Lent and the Question I Can’t Answer

Every year around this time, someone asks me the same well-intended question:

“So… what are you giving up for Lent?”


And every year, I hesitate.


Not because the question is wrong—but because I don’t have a neat answer.


I’ve tried.

I’ve really tried.


Chocolate. Social media. Coffee. Late nights. Complaining. Sugar. You name it.


And almost without fail, somewhere between Ash Wednesday and Holy Week, I break. I forget. I justify. I rationalize. I fail.


And the more I try to do Lent right, the more Lent exposes how bad I am at self-discipline.


Maybe that’s the point.




Lent Was Never About Impressing God


Jesus’ words in the Sermon on the Mount have always unsettled me:


“When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do… Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full.”

(Matthew 6:16)


Notice He doesn’t say if you fast—but when.


And yet He also warns us about turning spiritual disciplines into public performances.


Somehow, Lent has become a season where we subtly compare spiritual sacrifices:


• “I gave up caffeine.”

• “I quit Instagram.”

• “I’m doing a Daniel Fast.”


None of these are bad. But Lent was never meant to be a spiritual leaderboard.


The desert isn’t a stage.

It’s a place of stripping.




A Ministry Lesson I Didn’t Learn in Seminary


I remember a season in my own ministry when Lent felt almost unnecessary. Things were moving forward. Ministry was busy. There was momentum, clarity, and purpose. I assumed that spiritual discipline would come easily because I was already “doing the work of God.”


That Lent, I chose something meaningful to give up. Something that felt costly. Something that would finally prove I was disciplined enough, devoted enough.


I failed within days.


What surprised me wasn’t the failure—it was what it revealed.


I realised how much of my spiritual life had quietly become tied to usefulness, productivity, and being needed. Even fasting had turned into another way of measuring my faithfulness.


Not long after, ministry itself entered a season I hadn’t planned. Doors closed. Calling felt questioned. Waiting replaced movement. Silence replaced certainty. There was very little left to give up—because so much had already been stripped away.


That Lent, I didn’t fast from food or comfort.

I fasted from certainty.


And in that unsettling place, I discovered something freeing: God was still present when I had nothing impressive to offer.


As the apostle Paul writes:


“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

(2 Corinthians 12:9)


Lent stopped being about discipline and became about dependence.




The Desert Reveals What We Lean On


Lent echoes Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness—a season not of spiritual success but of hunger, temptation, and vulnerability.


“Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”

(Matthew 4:4)


When I try to give something up for Lent, what I discover isn’t strength—it’s dependence.


I don’t just like coffee. I lean on it.

I don’t just scroll for fun. I escape there.

I don’t just enjoy comfort. I avoid silence.


Lent exposes not just what we consume—but what consumes us.


Henri Nouwen once wrote:


“Fasting reveals our compulsions. It exposes the things we use to cover our emptiness.”


That’s uncomfortably true.




Failure Might Be the Most Honest Lenten Practice


Here’s my confession:


I fail at Lent because Lent shows me how little control I actually have.


And that realisation has become strangely freeing.


Paul writes again:


“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

(2 Corinthians 12:9)


What if Lent isn’t about proving our discipline—but remembering our need?


I once spoke with a pastor who told me he stopped giving things up for Lent after years of shame and frustration. Instead, he began asking one simple question every morning during Lent:


“Where do I need grace today?”


That question changed everything.




Giving Up vs. Giving Space


Isaiah reminds us that God isn’t impressed by empty religious acts:


“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:

to loose the chains of injustice,

to share your food with the hungry,

and not turn away from your own flesh and blood?”

(Isaiah 58:6–7)


Lent isn’t only about subtraction.

It’s about reorientation.


Maybe the better question isn’t:


“What am I giving up for Lent?”


But instead:


• What am I making room for?

• What distractions keep me from prayer?

• What noise drowns out God’s voice?

• What comforts prevent me from compassion?


Frederick Buechner once said:


“Lent is the season of repentance, of being turned around.”


That turning is often slow, awkward, and incomplete.


And that’s okay.




A Different Way to Walk Through Lent


So this year, when someone asks me what I’m giving up for Lent, I may finally answer honestly:


“I don’t know. But I’m paying attention.”


I’m paying attention to:


• where I run instead of pray

• where I numb instead of lament

• where I strive instead of trust


And I’m learning that Lent isn’t about spiritual heroics—it’s about honest surrender.




Applications for the Journey


As you walk through Lent, consider these gentle practices:


  1. Replace comparison with curiosity. Instead of measuring your Lent against others, ask: What is God revealing about my heart?
  2. Let failure lead you to grace, not shame. If you break your fast, don’t quit Lent. Let it point you back to mercy.
  3. Fast from what dulls your soul, not just what’s easy. Sometimes the real fast is from hurry, resentment, or control.
  4. Add something life-giving. Scripture before screens. Silence before noise. Prayer before planning.
  5. Remember where Lent is headed. Lent doesn’t end in deprivation—it ends in resurrection.




Lent reminds us that we are dust.

But Easter reminds us that dust can breathe again.


And maybe that’s enough.






About the Author

Roy is a global ministry leader, educator, and communicator with over 20 years of experience in cross-cultural discipleship, theological instruction, pastoral ministry, and spiritual formation. He currently serves as an adjunct faculty instructor and mentors emerging Christian leaders worldwide, equipping the Church to stand firm in truth and advance the Gospel with clarity and courage.

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