By Traci Rhoades
My first introduction to Lent came in high school. I don’t remember hearing the term explained, and I’m not sure I connected it to the weeks leading up to Easter. One of my closest friends came from a devout Catholic family, and while we occasionally discussed doctrinal differences, the church calendar wasn’t something we talked about much.
What I did know was that every spring she and her siblings gave something up. Usually it was bubble gum or soda. On Fridays they didn’t eat meat, which meant, if I happened to be at their house, dinner was often cheese pizza from Casey’s General Store. I had no objections.
At the time, it all felt like “something Catholics did.”
Years later, in my 30s, my curiosity about other Christian traditions began to grow. I kept encountering references to Lent. To my surprise, it wasn’t observed only by Catholics. Christians from a variety of traditions participate in this 40-day season of preparation before Easter. (It’s actually a bit longer than 40 calendar days, something I never learned growing up.)
Lent mirrors the 40 days Jesus spent fasting and praying in the wilderness before beginning his public ministry (Matthew 4:1–11). The number 40 echoes throughout Scripture; in the story of Noah and the flood, in Moses’ time on Mount Sinai, and in Elijah’s journey to Horeb. Biblically speaking, forty often marks a period of testing, preparation, and renewal.
While “giving something up” is the most familiar Lenten practice, the season is about more than subtraction. Many Christians add intentional rhythms of prayer, fasting, generosity, Scripture reading, and worship. Churches may offer midweek services or special devotions. The aim is not self-improvement for its own sake, but interior renewal.
One tradition that has especially resonated with me is the Stations of the Cross. This devotion walks participants through 14 moments leading to Jesus’ crucifixion. Most of the stations come directly from Scripture; a few arise from long-standing church tradition. The practice traces its roots to early Christian pilgrims who traveled to Jerusalem and physically walked the Via Dolorosa — the Way of the Cross.
Today, many churches offer Stations of the Cross services during Lent. My parish holds one every Friday, followed by a community fish fry. The readings are simple and reflective, the atmosphere unhurried. Visitors are welcome.
I’ve noticed many Christians seem more comfortable with Advent, the season leading up to Christmas, than with Lent. Perhaps it’s because Advent anticipates celebration, while Lent invites self-examination. Or perhaps ongoing debates about holiday origins and liturgical traditions distract us from the larger purpose. Sometimes, in our efforts to determine which practices are “necessary” or “biblical enough,” we risk missing the point.
Did early Christians invent these seasons arbitrarily? Why observe something so ancient? Those are questions I’ve wrestled with for more than a decade.
Historical records show that forms of pre-Easter fasting existed as early as the second century. Initially, fasting periods varied widely, from one to six days, particularly for those preparing for baptism. By the fourth century, we see clearer evidence of a 40-day penitential season linked with what we now call Holy Week.
Over time, specific customs shifted, but the basic framework endured. These seasons often drew from Jewish festivals, which are part of Christianity’s spiritual heritage.
When I first began exploring the church calendar, I attended special services. I read widely. I incorporated seasonal prayers and readings during Lent and Advent. As a family, we discussed what we might give up to create space for focus. Yes, even going without bubble gum can become a small but meaningful reminder. We also looked for intentional ways to give of our time and resources to charitable organizations and to families in need.
While in the Reformed tradition, I began observing these seasons more thoughtfully. What I discovered surprised me. Lent was not about mastering a formula, memorizing the right words, or accumulating theological knowledge. Instead, it created space for reflection. It drew my attention back to the central stories of the faith, not as academic material, but as spiritual food.
Now I worship in a tradition that follows the common lectionary and observes the church year more fully. Seasonal Scripture readings shape our gatherings. Practices like breath prayer and lectio divina help slow my pace and quiet my heart.
Over time, I’ve come to see these ancient seasons not as obligations, but as gifts. They are spiritual tools, ancient rhythms that shape our days and, gradually, our lives. While personal faith matters deeply, there is also something powerful about moving through these seasons together, as Christians have done for centuries.
Lent, I’ve learned, is not simply about giving up soda. It is about making room in their hearts, year after year, for an encounter with the risen Christ.
Traci Rhoades is a faith writer who advocates for an integrated life rooted in Christ. Her family loves living near the beach towns of Lake Michigan.
My first introduction to Lent came in high school. I don’t remember hearing the term explained, and I’m not sure I connected it to the weeks leading up to Easter. One of my closest friends came from a devout Catholic family, and while we occasionally discussed doctrinal differences, the church calendar wasn’t something we talked about much.
What I did know was that every spring she and her siblings gave something up. Usually it was bubble gum or soda. On Fridays they didn’t eat meat, which meant, if I happened to be at their house, dinner was often cheese pizza from Casey’s General Store. I had no objections.
At the time, it all felt like “something Catholics did.”
Years later, in my 30s, my curiosity about other Christian traditions began to grow. I kept encountering references to Lent. To my surprise, it wasn’t observed only by Catholics. Christians from a variety of traditions participate in this 40-day season of preparation before Easter. (It’s actually a bit longer than 40 calendar days, something I never learned growing up.)
Lent mirrors the 40 days Jesus spent fasting and praying in the wilderness before beginning his public ministry (Matthew 4:1–11). The number 40 echoes throughout Scripture; in the story of Noah and the flood, in Moses’ time on Mount Sinai, and in Elijah’s journey to Horeb. Biblically speaking, forty often marks a period of testing, preparation, and renewal.
While “giving something up” is the most familiar Lenten practice, the season is about more than subtraction. Many Christians add intentional rhythms of prayer, fasting, generosity, Scripture reading, and worship. Churches may offer midweek services or special devotions. The aim is not self-improvement for its own sake, but interior renewal.
One tradition that has especially resonated with me is the Stations of the Cross. This devotion walks participants through 14 moments leading to Jesus’ crucifixion. Most of the stations come directly from Scripture; a few arise from long-standing church tradition. The practice traces its roots to early Christian pilgrims who traveled to Jerusalem and physically walked the Via Dolorosa — the Way of the Cross.
Today, many churches offer Stations of the Cross services during Lent. My parish holds one every Friday, followed by a community fish fry. The readings are simple and reflective, the atmosphere unhurried. Visitors are welcome.
I’ve noticed many Christians seem more comfortable with Advent, the season leading up to Christmas, than with Lent. Perhaps it’s because Advent anticipates celebration, while Lent invites self-examination. Or perhaps ongoing debates about holiday origins and liturgical traditions distract us from the larger purpose. Sometimes, in our efforts to determine which practices are “necessary” or “biblical enough,” we risk missing the point.
Did early Christians invent these seasons arbitrarily? Why observe something so ancient? Those are questions I’ve wrestled with for more than a decade.
Historical records show that forms of pre-Easter fasting existed as early as the second century. Initially, fasting periods varied widely, from one to six days, particularly for those preparing for baptism. By the fourth century, we see clearer evidence of a 40-day penitential season linked with what we now call Holy Week.
Over time, specific customs shifted, but the basic framework endured. These seasons often drew from Jewish festivals, which are part of Christianity’s spiritual heritage.
When I first began exploring the church calendar, I attended special services. I read widely. I incorporated seasonal prayers and readings during Lent and Advent. As a family, we discussed what we might give up to create space for focus. Yes, even going without bubble gum can become a small but meaningful reminder. We also looked for intentional ways to give of our time and resources to charitable organizations and to families in need.
While in the Reformed tradition, I began observing these seasons more thoughtfully. What I discovered surprised me. Lent was not about mastering a formula, memorizing the right words, or accumulating theological knowledge. Instead, it created space for reflection. It drew my attention back to the central stories of the faith, not as academic material, but as spiritual food.
Now I worship in a tradition that follows the common lectionary and observes the church year more fully. Seasonal Scripture readings shape our gatherings. Practices like breath prayer and lectio divina help slow my pace and quiet my heart.
Over time, I’ve come to see these ancient seasons not as obligations, but as gifts. They are spiritual tools, ancient rhythms that shape our days and, gradually, our lives. While personal faith matters deeply, there is also something powerful about moving through these seasons together, as Christians have done for centuries.
Lent, I’ve learned, is not simply about giving up soda. It is about making room in their hearts, year after year, for an encounter with the risen Christ.
Traci Rhoades is a faith writer who advocates for an integrated life rooted in Christ. Her family loves living near the beach towns of Lake Michigan.
