Lent beckons with an invitation to introspection, exploration of the motivations and posture of one’s heart, and focused repentance when needed. At the same time, I encourage you to remember that Lent is also a preparation for the joy of Easter, which will greet us at the end of this intentional, reflective journey.
I used to dread Lent, with its spiritual weightiness and somber character. I recognize that for some individuals, the discipline of giving something up makes Lent meaningful and rich. For me, however, the Lenten seasons during which I’ve taken something on have brought the deepest blessings. Throughout Lent 2005, for example, I prayed for my fellow consecrated diaconal ministers by name and sent notecards to each. This deepened my life of prayer, fostered personalized connections to cherished colleagues and strengthened my sense of diaconal community.
Two springs ago, I mentioned this choice to our campus ministry group, and one student chose to craft handwritten, hand-illustrated Lenten messages for each of us. Receiving Gretchen’s affirming card offered a beautiful way of coming full circle within the discipline of handwritten notes.
I choose to be engaged in enfleshing joy and, in so doing, to give others permission to embrace joy also.
More recently, I’ve committed to Lenten readings of the Psalms aloud in multiple languages. I let the grace and simplicity of Spanish, the precision and elegance of French, the earthy truth of Hebrew, and the motley medley that is English interweave in drawing me further into the word of God, into fellowship with the Word who is God. As I read, I also sense and hear the great cloud of witnesses around me, faithful voices crying out to the Lord over millennia in the languages of their hearts, naming their longings … trusting that they are heard.
This year my Lenten discipline will be dancing! I love ballroom dancing. Attending local studios for lessons and dances provides physical activity, immersion in fun music, the chance to learn new things, healthy and clearly defined touch, and the gift of community. And in 2025, as I’ve stepped and danced my way forward, dancing has become something more. Our world is in crisis, with escalating tensions at home and abroad, with natural disasters and manmade chaos. In response, I can pray quietly at home or with others, appealing to God to raise up peacemakers and peace-builders, entreating that I also may seek for and bring peace to the communities of which I am a part. Yet I want to do more.
When I step onto the dance floor, especially with a great lead, it’s a shortcut to joy. Choosing to dance when the world is in painful disarray becomes a determined witness to the goodness of God, to the grace of embodied life that Jesus took on through the incarnation, and to the Spirit’s power to give us wings. When my partner and I dance a Viennese waltz around the ballroom, I fly! It’s our flying feet, of course, since the pace of a Viennese is heart-hammering, yet it’s also our flying spirits. In partner dancing, we participate in a co-creative statement of movement, attunement, grace, cooperation and delight that life is good. I choose to be engaged in enfleshing joy and, in so doing, to give others permission to embrace joy also.
Not everyone loves dancing. My brother paraglides—when he flies, he really soars! Several friends take joy in singing. For others, it’s knitting, gardening, making crafts or quilting. For you, it might be story-weaving, joke-telling or always finding something affirming to say to others. This Lent, I invite you to choose a joyous intention. Amid the struggles, our world aches for joy. After all, it’s second on the list after love as a fruit of the spirit.
Give yourself permission to let the breath of God suffuse you with delight this season and dance your way toward Easter. I’m confident that our loving Dance Partner, who leads us all, will rejoice over you with singing as you go!
