In The Secret.
Lent has a way of feeling dreary before it ever begins. The colors are purple and black. The tone is sober. It is a season of fasting and giving—a season where we are invited to put to death our much-loved vices, our fleshly appetites, even those little indulgences we justify because, “I work hard, and dang it, I’m going to enjoy life.”
If you think about it, no one in their right mind would invent a season like this. A season where you willingly give up good food. Where you give away some of your hard-earned money. Where you intentionally step out of your comfort zone and deny yourself things that don’t even seem all that sinful. It feels backwards.
Conceptually, Lent can appear gloomy. After all, the Lenten journey embraces the funeral of the flesh. Forty days is a long time to fast—from food, from habits, from comforts that keep our minds busy or relaxed. Life is already hard. We secretly think Christianity should offer us something easier. Didn’t Jesus say His yoke is easy and His burden is light (Matthew 11:30)?
So why would I choose something that feels harder? I already have enough problems. I don’t need to add fasting and self-examination to the list. And so some will fake their way through Lent. Others will ignore it altogether. If the easy road is what you’re looking for, you won’t take Lent seriously.
But what if we’ve misunderstood Lent and the acts of fasting and almsgiving? What if they aren’t meant to be a struggle but a way to celebrate?
What if we’ve been thinking about Lent the way the world thinks about death and hardship instead of the way Jesus does? Hebrews tells us that Jesus, “for the joy set before Him, endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2). Jesus went toward His suffering with joy—not because the pain was pleasant, but because of what awaited Him beyond it.
What if fasting and almsgiving work the same way?
Maybe you are justified in feeling tired. Maybe you truly need rest. I wouldn’t blame most of you for wanting something easier. But what if the easier way is hidden in a secret place? What if the rest, the joy, the pleasure you are longing for is tucked away somewhere unseen? What if there is a real Narnian-like wardrobe you can step through that leads you to a place that is out of sight, out of mind, and out of time?
In Matthew 6, Jesus lets us in on a secret (literally). “When you give, do it in secret.” “When you fast, do it in secret.” Why? Because “your Father who sees in secret” is there.
Did you catch that? The Father is in a secret place.
To access that place, you must do certain things in secret. Fasting and almsgiving become like a secret knock on a secret door that opens up to a secret place where you find God waiting there.
And what do you think you find when you meet God in secret? Could it be rest? Could it be joy? Could it be pleasure? Since God is love, could it be love Himself filling your empty places?
What if fasting isn’t about depriving yourself but about gaining access to fill yourself? What if almsgiving isn’t about losing something but about finding something better? What if bearing your cross isn’t about misery but about placing yourself in the secret place where God is and experiencing true life?
Then Lent wouldn’t feel like something you have to do. It would become something you get to do.
When I was a boy visiting my grandparents in Ohio, Sundays followed a pattern. Church. Lunch. And then—naptime. Everyone except me. Because I knew there were vanilla and chocolate cookies in Mamaw’s ceramic cookie jar.
So I crept into the kitchen. Slowly lifted the lid. Lowered my fat little hand into the jar and grabbed as many cookies as I could hold. I replaced the lid without a sound. Then came the real test: crossing the living room unnoticed.
I moved slowly, watching every pair of resting eyes. All was well until I passed Uncle Emmet in his chair. Uncle Emmet had a glass eye. And as I glanced over, that eye was staring straight at me. My soul left my body. I froze. Then I remembered—the glass eye doesn’t blink. I waited. No movement. No sound. I made my way down the hallway and into the bedroom.
Victory!
I sat in the corner, in secret, and feasted on vanilla and chocolate cookies!
Here’s what I remember: the patience, the creeping, the discipline of being slow and steady, all the work I put in to being sneaky—it didn’t feel hard. It wasn’t miserable. I delighted in the effort because of what awaited me in secret.
What if Lent is like that?
What if fasting shouldn’t feel like a duty but a joy that allows you to meet with God who is in secret? What if almsgiving is not loss but delight? What if disciplining the flesh is worth it because of who you meet in secret?
This Lent, fast to meet God in secret. We don’t fast to curb your sinful nature. We fast so we can pray and, through prayer, meet with God in secret. When you give, be sneaky about it. By giving in secret, you gain access to the Father who sees and is present in secret. As you put to death the deeds of the flesh in preparation for Easter, do it like a boy sneaking cookies—motivated by delight because of what lies beyond.
You may just find that Lent doesn’t feel gloomy at all.
It just might become one of your favorite seasons of the year!
Peace be with you,
Pastor Bruce
