The Sacred Invitation of Lent: How the Freedom to Lament Leads Us to Hope
“So, what are you giving up for Lent?”
I stared back blankly. I was in 6th grade, and I had not grown up in a liturgical denomination like my friends. They enlightened me that I was supposed to “fast” from something for the next 40 days to show my dedication to Christ.
Though I grew up in the church, I wasn’t familiar with the Lenten season throughout my childhood. The traditional idea of Ash Wednesday sounded bizarre (wearing mourning clothes and putting ashes on my forehead?), and my only understanding of the 40 days leading up to Easter came from classmates at school.
For a quintessential “good girl” like myself, the idea that I was missing an opportunity to check one of my Christian boxes was both terrifying and unacceptable. I didn’t understand the biblical instructions for fasting or the implications of that spiritual discipline, but after those schoolyard conversations I blindly gave up watching television. This lasted for about four days. My “failure” resulted in shame from the enemy and only reinforced my wrong belief that I needed to perform my way into a deeper relationship with Jesus. Ironically, that response is the opposite of Lent’s intended purpose for believers.
“We are invited into deeper communion with Christ when we soberly observe the time leading up to Holy Week. ”
What is Lent?
In her book on the liturgical church calendar, Danielle Hitchen writes, “From its inception, Lent was designed to assist Christian communities in preparing their hearts to celebrate the resurrection by facilitating a season of reflection and penitence aided by fasting” (Sacred Seasons).
In other words, we are invited into deeper communion with Christ when we soberly observe the time leading up to Holy Week. The celebration of Resurrection Sunday is all the more joyful when we have intentionally denied our flesh of certain worldly desires, just as Jesus denied his flesh by willingly giving up his life on our behalf.
Lent, meaning “lengthen,” begins on Ash Wednesday and concludes on Holy Saturday (the day before Easter). Technically, this calculates to 46 days, but the Sundays during that time are not meant to be included in the traditional Lenten fast. Instead, they are intended as days of feasting, reminding us to always “taste and see that the Lord is good” (Ps. 34:8).
Why 40 Days?
Scripture shows the number 40 as important for God’s people in various ways. In the Old Testament, “40” often signifies a period of testing or judgment. For example, during the Great Flood of Noah’s time, God caused it to rain on the earth for 40 days and 40 nights (Gen. 7:12). Moses spent 40 years tending flocks in the wilderness after fleeing from Pharoah and stayed on Mount Sinai for 40 days and 40 nights when he received the written Law from God (Acts 7:29–30, Ex. 24:18). After being rescued from slavery in Egypt, we know that the Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years and also took 40 days to spy out the land of Canaan (Deut. 8:2, Num. 13:25). Potentially less familiar occurrences of “40” in Scripture include the 40 days Goliath provoked Saul’s army before David came on the scene to strike him down with God’s help, and that the prophet Elijah’s escape from Jezebel to Mt. Horeb lasted for 40 days and 40 nights (1 Sam. 17:16, 1 Kings 19:8).
In the New Testament, we are told how Jesus was tempted by Satan in the wilderness for 40 days and 40 nights (Matt. 4:1–2). And, following his triumphant resurrection, Jesus remained on earth in his glorified body for 40 days before ascending to Heaven (Acts 1:3).
Throughout history, God’s people have recognized the number 40 as correlating with trials and suffering. Therefore, it is relevant that we should prepare to lean into reflection, remembrance, and repentance during the 40 days of Lent.
“Leaning into the season of Lent frees our hearts to lament openly.”
How Does Lament Through Lent Encourage Our Faith?
It’s now been years since those misguided discussions with friends during my tween years, and over time I’ve grown to find comfort in returning to certain rhythms of faith surrounding the liturgical church calendar. The Lenten season is one of those periods I’ve come to love. One simple reason overshadows the others: It has given me permission to grieve.
Years of intense suffering during my young adulthood forced me to grapple with true grief for the first time. After a lifetime of striving for worth, love, and safety, it was through disappointment that God invited me to truly rest in his accomplishments on the cross.
While it may appear counterintuitive, the truth is that the wounds we refuse to bring into the light of God’s presence will only fester in the dark. In hidden places, untreated infections can lead to sepsis of the soul.
True, lasting healing requires honest grief. And full, honest grief requires humility.
Indeed, this is what lament is: honest, humble, and hopeful grief.
Lament is not wallowing in sadness or self-pity, giving in to the sinful desires depression often tempts us with. Instead, lament is the action of grieving honestly with hope (1 Thess. 4:13–18).
Lament is laying our rawest selves before the Lord, trusting him to remain faithful in our lack of faith. It is showing all of our proverbial cards on the table, not attempting to hide our emotions or questions from him because we presume we’re not “supposed” to feel this way.
It is trusting him to realign our misunderstandings with the truth of his Word and to realign our hearts by showing us his character.
Leaning into the season of Lent frees our hearts to lament openly.
From Mourning to Dancing
When surrounded by mountains on every side, the only way out of a valley is through it. Until we are willing to humble ourselves before the Lord and openly grieve the unspoken pains we’ve kept hidden, we will not be able to step fully into the calling God has placed on our lives.
But when we trust who he is enough to face who we are, that is the moment he turns our mourning into dancing (Ps. 30:11–12). He is the Vinedresser, pruning us by cutting away all the dead and dying branches, healing us, and cultivating fruit as we abide in him. Lament is the pathway to abundant life in Christ Jesus.
Out of his great love for us, he gives us not what we always want, but what we need. If suffering is the mantle upon which we learn to remain tethered to Christ, then so be it. May we welcome any circumstances or trials that result in deeper dependence on the One who provides all sustaining grace.
So this is the sacred invitation of Lent: that we learn to grieve our sin and our brokenness; leaning into the gift of godly lament. Through this, may we be healed, and may he receive glory.
Ashley Setterlind is a pastor’s wife, mama to three littles on earth + one in heaven, writer, and worship leader. She loves studying theology, drinking iced vanilla lattes, and being cozy. She is passionate about equipping women to live for God’s glory and can rarely be found without an audiobook in her earbuds. Ashley lives in the mountains of Western North Carolina with her family and their beloved German Shepherd. You can connect with her on Instagram or read more words like these on her blog.
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