the desert to strip away distractions, to confront falsehood, and to realign himself with the heart and will of God. Lent is the Church’s way of following him into that same inner terrain.
In the early Church, Lent was a time for people to prepare for baptism at Easter, and for the whole community to participate in their preparation through prayer, fasting, and acts of mercy. Today, Lent still invites us to prepare—only now the preparation is for a renewed encounter with the living Christ. Lent is not about self-punishment or spiritual heroics. It is about returning to what is essential. “Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful,” the prophet Joel says (Joel 2:13). This is the tone of Lent: not fear, but return. Not shame, but honesty. Not despair, but hope.
Our post-secular world makes such a return difficult. We live within layers of distraction that pull us away from the deeper questions that form the substance of spiritual life. The pace of our days leaves little room for stillness. Our culture encourages achievement, productivity, and constant motion, but leaves far less space to reflect on who we are beneath the surface. Lent interrupts that momentum. It asks us to pause and to ask: What has shaped me this year? What patterns of living limit my freedom in Christ? What resistances arise when I try to be still before God? What have I avoided facing within myself? These questions do not accuse us; rather, they invite us toward the healing and wholeness God desires for every one of God’s children.
This is the gentle but necessary work of Lent: to face the internal blocks that keep us from going deeper with God. Every person carries such blocks. Some arise from fear—fear of being unmasked, fear of change, fear of letting go of familiar patterns. Some come from wounds and experiences that make trust difficult. Others come simply from habit, inertia, or the comfort of the known. Lent does not demand that we fix ourselves. Instead, it invites us to recognize these barriers and to place them, slowly and prayerfully, into the hands of Christ. The psalmist prays, “Search me, O God, and know my heart… and lead me in the way everlasting” (Psalm 139:23–24). This is the posture of Lent: the willingness to let God search us—not to expose us in judgment, but to bring us into freedom.
Jesus’ own experience in the desert shows us what this can look like. In the wilderness, he confronts the temptations that distort human desire: the temptation to rely on power, to grasp after recognition, to avoid vulnerability. These temptations still echo through the human heart today. Lent gives us space to examine where they surface in our own lives: the temptation to rely on our own strength rather than God’s grace; the temptation to seek affirmation from others rather than resting in God’s love; the temptation to avoid hard truths rather than allowing God to guide our transformation. When Jesus resists these temptations, he shows us what a life aligned with God looks like: grounded, humble, courageous, and free.
In a world overwhelmed by division, anxiety, injustice, and spiritual hunger, Lent feels more necessary than ever. We are constantly told who we should be, what we should fear, and what we must accomplish. The season of Lent reminds us that our identity is not earned but received. As St. Paul writes, “You are not your own… you were bought with a price” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20). Lent calls us back to the deepest truth of the faith: our lives belong to God, and God longs for our healing.
The practices of Lent—prayer, fasting, self-examination, generosity, simplicity—are not ends in themselves. They are tools to help us clear away the inner clutter so that we can hear the quiet voice of God again. They help us pay attention to the movements of our hearts, to recognize what is life-giving and what is not. Prayer in Lent need not be elaborate; it can simply be sitting in silence, offering God our undivided presence for a few minutes each day. Fasting is not about rigidity but about creating space. It can be fasting from food, from noise, from screens, or from habits that distract us from God. Generosity becomes a way to loosen the grip of self-centredness and to open our hearts to the needs of others.
Lent also reminds us that the Christian journey is not solitary. The whole Church enters this season together. We pray together, repent together, wait together, and look toward Easter together. Lent binds us to the Body of Christ in a profound way. In a time when many people feel disconnected—from community, from meaning, or from God—this communal dimension of Lent is an antidote to isolation. It whispers the truth that none of us walks this path alone.
The deeper purpose of Lent becomes clear when we remember where it leads. Lent is not an end. It is a journey toward resurrection. Every moment of reflection, repentance, honesty, and surrender prepares us to experience the joy and freedom of Easter more fully. St. Paul captures this dynamic beautifully: “If we have died with him, we will also live with him” (2 Timothy 2:11). Lent invites us to set down whatever keeps us from life so that when the Easter light dawns, our hearts are ready to receive it.
In this fractured and frantic world, Lent offers the Church – and each of us individually—a chance to rediscover the quiet, steady, renewing presence of God. It calls us to enter the desert with Jesus, not to escape the world but to return to it with renewed clarity, compassion, and hope. Lent invites us to remember that the God who meets us in our weakness is the same God who leads us into new life.
Ian Mobsby has over 10 years of experience working as a lay pioneer/missioner, and over 20 years as an ordained missioner/pioneer practitioner, particularly with missional forms of new monastic communities and the renewal of parishes as mixed ecology contexts of the experimental alongside the traditional. Ian has lectured and spoken around various parts of the Anglican Communion in the USA, Canada, the UK & Europe, Australia and New Zealand. He has written a number of books on aspects of contemporary mission and spirituality, and recently completed a research PhD part exploration of the 'Spiritual But Not Religious' part theological response exploring a particular contemplative model of mission. A book was published in January 2025.
Ian was awarded the St Dunstan's medal by the Archbishop of Canterbury in 2019 for services to the church in developing new forms of religious/spiritual communities, and in 2022 was made the Canon for Mission Theology in the Diocese of Niagara in Canada. In 2023, Ian moved to Canada to take up the senior position as the Community Missioner working directly to the Bishop of Niagara to develop mission and missional communities. Ian continues his work as a chapter member of the international new monastic Society of the Holy Trinity and as a Trustee of the St Anselm Community in Lambeth Palace and as a member of the Church of England's College of Bishop’s Advisory Council for the relations of Diocesan Bishops and Religious Communities.
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