Lent in Loss

After going through a miscarriage at the end of January, it was strange just a couple weeks later to be facing Lent.

I had practiced Lent for several years before that, to help prepare my heart and sharpen my focus for the Easter season, but that year, it begged a new question- how does one do Lent in loss?

Lent is often practiced by giving up something, but it can also be the practice of the addition of something. Frequently, they both go hand in hand. Something is sacrificed, and something chosen to fill that vacuum intentionally. It may look like the practice of fasting at lunch and praying during that time; or sacrificing screen time and working on Bible memorization instead. There’s so many great ideas, but the goals are to practice surrender and self-discipline to help awaken your spirit to the path of suffering Christ walked before that glorious resurrection.

But when you’re already on a path of suffering, and precious gifts taken away, how do you look to give up more? How, when in the middle of such uncontrollable sacrifice, do you choose to surrender still?

That year, while still reeling from grief and swarmed with questions, I had to face one of my own: could I give myself a pass on Lent that year because I had decided I had suffered enough? And with that, began a Lent season that in many ways seemed like my first true one. A season where my loss and the cross began a dance together, and my ache found healing in His wounds.

Because how could I answer in the affirmative to myself? How could I really begin the Easter season by denying to take up my own small cross, and then expect to glory in His? I knew the lessons Lent had brought me all those past years, knew the wonder-gift it had been. How could I now set that aside, sacrifice that itself, because sacrificing something else would go beyond my suffering quota? Could I really look to Him and say my suffering was too much to be able to offer Him anything more during this season where we remember He gave us everything?

By His grace, I could not. And then began the journey, the daily journey of giving up that one more thing, while simultaneously walking through grief, and the path to Easter and the path to the cross wound together, and the steps of the Saviour were sweeter to me than ever before. When weighted with suffering, the Man of Sorrows was there to walk with me. When questioning the Father’s taking hand, I remembered He did not withhold His own Son. When feeling hopeless, I looked ahead further and saw the empty tomb.

Lent and Easter have continued these past few years- years which have been marked by more loss– to be integral to sharpen my theology of suffering, recenter my swirling thoughts, and comfort my aching heart. I can testify that indeed “with his wounds we are healed”, as my questions, grief, and despair have continually found a landing place at the foot of the cross. I cannot tell you the number of times my wrestlings have turned into times of kneeling at the cross. And it all started with that first time, that time of hesitating and asking: how can I do Lent in loss?

“With his wounds we are healed.”

Isaiah 53:5

I’m so glad that God pointed me then to the cross, to the place where He did not say it was enough suffering and walk away from us, but instead experienced it fully until He could say “It is finished,” and have us.

I want to invite you, no matter the season of loss you’re going through, to observe Lent along with many others this Easter season. Beginning next Ash Wednesday, February 17th, would you prayerfully find something to abstain from or some discipline to increase (or both!) for the 40+ days before Easter arrives? I will also be posting a “Lent in Loss” series on Facebook and Instagram, where each day, beginning on Ash Wednesday until Easter, I will post a small truth and encouragement – a verse, a quote, a thought, a song- to reflect on as you sorrow while walking with the Man of Sorrows this Easter season.

May your wounds find healing in His, and your sorrow always rejoicing.