Picking It Up: A 10-Day Report from the Trenches of Lent
On the surprising peace found in being intentional when life is anything but
I recently discovered that Lent is a bit like a British motorway: the signs say one thing, the sat-nav says another, and there are mysterious gaps that no one quite explains until you’re halfway through the journey.
We are currently ten days into Lent. At least, that’s what the lent calendar tells me. However, if you’ve been counting the days on your fingers and coming up with a different number, don’t panic. I’ve learned that Sundays don’t actually “count” toward the forty days. They are little “mini-Easters”(legal loopholes for the soul). It’s a very civilised arrangement, isn’t it? It’s as if the Church figured we’d all be vibrating with caffeine withdrawal or chocolate cravings by day six and decided to give us a tactical ceasefire.
This year, I decided to shift my perspective. Instead of the traditional “giving something up”, I decided to pick something up. My goal was simple: get closer to God by reading the Gospel of Matthew every day through February.
Now, full disclosure: I didn’t hit every day. Life, Buckley (my dog), and the general chaos of a household have a way of intervening. But I did manage to catch up, and by the 28th, I’d turned the final page.
It hasn’t been a comfortable stroll. In fact, it’s been a bit of a wrestling match.
The “Good Christian” CV
Reading through Matthew as a man with a “messy” history is an exercise in vulnerability. There are parts of Jesus’ teaching (specifically on divorce) that are incredibly hard to digest when you’re sitting there with one (or two) on your “Am I a Good Christian?” CV.
You read those words and you feel the weight of them. You wonder if there’s a place for someone with a fractured past in the middle of such high standards.
But that’s the thing about the “messy middle” of faith; it’s exactly where Jesus tends to do His best work. He didn’t speak to perfect people; He spoke to people like us. The tired, the divorced, the worried, and the ones who can’t quite get their act together.
While I was navigating these chapters, my church started a series on “Transformation.” We talked about simplicity, storing up treasures in heaven, and not worrying about worldly things.
‘Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal. Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal.’
- Matthew 6:19-20
It sounds lovely in principle, doesn’t it? But then you look at your bank balance or the damp patch on the ceiling, and the “worry” Jesus mentions feels less like a choice and more like a reflex.
The Hunger Strike or a Response?
Then we hit the topic of fasting. To be honest, I’ve always been a sceptic. I never “got” it. To me, fasting felt like a spiritual hunger strike, a way of trying to twist God’s arm into doing what I wanted. “Look, Lord, I haven’t had a bacon roll in six hours, so if You could just fix my problems, that’d be great.”
I am fairly certain the Bible has something to say about not testing the Lord.
‘Jesus responded, “The Scriptures also say, ‘You must not test the Lord your God.”’
- Matthew 4:7
But ten days into Lent, and I’ve already fasted twice. (And no, that isn’t a boast—Matthew 6:16-18 is very clear about not looking miserable so people know you’re fasting, so imagine I’m saying this with a very cheerful, well-fed expression).
‘And when you fast, don’t make it obvious, as the hypocrites do, for they try to look miserable and dishevelled so people will admire them for their fasting. I tell you the truth, that is the only reward they will ever get. But when you fast, comb your hair and wash your face. Then no one will notice that you are fasting, except your Father, who knows what you do in private. And your Father, who sees everything, will reward you.’
- Matthew 6:16-18
The turning point was a conversation in our small group. We watched a video that reframed fasting perfectly: It isn’t a demand; it’s a response. When someone is ill, when life is falling apart, or when you’re desperate to hear from God, fasting is a way of saying, “This situation matters more to me than my own sustenance.” It’s a physical way of leaning into God. Jesus denied Himself for me; the least I can do is skip lunch to focus on Him.
‘Though he was God, he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to. Instead, he gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being. When he appeared in human form, he humbled himself in obedience to God and died a criminal’s death on a cross.’
- Philippians 2:6-8
Right, caught me—that last one wasn’t Matthew, but the point stands
The result? A peace I can’t quite put into words. It’s an intangible joy. I still get sad, I still get stressed, and Buckley still barks at the postman at 7:00 AM, but there is something tangible sitting deep within me now. A quiet steadying of the soul.
Leaving the Safety of the Shore
This past Sunday, we had a guest speaker, Simon Guillebaud, at our “Going Deeper” service. A couple of the things he said really stayed with me.
First: “You won’t get stories if you stay safe.”
That challenged me. Do I trust Jesus enough to actually do the work He’s called me to, or am I content to stay in my “safe” home, avoiding the risks of real faith? It reminded me of the parable of the talents in Matthew 25. The servant who stayed “safe” and buried his treasure out of fear was the only one who missed the mark.
Second: “We are immortal until God calls us home.”
It’s an interesting perspective, especially as someone who has spent a fair amount of time worrying about the “what ifs” of life. We often talk about eternal life as something that starts later, but if we take Jesus at His word, that life is already happening. It’s a bit of a shift in mindset; realizing that our souls are held in a way that the world can’t touch.
‘And don’t be afraid of those who want to kill your body; they cannot touch your soul. Fear only God, who can destroy both soul and body in hell.’
- Matthew 10:28
The Quiet Routine
I’ve been making a more conscious effort to pray lately, usually by carving out a bit of time during my lunch break to read and write. It’s nothing fancy, and I’m certainly not winning any awards for it, but these last ten days have honestly felt a bit different.
This isn’t a “look at me” post; it’s a “look at Him” post. By being intentional, by picking up a Bible, a prayer, or a period of fasting. I’ve started to notice something shifting. It’s a peace and a joy that is hard to pin down. It’s tangible in how it steadies me, yet intangible in the way I can’t quite explain it to anyone else. It’s just... there. It’s that rest Jesus promised for the weary.
“peace that passes understanding.”
- Matthew 11:28-30
‘Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.”’
- Matthew 11:28-30
A Moment of Reflection
As you navigate your own “messy middle” this week, I want to encourage you: Be intentional. It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture. It might just be five minutes of silence before the kids wake up, or reading one verse over your morning coffee. Just say, “Jesus, I want to get closer to You. I want this peace. Help me be intentional today.”
He meets us in the effort, not just the achievement.
A Closing Prayer
Lord, thank You that You don’t ask us to be perfect before you. You invite us to walk with You. For those of us feeling the weight of our past or the anxiety of our future, grant us that “intangible joy” today. Help us to pick up something, a prayer, a moment of kindness, a verse that will draw us closer to Your heart. Amen.
The Final Word
‘Jesus came and told his disciples, “I have been given all authority in heaven and on earth. Therefore, go and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Teach these new disciples to obey all the commands I have given you. And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”’
- Matthew 28:18-20