The Pastor’s Pen
From the Pastor’s Pen...
There is something about ashes that tells the truth.
They do not flatter. They do not exaggerate. They do not pretend that we are more solid than we are. Ashes are what remains when the fire has had its say. They are what is left when everything unnecessary has burned away.
“Remember that you are dust,” the Church says at the beginning of Lent, which is not mean as an insult but as a kind of mercy. We spend so much of our lives pretending to be granite when in fact we are closer to garden soil – fragile, fertile, and entirely dependent on rain.
Lent is forty days of telling the truth.
Not the loud, shaming truth that scolds and scowls. But the quieter truth that waits for us in the wilderness. The truth that Jesus met when he was hungry. The truth that Adam and Eve discovered when they reached for what they thought would make them more than they were.
There is a hunger in all of us. Hunger for security. Hunger for recognition. Hunger for something to fill the small, echoing chambers of the heart. Lent does not ask us to pretend we are not hungry. It simply asks us to notice what we are reaching for.
Because sometimes what we reach for is not what we truly need.
We reach for control when what we need is trust.
We reach for distraction when what we need is stillness.
We reach for certainty when what we need is God.
The wilderness, strangely enough, is where such clarity comes. When the usual comforts thin out. When the noise softens. When the pantry of our usual satisfactions grows bare enough that we begin to wonder what actually sustains us.
Jesus answered his hunger with the Word. Not with spectacle. Not with shortcuts. Not with power. With trust.
Lent is not about proving our spiritual strength. It is not a grim marathon of self-improvement. It is an invitation to walk with Christ into the quieter places, where we may discover again what feeds us and what does not.
If you give something up this season, let it be something that keeps you from noticing your deeper hunger. If you take something on, let it be something that turns your face more steadily toward God.
And if you do none of those things perfectly – welcome to the human race.
Ashes remind us that we are dust. The cross traced in those ashes reminds us that we are beloved dust.
Between now and Easter, may we have the courage to be honest about our hunger, the humility to admit our need, and the grace to discover that even in the wilderness, we are not alone.
Blessings,
Pastor Greg
pastorgreg@lawrencevillepresbyterian.org
There is something about ashes that tells the truth.
They do not flatter. They do not exaggerate. They do not pretend that we are more solid than we are. Ashes are what remains when the fire has had its say. They are what is left when everything unnecessary has burned away.
“Remember that you are dust,” the Church says at the beginning of Lent, which is not mean as an insult but as a kind of mercy. We spend so much of our lives pretending to be granite when in fact we are closer to garden soil – fragile, fertile, and entirely dependent on rain.
Lent is forty days of telling the truth.
Not the loud, shaming truth that scolds and scowls. But the quieter truth that waits for us in the wilderness. The truth that Jesus met when he was hungry. The truth that Adam and Eve discovered when they reached for what they thought would make them more than they were.
There is a hunger in all of us. Hunger for security. Hunger for recognition. Hunger for something to fill the small, echoing chambers of the heart. Lent does not ask us to pretend we are not hungry. It simply asks us to notice what we are reaching for.
Because sometimes what we reach for is not what we truly need.
We reach for control when what we need is trust.
We reach for distraction when what we need is stillness.
We reach for certainty when what we need is God.
The wilderness, strangely enough, is where such clarity comes. When the usual comforts thin out. When the noise softens. When the pantry of our usual satisfactions grows bare enough that we begin to wonder what actually sustains us.
Jesus answered his hunger with the Word. Not with spectacle. Not with shortcuts. Not with power. With trust.
Lent is not about proving our spiritual strength. It is not a grim marathon of self-improvement. It is an invitation to walk with Christ into the quieter places, where we may discover again what feeds us and what does not.
If you give something up this season, let it be something that keeps you from noticing your deeper hunger. If you take something on, let it be something that turns your face more steadily toward God.
And if you do none of those things perfectly – welcome to the human race.
Ashes remind us that we are dust. The cross traced in those ashes reminds us that we are beloved dust.
Between now and Easter, may we have the courage to be honest about our hunger, the humility to admit our need, and the grace to discover that even in the wilderness, we are not alone.
Blessings,
Pastor Greg
pastorgreg@lawrencevillepresbyterian.org
Recent
Archive
2026
January
Categories
no categories
No Comments