As soon as the temperature starts to rise at the beginning of March, I start planning my garden for the year. Spring is a time of preparation for me: clearing out the remnants of last year’s garden, pulling weeds, and starting my seeds so that I can have a beautiful crop of veggies in the summer. For the last two years, I have started to do some gardening with my little girl. I love teaching her how to plant the seeds, and seeing her excitement over every little earthworm or roly-poly she finds. I’ve also found my patience tested when she rubs her muddy hands all over my sliding glass door and dumps the whole seed packet on the ground, but spending that time with her is worth a little mess.
Becoming a parent has given me an understanding of God’s heart that I doubt I ever would have had otherwise. To create someone who looks like you, love and protect them, teach them how to live rightly, and forgive them when they disobey–it makes me marvel at the thought that the Creator of the universe wanted to share even the intricacies of this relationship with us.
If I can love this tiny human so much, with every fiber of my being, how much more does our Father, with his infinite, boundless love, care for me? My love as a mother is far from perfect; when my daughter throws things or hurts someone or lies to me, I can be so impatient. But God doesn’t lash out in anger. He doesn’t get overstimulated and irritated and yell. He stays, He waits, and he corrects us gently, even when we intentionally do things to hurt Him.
Love Requires Forgiveness–Even When It Hurts.
When I think of God’s patience and forgiveness, I remember how hard it was raising our foster daughter. She came to us at 11 years old after experiencing deep trauma in her early life. Because of what she had been through, trust didn’t come easily—especially with authority figures, and particularly with me.
As she moved into her teenage years, the pain she carried often came out in anger and conflict. Our home became a place where love, boundaries, and healing were all colliding at once. Many times I felt like the target of her hurt and confusion. I had hoped simply to be a mother to her, but instead I often felt rejected and overwhelmed.
Over time the weight of it all left me exhausted and wounded. When she eventually moved to live with another family member, I realized how closed off my heart had become. I felt like I had nothing left to give.
That summer, in the quiet, I sensed God speaking gently to my heart: How do you think I feel, child? This is only a glimpse of the ways my children have turned away from me. Yet I still love them. I still gave my life for them.
In that moment, God reminded me that forgiveness is not something we manufacture ourselves—it’s something He helps us choose. With His help, I began the slow work of releasing my bitterness and forgiving her.
Remembering His Sacrifice
During this season of Lent, we should not only remember Christ’s sacrifice for us, but His loving forgiveness. As we remember how hard it has been for us to forgive others, we can consider Christ, in the garden, wrestling with the hurt and fear He felt, and choosing to pray for us instead. He chose to experience even more pain at our hands because no pain could overwhelm the love He had for us.
Lent gives us an opportunity to make space in our hearts so we can fully experience and appreciate God’s sacrificial love. But bitterness not only takes up space, it keeps us from knowing and understanding God’s heart by experiencing some of what He did. Forgiving those who have sinned against us allows us to understand even just a portion of the joy He feels when He washes our sins away.
So ask God today, “Who do I need to forgive?” Let go of that hurt, and submit your anger and resentment to Him. It may take time and continuous surrender, but He will faithfully pull out those bitter roots until they no longer grow back. And then finally, His love can bloom in you.
Michaelah Colon
Michaelah Colon is a worship leader at Open Arms Community Church, a High School Facilitator at Bradford Area Christian Academy, and Assistant Director at the Community Life Center in Bradford, PA. She is passionate about serving others, investing in the next generation, and living out her faith in everyday life. Michaelah lives with her husband, Wilfredo, and their daughter, Dorothy.
The “For Sale” sign in my yard says it all. Truth be told, it’s only coincidence that the sale is happening during Lent, which is often known as a season of subtraction. The spiritual awakening associated with this – and a few other aspects of our family’s life – are most certainly by God’s design.
Yesterday, I informed the few remaining clients of my business that we’ll be done after this month. Why? Because in losing the work I’m gaining the spiritual clarity to devote my life more fully to Christ, live in nature, focus on seminary courses, and build an online ministry.
What waits on the other side? No idea.
But I have faith. That’s the point.
“Be still. And know that I am God.” That’s Psalm 46:10 (NLT), and its timely message has popped up in unexpected places more often than I can count over the past month.
Jesus’s disciples had no idea what to expect, either. In a recent seminary paper, I described His first encounters with Peter, Andrew, James, and John as “an odd proposition.” Imagine the oddity of a random man approaching you at work and saying, “Come follow Me.”
As you’re cleaning the grill to end your shift or crunching budget numbers in a cubicle, would you follow? Or would you call security?
The early disciples didn’t have to abandon their nets to become “fishers of men” (Matthew 4:19, ESV). If anything, in a much more spiritual and superstitious time with dime-a-dozen “prophets” running all around the world they knew, they may have been EVENMORE skeptical of the Messiah “sales pitch.”
But they followed.
That speaks to the spiritual gravity of the moment. “No” was not an answer. The disciples were called to lay down their lives as Christ eventually laid down His. Matthew 10:39 tells us, “If you cling to your life, you will lose it; but if you give up your life for me, you will find it” (NLT).
How did they do it? By setting aside their worldly interests – their jobs, their families, everything they knew – to be spiritually nourished and become prepared to spread the coming Gospel.
This Lent, the call to simplicity by giving up my job security and even our home isn’t an odd proposition at all. If that sounds crazy, I wear that straightjacket proudly.
Spiritual Simplicity: What To Do With Your Freedom This Lent
We often use Lent to slow down. We try to remove the noise that keeps us from hearing God clearly. Some of us try to kick an old habit. Quitting drinking or smoking (or both) is quite popular. Giving up a favorite food or laying off social media also top the list of Lent sacrifices.
Whatever it is, the goal isn’t deprivation but rather to create space.
Space to Notice God Again
The world constantly pushes us toward more — more possessions, more commitments, more noise, more urgency. We accumulate things, schedules, obligations, and expectations until our lives become so crowded that even the good things struggle to breathe. Simplicity can feel almost radical.
Where is God in that daily grind?
That’s why Lent invites us to pause and ask some uncomfortable questions. What do we have in our lives that God never asked us to carry? What distractions have filled the space where prayer, rest, and devotion once lived? And what might happen if we intentionally loosened our grip on some of those things?
Fewer things to manage. More time outdoors. More time simply being present with each other and with God. As my good friend Rob Erickson says, “You’re a human being; not a human doing.”
At first glance, downsizing might sound like a loss. But the more we walk with God, the more it feels like making space.
Space to Breathe in God’s Creation
Pay attention to the rhythms of creation — sunlight, wind, birds, trees, and quiet mornings. The little critters fluttering and skittering around may seem hurried, but I promise they’re right on time to catch the worm or find the nut that God provided. We’re reminded that God’s creation operates with a simplicity that our modern lives lack.
The natural world doesn’t clutter itself. It simply exists in the order God designed.
Jesus himself modeled this kind of simplicity. He didn’t accumulate possessions or build an empire of comfort. His ministry unfolded while walking dusty roads, sitting beside lakes, and retreating into quiet places to pray.
Space to Give God Your Attention
When our lives become overly complicated, our attention becomes divided. Our energy is scattered in too many directions. But when we simplify — even in small ways — we rediscover that God was walking with us the whole time.
Lent reminds us that making space removes something from our plate for something greater. Maybe that space comes through fasting. Maybe it comes through putting down the phone for a while. Maybe it comes through simplifying our schedules, our homes, and our expectations.
Whatever form it takes, God’s invitation is the same: slow down, pay attention, and make room for Him.
As a young kid I knew every paint stroke in the corners of my grandparents’ house. I saw globs and thin parts where I could almost see the white of the wall underneath. I knew all of this not because I cared about paint being seven or eight years old, but because my grandparents would always stick my nose in the corner if I was misbehaving.
Which turned out to be quite a lot, unfortunately. I would stand there 5-10 minutes staring at dry paint not actually reflecting on what I did wrong just long enough for my grandparents to think I was sorry. I mean a couple minutes without a toy or the TV and ‘thinking about what I did wrong’ seemed just about as big of an apology as I thought I needed. Sure they got a half hearted I’m sorry, but my behavior never changed after I was let go from the corner.
For a long time I figured that’s what fasting and repentance just about was. Feeling bad enough long enough to prove that I was sorry.
But Lent had a way of exposing what little we understand about returning to God.
Recently I’ve learned that true repentance is not about punishment, it’s about coming home to a loving Father who’s waiting for you.
Coming home, however, may not be as easy as you think.
Trash Can Tears
The first few items that were handed to me when I started college were my class schedule, a map, and a few beers. From my first moments on campus drinking started to become a big problem for me. Weekend benders at City Line, dorm room darties, and pre-class pre-gaming. That was my life. It lasted my whole college career right until recently. I was at work on a lunch break and I had a moment of sincere prayer with God that the life I was living was so unfulfilling and numbing.
I was lost, but I was the one that ran off the path God laid out for me. I didn’t know how to turn my life around or really ask for help. But in my meek and painful prayer I said, “God, I’ve said I’m sorry too many times and I need to actually change something.”
In that moment a quiet voice whispered through my mind that said two terrifying words. Dump it. God didn’t send me a verse saying, “rely on the love God has for you”, or “ the Lord is compassionate and gracious.” No, God commanded me to do something hard, dump it all out and repent. So, I found myself opening up handle after handle and bottle after bottle to dump it down the drain.
As I quietly threw the bottles and cans away I found myself crying over my garbage can. Part of me was crying because I could feel shackles falling off of my life, yet there was another part of myself that was mourning.
My old self was dying before my eyes, the parties, last calls, beer pong and everything else in between was dead. But the glory and holiness of God’s grace was finally able to wash over me in that moment. I was no longer walking alone, but I was able to repent and turn away from that sin in order to walk in step with the Holy Spirit.
Why Repent?
Repentance is not standing in a corner long enough for God to believe we are sorry. It is an active pursuit of turning from sin and realizing that He was never trying to shame us. Our loving Father just wanted us home and in his presence,
Repentance is one of the hardest things that you’ll do because something has to die– whether it’s drinking, pride, porn, or habits we’ve built our identity around that keep us from seeing the Father.
I’ll even add, it could be something that comforts us that we could never imagine living without. Whatever it is, let me encourage you that what dies in repentance makes room for something far greater to live. When I bent over that trash can with tears falling next to empty bottles, I wasn’t proving my sorrow to God. I was finally trusting Him enough to change direction. Repentance was never meant to be a punishment, it has always been freedom.
That’s why lent matters. This is the perfect time to slow down and really listen to the quiet voice of God asking us to release what is keeping us from Him.
Maybe repentance begins here, with something small:
We don’t usually choose the wilderness. It finds us.
We find ourselves in moments of crisis, or grief, or burnout, or dissapointment. We feel the exhaustion that we don’t know how to name.
People close to us may ask, “How are you?” and we answer “tired” – only because we don’t have other ways to explain that place in our lives. It’s wilderness, it’s desert. It’s hunger. It’s thirst. It’s loneliness.
And then Lent comes along, and the Church invites us to step into places like this – wilderness – on purpose.
Forty days of slowing down. Fasting. Reflecting. Making space.
Sometimes, people look at lent as penance, or punishment. That misses the point. We aren’t earning forgiveness, or paying for sin, or trying to earn points with God.
Lent is meant to be a season of formation, where we intentionally seek to become the people God wants us to be: connected to Him, dependent on Him, hungry and thirsty for righteousness.
If we want to understand that kind of formation, we need to sit for a while with Elijah.
My kids had a video when they were growing up. I don’t remember if it was a VHS or a DVD, and I don’t remember how it came into our possession, but it was a BBC produced Bible cartoon that was a part of a series. I used to love to watch it with them as it told the story of Elijah. I found it on youtube, so if you want to watch and connect with the story of this wildman, who lived in the wilderness, you may want to watch it to visualize this story.
After the Fire
Elijah had just experienced one of the most dramatic spiritual victories in Scripture.
The prophets of Baal were gathered on Mount Carmel, they were wicked. And Elijah dared them to prove if their false god was real. He prepared a sacrifice, and told the prophets to ask Baal to light it on fire. They cut themselves, they cried, and their god did nothing.
Elijah mocked them, “Maybe your god is sleeping!” (a better translation, maybe your god is pooping!)
Then Elijah asked Jehovah, the One True God to call fire down from heaven. Elijah wanted to prove it boldly, so he soaked it with water. And then God did send fire down.
And then Elijah slaughtered the wicked prophets of Baal.
And then, almost immediately, Elijah ran for his life.
Jezebel made a threat. Fear rushed in. And the prophet who had just stood boldly in front of a nation found himself alone in the wilderness.
God did the impossible, and Elijah is in hiding. Is he doubting God’s protection? Is he just exhausted after that display of faith?
What we see is Elijah, hiding in the wilderness.
Lent often meets us in that space — after the noise, after the intensity, after the adrenaline has faded. It meets us when we’re tired.
“I Have Had Enough”
In 1 Kings 19, Elijah sits down under a broom tree and prays:
“I have had enough, Lord,” he said. “Take my life, for I am no better than my ancestors who have already died.”
He’s not praying a creed or confession. He’s not praying a polished poem. He’s just being honest with where he is.
The prophet who called down fire from heaven is now asking God to take his life.
God hears these kinds of prayers. Do we think we can hide how we feel from Him? No! He already knows, and He wants us to confess it to Him.
This ugly prayer tells us that even faithful people get exhausted. It tells us that burnout is not the same thing as unbelief.
Lent gives us room to say what we’ve been trying not to say.
“I’m tired.” “I’m discouraged.” “I feel alone.” “I don’t know if I can keep going.”
God is not threatened by that prayer.
Bread Before Breakthrough
What happens next is just as important as Elijah’s breakdown.
God does not rebuke him. He does not lecture him. He does not shame him.
He lets him sleep.
Then an angel wakes him and says, “Get up and eat.” There’s bread. There’s water. Elijah eats. He sleeps again. And then God feeds him again.
This is proof that God cares for our needs. He sees our need for rest. He sees our need for water. He sees our need for food.
And He meets it.
1 Peter 5:7 says
Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.
Lent is not about self-punishment. Even fasting, at its best, is not about hurting yourself to impress God. It’s about retraining your dependence. It’s about remembering what actually sustains you.
Elijah needed food before he needed direction. God knew that.
Forty Days
Strengthened by that food, Elijah travels forty days and forty nights to Horeb — the mountain of God.
Forty days.
The number isn’t random.
Israel wandered forty years in the wilderness. Jesus fasted forty days before beginning His ministry. And every year, we walk through forty days of Lent.
Wilderness time is patterned in Scripture. It is the rhythm God uses to shape His people.
Forty days is long enough for illusions to fade. Long enough for noise to settle. Long enough to confront what we’ve been avoiding.
And it’s long enough for God to start working on bring healing to those places.
The Cave
When Elijah reaches Horeb, he goes into a cave.
And God asks him a question:
“What are you doing here, Elijah?”
God knows the answer. He always does.
God knows Elijah is hiding. But He asks Elijah, because God wants a relationship with him.
Elijah speaks his fear. He speaks his frustration. He says he feels alone. He believes he is the only one left.
Sometimes we don’t realize what’s shaping us until we say it out loud.
Let’s sit here, in the cave, in the wilderness, with God, long enough for us to tell Him the truth.
Wind, Earthquake, Fire
Then God answers Elijah.
A powerful wind tears through the mountains. An earthquake shakes the ground. A fire passes by.
But the Lord is not in the wind. Not in the earthquake. Not in the fire.
Elijah had seen God in fire before. That’s what he knew. That’s what made sense to him.
But this time, God chooses a different way.
We often look for God in the dramatic. We expect Him in the visible breakthrough, the emotional surge, the obvious miracle.
Lent gently dismantles that expectation. It removes the noise. It lowers the volume.
The Whisper
After the wind, earthquake, and fire, Scripture says there was “a gentle whisper.”
Some translations say “a still small voice.” Others say “a low whisper.”
And you cannot hear a whisper if you are constantly surrounded by noise.
You cannot hear a whisper if you refuse to be still.
You cannot hear a whisper if you are always filling silence.
For myself, when I’m silent, or when I’m hungry, there’s a painful and uncomfortable place under the surface. I find, that the mind-numbing scrolling through social media, or the crunch of potato chips, or the sweetness of a candy bar make that uncomfortable or painful thing go away.
It really doesn’t. It just buries it.
What if this is the time to dig out the uncomfortable truths about ourselves that we avoid? What if Lent is an opportunity to feel the hunger, to sit in the silence, and then be honest with God and ourselves about what we are feeling?
Lent is practice in listening. Not just listening to sermons. Not just listening to music. But listening for the whisper.
Listening to Jesus.
The God who met Elijah in the cave still speaks that way. He still forms us that way.
No Shame. Only Direction.
When God spoke in that whisper, He gives Elijah direction.
He sends him back. He gives him assignments. He reminds him that he is not alone. There are seven thousand others who have not bowed to Baal.
The cave was not Elijah’s final destination. It was a place of restoration.
The wilderness was not the end of his story. It was preparation.
This 40 days isn’t about retreat and escape – it’s about being fed, quieted, and reminded of who God is – so that we can step boldly into what He is calling us to do, with confidence.
Into the Wilderness
We don’t usually choose the wilderness.
But Lent invites us there… to form us.
The God who met Elijah in the cave is the same God who meets us now.
And if you listen closely — beneath the noise, beneath the wind and earthquake and fire… you may hear it.
A whisper.
“Get up and eat.” “You are not alone.” “I’m not finished with you.” “Go back. I’m with you.”
This Lent, don’t be afraid of the wilderness. It might just be where God meets you.
Josh Hatcher
Josh Hatcher is the Communications Director at Open Arms Community Church. He is married to Pastor Zoe Hatcher, and leads the Tribe of Lions Microchurch for men. He also is the founder of Manlihood.com
There’s a moment in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Indiana stands at the edge of what looks like a bottomless abyss. On the other side is the path forward. Between him and it? Nothing but open air.
He has the instructions. He has the map. But he still can’t see a bridge.
Everything in him hesitates. His instincts tell him to turn back. His eyes tell him it’s impossible. But he remembers the words: Only the penitent man shall pass.
So he closes his eyes. He steps forward. And his foot lands on solid ground.
What looked like nothing was actually a hidden bridge.
Sometimes following God feels like that.
You’ve decided to return. You’ve turned your heart back toward Him. And now you’re standing at the edge of something unfamiliar, unsure where the next step will land.
You don’t feel lost. But you don’t feel certain either.
And that space — right there — is where many of us find ourselves in Lent.
When Returning Doesn’t Bring Instant Clarity
Here we are.
Returning to God doesn’t always bring instant clarity. Sometimes we say, “Here is my heart God, I’m ready to do whatever you want me to do!” and then we’re left feeling, “Now what?”
There have been many times in my life, when I’ve let go of a toxic or harmful behavior or attitude that was between Jesus and me, and I was left sitting confused and unsure. Sometimes, I even went back to those behaviors, because they were familiar, and comfortable.
But God has more for us. He desires freedom, not bondage. And even though it may be unclear what is next, there is a promise from Him to lead us out of the mess we’re in.
God’s Leading Is an Invitation
God’s leading is an invitation. I think of Moses being invited to step up to a conversation with a burning bush. I think of Jesus, being led by the Spirit into the wilderness.
He invites us, and leads us into a deeper relationship with Him. And that leading is where we find the clarity we’re desperate for.
Proverbs 3:5–6 Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.
It’s not always logical. It’s not always safe. But that leading is purposeful.
The Wilderness Is Formation, Not Punishment
When we think of the 40 days of Lent, we’re reminded of Jesus spending 40 days in the wilderness, fasting, and facing temptation.
It’s important to remember as we enter into this, that the wilderness we may go through isn’t punishment. It is formation.
God uses the spaces in between to form us into His likeness. Lent is us accepting an invitation into that space.
Just because you feel lost in this moment, doesn’t mean you are lost.
What We Laid Down Stays at the Cross
The shame of the sin we laid down, it has been nailed to the cross. It’s no longer our sin or our shame. We don’t have to return to it.
And as we press in, we will find it replaced by the love of the One who is calling us deeper.
This is the time to ask ourselves the hard questions.
Where might God be leading me right now?
What step of obedience is in front of me?
What am I being asked to trust without full clarity?
A Prayerful Posture
As you are reading this, I want you to place your hands in front of you, open as though someone is giving you a gift.
Sit in silence, and breathe in deep.
God, I ask that You would show me what You have for me. What’s next for me? I have turned from my sin, but I feel like I’m not sure where my feet are supposed to go. So direct me. I accept Your invitation. Take me by the hand and lead me wherever You choose. Let’s do this.
Led, Not Lost
What God has for you is an adventure more grand than any Indiana Jones movie. It’s miraculous, and bold, and full of moments where you’ll step over your own abyss, and He’ll make sure your feet are on solid ground.
He’ll continually call out the parts of you that need to be healed and need to be surrendered. He’s a good and perfect Dad. So He won’t let you down.
He will lead you, not leave you lost.
Walk With Us Through Lent
Lent is not meant to be rushed or walked alone. We invite you to slow down and create space for God with us during this season.
Join us for a Lenten Prayer Service on Wednesday evening, and for The Word for Lunch — a short, midday gathering for Scripture and prayer throughout the week.
These simple rhythms are designed to help you return to God, listen for His voice, and be renewed in His presence.
Josh Hatcher is the Communications Director at Open Arms Community Church. He is married to Pastor Zoe Hatcher, and leads the Tribe of Lions Microchurch for men. He also is the founder of Manlihood.com
Wednesday, February 18th is Ash Wednesday which marks the beginning of Lent, a season of reflection, repentance, and renewal. It is a sacred invitation to slow down, examine our hearts, and return to God. Many received ashes placed on their foreheads, reminding us of both our humanity and our hope: we are fragile, yet deeply loved. We are marked by sin, yet offered grace.
The Reality of Sin and Generational Patterns
One of the hardest truths we face during this season is that sin leaves a mark. Sometimes its effects stretch beyond a single moment or decision. Patterns, habits, and brokenness can be passed down through families and communities. We may find ourselves carrying wounds we didn’t create or repeating cycles we never intended to continue. Scripture acknowledges this reality, yet it also reminds us of something just as powerful: we are not bound to repeat what we inherited.
Questions Lent Invites Us to Ask
The season of Lent gives us space to pause and ask honest questions:
What patterns have shaped me?
What have I been carrying?
What do I need to turn away from?
What Is True Repentance?
Repentance is what is at the heart of this season. But repentance is not just about feeling guilty or ashamed. It is a complete turnaround — a change of direction that leads us back to life.
2 Corinthians 7:10 (NIV) “Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death.”
Confession Opens the Door to Mercy
Confession can feel uncomfortable, but it opens the door to God’s mercy. When we stop hiding and begin to tell the truth about our lives, something powerful happens. Forgiveness meets us there. God does not just forgive our sins; He begins to purify, restore, and make us new.
1 John 1:9 (NIV) “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”
Acts 3:19 (NIV) “Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord.”
In many ways, repentance at its base is just a sincere apology to God.
Sincere repentance includes expressing regret for our sins and accepting responsibility for them. It gives us the opportunity to make amends, asking those we’ve wronged for forgiveness and making a commitment to change.
This is not about perfection. It is about honesty. It is about allowing God to reshape our hearts and lives:
Proverbs 28:13 (ESV) “Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy.”
From Forgiveness to Freedom
The good news of Lent is that God offers us more than forgiveness — He offers freedom. We are not meant to stay trapped in cycles of shame, addiction, anger, or fear. Christ came so that we could be set free, not only from the penalty of sin but from its power.
Freedom often begins with a few courageous steps:
Confession — bringing our sins into the light
Receiving forgiveness — believing that grace is real and available
Breaking agreement with the lies we’ve believed about ourselves
Inviting the Holy Spirit into our wounds and the root causes beneath them
Walking in community — because healing rarely happens in isolation
This journey is not meant to be taken alone. When we share honestly and pray for one another, healing begins to take root in ways we never imagined.
James 5:16 (NIV) “Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.”
Repentance Leads to Reconciliation
Lent also reminds us that repentance is not the end of the story — reconciliation is. God is constantly drawing us back to Himself, making us new, and calling us to be people who carry that same message of hope to others. In Christ, the old can pass away. New life can begin again.
A Prayer for Lent: Search My Heart
Today, as you reflect, consider making this simple prayer from Psalm 139:23–24 (NIV) your own:
“Search me, God, and know my heart… See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”
The Invitation of Lent
This is the invitation of Lent: not condemnation, but return. Not shame, but restoration. Not just forgiveness, but freedom.
And it all begins with turning back to Him.
Walk With Us Through Lent
Lent is not meant to be rushed or walked alone. We invite you to slow down and create space for God with us during this season.
Join us for a Lenten Prayer Service on Wednesday evening, and for The Word for Lunch — a short, midday gathering for Scripture and prayer throughout the week.
These simple rhythms are designed to help you return to God, listen for His voice, and be renewed in His presence.
Last week, we discussed what God actually wants from us. We called out the performative nature of some Christians – yes, even some of the most faithful. Throughout Scripture we find so many references to God’s distaste for theatrics. What He calls us to live out daily is found at the intersection where worship and justice meet.
What happens at that intersection? Relationship happens. Truth happens. Building a life of service, of social justice, of washing feet without the expectation of blessings in return.
In Isaiah 58, God’s people are fasting and praying. (Spoiler alert: God’s not impressed.) Admittedly, they’re seeking Him, but they’re missing the point.
“Yet they act so pious! They come to the Temple every day and seem delighted to learn all about Me. They act like a righteous nation that would never abandon the laws of its God. They ask Me to take action on their behalf, pretending they want to be near Me.” (Isaiah 58:2, NLT)
Let’s emphasize that word: pretending. The work of children.
Sure, they’re doing the religious things. They’re showing up. They’re checking boxes, you might say. But God points out what’s missing: justice, mercy, and care for the hurting. So He describes the kind of worship He actually wants: freeing the oppressed, feeding the hungry, clothing the poor, and not turning away from neighbors in need.
Essentially, worship that never leaves the sanctuary and never ventures forth to help the world here and now isn’t really worship at all.
We sometimes pigeon-hole worship into the church building itself. It’s warm there. We have friends and family there. We pray. We sing. We go home. We feel good about it. But the justice God seeks happens out in the world — food pantries, sheltering the homeless, community advocacy.
That’s both beautiful and perhaps a bit uncomfortable, if you’re ill-prepared to walk the walk.
It’s easy to feel faithful because we attended church, sang the songs, and heard the sermon. But what happens when Monday rolls around and we’re back to the daily grind? How about Wednesday when the pressure mounts? Or Friday as the local bar calls on our drive home?
It’s harder to let that faith shape what we do with our time, money, patience, and compassion when life takes over. Isaiah’s message isn’t that worship is bad — it’s that worship without justice is empty. God wants hearts that bend toward Him and hands that reach toward others.
Jesus had more to say in Matthew 5. He told His followers they are the “salt of the earth” and the “light of the world.” Salt preserves. Light reveals. Both change what they touch. Faith, Jesus says, is meant to be visible. Not flashy, but meaningful. Not performative, but practical.
“Let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.” (Matthew 5:16, NLT)
Note the part Jesus left unspoken. He didn’t say, “Talk louder about your faith.” He told us to Live it in a way people can see. The kind of faith He describes shows up in honesty at work, restraint in anger, generosity when it costs something, and courage when truth matters.
Justice and worship intersect when obedience becomes obvious in our everyday choices.
Paul adds another layer in 1 Corinthians 2. He reminds the church that God’s wisdom doesn’t look like the world’s wisdom. Paul didn’t rely on eloquence, status, or clever arguments. He relied on the Spirit’s power. Living our faith as Paul did keeps us from turning justice into self-righteousness and worship into a production.
True justice flows from humility. Real worship flows from dependence. Paul’s message is that both require the Spirit of God working in us and shaping motives, not just behavior.
Together these passages challenge us to the core:
Is my worship changing how I treat people?
Is my concern for justice rooted in God’s heart or just my opinions?
Does my faith stay safely inside church walls, or does it travel with me into my work, my family, and my conflicts?
God doesn’t ask us to choose between worship and justice. He asks us to live at their intersection — in what might be a dangerous neighborhood.
“Then your salvation will come like the dawn, and your wounds will quickly heal. Your godliness will lead you forward … Then when you call, the Lord will answer. ‘Yes, I am here,’ he will quickly reply.” (Isaiah 58:8–9, NLT)
That’s not a reward system. It’s our purpose. So this week’s question isn’t “How do I worship?” It’s “Who does my worship bless?”
We want to share an important update from Robert Erickson about his son, Xander, and the difficult days their family has been walking through. In the middle of uncertainty and long hours at the hospital, Robert has seen God’s presence in powerful ways through the love and support of people around him. His words offer an honest and hope-filled glimpse into what this season has been like, and how community becomes family when it matters most. We invite you to read his story and join us in continuing to pray for Xander, Robert, and their entire family.
There are moments in life when everything feels like it stops. When the world narrows down to one hospital room, one set of machines, one tiny heartbeat that means everything. That’s where I’ve been lately—with my son, Xander, in the hospital, fighting through something no child should have to face.
We’ve been at Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh for almost a week now. Days and nights blur together here. The beeping monitors, the quiet hallways, the prayers whispered at 2 a.m.—this place changes you.
And in that space of fear, exhaustion, and prayer… something beautiful happened.
My community showed up.
Not just one group. Not just one circle. But all of them.
My AA and NA family—people who know what it’s like to walk through fire and come out the other side—wrapped me in support. They sent messages, checked in, and even when they didn’t have the perfect words, they showed love in the way that matters most: presence.
My church family did what the Church is supposed to do.
They prayed. They fasted. They gave. They believed when I felt too tired to believe for myself.
Some of them gave money when they didn’t have much to spare. Others gave time. Some gave tears. All of them gave heart.
And then there are the unexpected heroes.
My piercer—who runs a piercing shop—stood with me in a powerful way. We met before either of us were believers, and now here we are, both walking with faith. He joined me not only in prayer and fasting, but also in financial support for my family during this hospital stay.
That kind of loyalty and love across seasons of life is something I’ll always treasure.
In the middle of monitors beeping and long nights that blur into mornings, I’ve learned something I’ll never forget:
👉 Community isn’t about labels. It’s about showing up when it counts.
AA. NA. Church. A piercing shop. Friends. Family. Believers.
Different paths. Same heart.
You all reminded me that I’m not walking this alone. That Xander isn’t fighting alone. That when one family is hurting, a whole village can rise up around them.
So if you’ve prayed, fasted, given, messaged, checked in, or even just thought about us in this season—thank you.
From the deepest part of my soul, thank you.
You didn’t just help us survive this. You helped carry us through it.
And I will never forget that. 🤍
We ask you to pause and lift up Xander and his family in prayer. Pray for healing, strength, wisdom for doctors, peace in the long nights, and hope that anchors their hearts. Pray for Robert as he walks this road as a father, and that he would continue to feel God’s nearness in every moment. If you’re moved to reach out, encourage, or support in practical ways, know that those simple acts can become powerful expressions of God’s love. Let’s keep standing with this family and believing together for a miracle.
After a tragic house fire in our city, I felt compelled to write this message; not out of anger, but out of deep concern for the way we, as a community, often respond to tragedy. We are a community divided by many things: social issues, personal opinions, and political ideologies. Each of us carries something that sets us apart. Yet, when emergencies strike, one thing seems to unite people for the wrong reason, the rush to judgment and the armchair referee role that so many assume toward emergency services personnel. In the aftermath of tragedy, these armchair referees gather quickly, offering confident opinions and harsh critiques, often fueled by ignorance rather than understanding. Their commentary can drag those who have dedicated their lives to the safety of this community, people who never asked for recognition or praise, and who certainly never expected blame while doing their best in impossible circumstances. I believe I am uniquely qualified to write this message because I stand at an uncommon intersection within our community. I am trained and serve as a firefighter and advanced emergency medical technician, responding to emergencies in their rawest and most chaotic moments. I also serve as a pastor, walking alongside people in the aftermath of tragedy, when the sirens have faded, the trucks have left, and the weight of loss, grief, and unanswered questions finally settles in. I have seen emergencies from both sides. I have stood in the heat, smoke, and urgency of the moment, where split- second decisions are made with imperfect information and immense responsibility. And I have sat quietly with families afterward, in living rooms, hospital rooms, and sanctuaries, listening to heartbreak, anger, confusion, and sorrow. I have seen the courage, professionalism, and compassion of emergency responders up close, and I have also seen how quickly public opinion can turn those same responders into targets of blame, suspicion, and criticism. These two callings, emergency services and pastoral ministry, have shaped my conviction that moments of tragedy are not opportunities for judgment, speculation, or division. They are moments that demand humility, restraint, and compassion. So, let’s take a moment to understand what actually happens in the first few minutes of an emergency call. When a call comes into 911, hundreds of moving parts immediately spring into action. It begins with emergency dispatchers, some of the most unsung heroes in public safety. Sometimes they receive one call; other times, dozens flood in at once, all carrying the same urgent message: someone: a child, a mother, a father, a family, a homeless person, a person struggling with addiction, you, needs help, right now! Dispatchers must process chaos, fear, grief, anger, and confusion while making educated decisions about what resources to send, where to send them, and how fast. They carry the emotional weight of emergencies long before anyone arrives on scene. Once fire personnel arrive, they are immediately faced with insurmountable odds but clear objectives: save lives, save property, and go home safely to their families. Seconds feel like hours as decisions are made that send people into harm’s way for the sake of someone else’s life. Ladders are raised, hose lines charged, tools deployed, commands given; organized chaos unfolding like a frantic orchestra under a single conductor. These responders are not strangers. They are neighbors, ordinary people driven by extraordinary compassion, running toward danger for people they may never meet. All while managing fire behavior, searching for victims, calling for additional resources, and adapting constantly as conditions change. Then comes the moment that stops everything. Over the radio, the words crackle: “Victim, victim, victim—we’re coming out.” A fragile human life hangs in the balance, entrusted to the skilled, trained, and deeply caring hands of those responders. This is what they train for. This is why they serve. So why do I tell you all of this?
Because in moments when we should choose love and compassion, the public outcry too often becomes: “Why didn’t they move faster?” or “They should have done it this way.” These judgments are made without understanding the conditions, the risks, or the thousands of hours of training and experience that inform every decision on scene. Decisions are not guesses, they are educated, instinctive, and rooted in a commitment to protect life, property, and each other. I implore you to choose love; every day, and especially in moments of tragedy. We do not walk in the shoes of those experiencing the worst moments of their lives, nor do we carry the responsibility of those making life-or-death decisions under extreme pressure. We should be cautious, if not ashamed, of casting doubt and slander on those who are knee- deep in someone else’s heartbreak. Scripture calls us to something better. In Matthew 22:37–39, Jesus is asked what matters most, and He responds: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself.” “Love your neighbor” is often spoken casually, as though it were a slogan or a temporary comfort. But loving your neighbor as yourself means offering the same grace, patience, and compassion you would hope to receive in your darkest moment. It means extending love to the hurting, the lost, the broken, and the misunderstood, without conditions. Why does choosing love matter? Because there will come a day when you need it. One day, you will need a love that is real, compassionate, and present, a love that doesn’t speculate, blame, or judge from a distance. In an emergency or in another painful chapter of life, you will need people who choose compassion over commentary. I hope that when that day comes, you don’t find only cold words typed by strangers behind screens, but a community that shows up with tangible, lived-out love. That is the kind of city we should strive to be. So, I ask you, choose love daily. Set aside differences. Put others’ needs before your own. Take a leap of faith to help the person standing on the corner, the one who looks cold, the one who seems different than you. Choose love every single day. And the next time tragedy strikes and social media fills with speculation and outrage, temper your words with wisdom and humility. Resist the urge to speak from ignorance. Choose restraint. Choose compassion. Choose love; always. Because you never know when you, too, will need that same love to survive.
Are we walking with God without a roadmap? Of course, the Bible is that roadmap, but even those who read Scripture and attend church regularly struggle with the question: “What does God really want from me?”
People have been scratching their heads asking this question since Creation itself.
Is it to drag the family to church more often? To read the Bible more faithfully? To knock off those nasty habits? To convert a struggling coworker? Those are all fantastic things, but we’ll find those daily decisions come more easily if we stop trying to “measure” our own performance.
The prophet Micah wrestles with this question in Micah 6. God’s people ask, “What will make You happy, Lord? Burnt offerings? Sacrifices? Grander gestures of devotion?”
God’s answer cuts through the noise and nonsense:
“No, O people, the Lord has told you what is good, and this is what He requires of you: to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8, NLT)
Not impress Him
Not perform for Him
Not bargain with Him
Just three simple, life-shaping things:
Do justice
Love mercy
Walk humbly with God
Choose Him. Open our hearts for a relationship. Let him teach us and guide us. If we do that, all else falls into place.
Jesus enters the chat in Matthew 5 with the Sermon on the Mount. He doesn’t begin with rules. He begins with people. The poor in spirit. The grieving. The meek. Those who hunger for fairness and righteousness in a cruel world. In other words, the ones who know they need God. The ones who don’t have it all together – as so many of us assuredly don’t – for reasons beyond our control or even of our own making. (And that’s OK! We must come as we are, but not stay as we are.)
That’s both comforting and challenging.
Comforting, because it means God isn’t waiting for us to clean ourselves up before He speaks to us. As one of our Tribe of Lions men’s microchurch members so aptly put it a few Mondays ago, “You don’t get clean before you take a shower.”
Challenging, because it means faith goes beyond belief alone — it’s something we are called to live everyday.
The apostle Paul goes a step further in 1 Corinthians 1. He reminds us that the message of the Cross looks foolish to the worldly. Weak. Defeated. Christ was executed in the most gruesome, torturous, and degrading of ways. But in dying, He conquered death. He also transformed a symbol of terror into one of hope.
To those on the path to salvation, it’s the very power of God. God doesn’t choose people because they look strong or successful or spiritually impressive. He chooses what seems weak to show His strength.
That hits home in real life.
We live in a world that rewards being loud and winning. God is more interested in people who are humble, merciful, and faithful — even when no one is watching. People who care about fairness and compassion. People who don’t use faith as a weapon, but as a way of life.
So what does the Lord require of us today? Not bigger and flashier displays of faith (which may be disingenuous and performative, at best). Not spiritually curated lives that appear perfect on the outside (but may be morally decaying on the inside).
More likely:
Doing the right thing when it costs us something
Showing mercy when it would be easier to judge
Walking with God instead of racing ahead of Him
Trusting His wisdom when it doesn’t look impressive
Choosing love over being “right”
That’s harder than it sounds. It’s much easier to measure church attendance than humility. It’s easier to debate theology than to forgive someone who hurt us. It’s easier to post Bible verses than to live them when life brings us to our knees.
But Scripture keeps pulling us back to the same place: faith that shows up in how we treat people and how we walk with God, not just what we claim to believe.
God isn’t asking for perfection. He’s asking for faithfulness.
He isn’t asking for spectacle. He’s asking for obedience.
He isn’t asking for performance. He’s asking for a relationship.
Turns out, what the Lord requires isn’t complicated. It’s just life-changing.
![lenten blog reflection](https://openarmscommunitychurch.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/03/Green-Black-Modern-Photographic-Christian-Lent-Church-Presentation-9-1024x576-1160x500.jpg "\")
