Sometimes reading the Scriptures and other devotional material throughout the Lenten season can have little obvious impact. Even as an introspective and analytical person, I find that this part of the journey is where I have to refocus my attention. In certain ways I’m going through the motions, and not necessarily experiencing this wilderness journey.

For us, spring has come and is giving us hope for the seeds sown and warmer weather. Easter is just around the corner, but it hasn’t come yet. I’m struggling to not lose the somber and heartfelt attitude that is necessary in really putting off my old self.

The story of Mary anointing Jesus with oil in John 12:1-8 brings us back to focus. As I’ve mentioned, it’s easy to get sidetracked in subtle ways. Most of the men in the story are concerned with the poor. Judas worries about finances—about practicality. And Martha serves in the kitchen. Yet the central element to this scene is an act of worship and devotion. Mary oversteps social boundaries in order to demonstrate her love to Christ. She “wastes” an outrageous amount of perfume in anointing His feet. It was an uncomfortable situation, to say the least.

That’s what’s so striking about this story. The ways we relate to Christ are not always scripted or uniform. Our worship and affection won’t necessarily look like the person’s next to us. But in seeing Mary, we should be compelled toward Christ, and not trade Him for anything.

Thinking about Mary helps me refocus. I have to take ownership of the subtle ways that I get distracted from my true devotion to God. My sins must be laid at his feet. As crazy as it seems, 2 Corinthians 5 says that Christ became sin who knew no sin, for my sake. My honesty before Christ is all that God asks—that I would allow Him to work in me. This can often be emotional and affectionate, just as it was for Mary. Like her, I realize that my sins put Jesus on the cross.

Lent is not just about what I’m going through. It’s not just about fasting and my sin. This season is about Christ and His death for us. Until we recognize this—until we recognize that we join in his burial—we won’t fully grasp the Resurrection.

Jesus, we lay ourselves at your feet.

Now that we are in the mid-point of Lent, I can begin to feel the intensities of this fasting experience, and I am saddened by my sin. I can also begin to see the horizon up ahead with the light of Resurrection growing. There is hope in Easter coming. This is a bittersweet place to be. Yet this is a brightening sadness.

This is where Luke 13:1-9 meets us.  It begins with dramatic questions proposed to Jesus about why people have suffered. The inquirers assume that suffering happens to bad people. Christ draws them into looking at their own lives instead and to repent.  I am reminded to keep repenting. I am like the healthy, Pharisaic folk who look to the problems of others, and I can often neglect the state that I am in.

And I may not be in an awful place, or causing some great evil, but the parable of the barren fig tree does make me wonder if I am producing fruit. Does the Owner of the vineyard want to cut me down?

See Lent is more than just a “checklist of do’s and don’ts,” to get us prepared for a season of indulgence. Lent is about transforming from one spiritual state to another. And this parable holds together the duality of God’s character. God wants to show us mercy, help us grow, and yet his justice reminds us of what happens with sin in this world. There is no place in the kingdom for trees that don’t want to produce fruit—trees that don’t want growth and transformation.

I have to ask myself today; have I even allowed myself to be fully planted? What is it in my life that I won’t let fall into the soil and dirt? What is it that I won’t let die? What is it that I seem to still hold on to? I must let my pride, my fears, and my anxieties find their way into the ground. If I want to take up the cross of Christ, I must deny myself. I must die in order to be reborn.

By dying on the Cross, Christ offers me the only Tree of Life. I can only produce fruit by joining in with Christ by taking up the Cross. Then the Gardener is able to work on me.

Lord, find me in your mercy and not in your justice. Please don’t cut me down. So then I might bear fruit in the year ahead.

I am beginning to realize my Lenten tendencies this year. A couple of days before Ash Wednesday, I go back and read some old journals trying to remember Lent in years past. I get excited at the idea of another season when the Church can engage in discipline; when I can cut out unnecessary things in my life and refocus. By the time Lent rolls around, I’ve tweaked my fast and have decided on what’s appropriate this time around. There are some variations from one Lent season to the next, but as I listened to the sermon this week I realized that in many ways Lent continues to be the same.

Each year on Ash Wednesday I remember that I am dust, and to dust I shall return. It is a humbling reminder of my mortality, my depravity, and my ultimate need of salvation. I get marked in recognition of the beginning of the fast, and mark my allegiance to Christ in the form of a cross on my forehead. Ash Wednesday is always intense, the beginning of the journey to the cross.

And then I am confronted with Christ in the desert, tempted by Satan. Every year I remember those forty days are important to the story of God, just like the Israelites and Christ, I too am entering a wilderness of my own.

I am still at that optimistic, energetic point of the fast: a few days in, where temptation hasn’t really come yet. But Luke 4, the scripture for this past Sunday, is clearly confronting what every Lent confronts - our desires.

During the first week of Lent, I must own up to my passions and desires. I must join with Christ and submit them to the Father. I must confront my quick fix, short-cut natural penchants and commit to will otherwise. I purpose to change and forfeit my plans in order to draw near to God and join in his plans.

It might seem strange to talk about temptation so early on in the journey but I know, temptation will come. It will get hard. I will want to give up and give in.

Yet, I have this past Sunday to reflect upon and remember my opposition to instant gratification, and my commitment to a long road of obedience, that same wilderness that Christ was in. I can remember that Christ knows where I am weak, and that He is mighty to save me from any strife, struggle, anxiety or temptation. Only He can carry me through.

Lately, many of the lectionary texts have centered around healing in its various forms. We have been challenged to patiently sit with pain, to allow our troubles to be acknowledged, to express our grief and confusion, to resign our safekeeping to a Good Creator, and to be healed or reconciled.  This story follows the remarkable diagnosis, treatment and physical healing of our dear friend Stuart.  He has given us permission to share his blog which chronicles his journey with an aggressive form of Lymphoma.  It is a powerful testament to God's sovereignty in the face of uncertainty.

To follow Stu's story click this link.