I was a little too young for Dawson’s Creek, but like many I’ve been moved by the late James Van Der Beek’s gentle Instagram wisdom. In his final video he questioned the madness of making New Year’s resolutions: “In the winter, the days are shorter and the nights are longer. But instead of being reminded how perfect this season is for cocooning, eating stew, snuggling and sleeping … Why are we being told this is the time to buy a gym membership?”
He’s on to something. We push ourselves hard in January, then, just as the frost settles, Lent arrives to offer another chance to fail. It can feel like a second season of self‑reproach: give up chocolate, social media, caffeine, whatever it may be, and then post about our sacrifice. The danger is obvious: Lent can slip into performance — with followers, likes, and the quiet tallying of spiritual points. My Christian Instagram feed has become increasingly intense over the past few years. Christians of different traditions are at risk of saying “Do more.” I wonder what Jesus in Matthew 6:16–18 would say to us about virtue signaling our piety and asceticism.
As a pastor, I’m acutely aware of the demands church leaders place on congregations, or the messages we broadcast to the parish of the world. Turn that up to eleven with Lenten discipline, and the ideals and KPIs look easily and readily realizable — if only you don’t have a mortgage or rent to pay, young children, chronic illness, a commute, a job, or errands to do around the house.
Sure, Christianity is costly. The ninth chapter of Luke’s Gospel is packed with — among other things — the cost of following Jesus. And there are a lot of challenges to come. But a closer study of the second half of Luke 9 shows us a posture for Lent that is a little more hopeful than a checklist of what we need to do.
It’s the hinge point of Luke. After mountain moments and ministry in Galilee, we see that Jesus has his own resolution. And it’s not fewer carbs: “Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem.”
I love the determination here. We know how the story ends. He was a man on a mission to the cross. And it wasn’t self-help or self-optimization, but self-sacrifice. Crucifixion was the ultimate display of weakness and shame, and it was to this end that Jesus directed all of his energies. We know that Jesus keeps his resolutions. He was obedient to the point of death.
Contrast that with Jesus’ closest friends and their lethargy at Gethsemane and even renouncing him. Pre and post his arrest, Jesus’ friends were, well, pathetic. Jesus was resolved but his disciples dissolved. Where we fail to live up to others’ expectations and even our own, where his disciples had made grand pronouncements of loyalty and service to Jesus and yet failed when it mattered most, Jesus never failed.
Now at this point I can hear some of you saying: But what about aspiring to resolve ourselves? Isn’t that a good thing?! We admire leaders who combine modesty with will. Abraham Lincoln’s humility and fierce resolve is an often go-to. Yet we know even those closest to Jesus faltered at points, and even after the resurrection. And then there are those who don’t have the luxury of being able to strive.
The resolve we should focus on in Lent is not primarily ours. It is Jesus’ resolve.
So I’m trying to imagine what my Lent would be like if it was shaped less by my own resolutions and more by Jesus’ resolution.
Lent is less about valiantly giving up this or that and more about keeping Jesus company on the way to the cross. And Jesus’ resolve invites a different rhythm for Lent — less proving, more receiving. Resolve isn’t a case of tightening our fists but unclenching our hands when it’s Jesus’ resolve that we’re looking at. Luke 9 is a beautiful tableau which is an invitation to trust, ask and welcome.
- Trust: Faith is less about frantic moral effort and more about looking to Jesus and living as if he is truly present. The father of the demon‑tormented boy brought his child and looked to Jesus; one look from Christ undid what the disciples and the world and all their very best efforts could not.
- Ask: What questions haven’t I brought to Jesus yet? What do I need to ask his forgiveness for? What, like that father, do I really want in this season from God?
- Welcome: Humility isn’t just having ash put on your forehead at a train station (yes, this happens in London). It often looks like welcome. To welcome Jesus is to welcome the least, the different, the awkward. Hospitality toward children, strangers, and those whom society discards is one way of noticing whether we have met him. Lent can draw attention to how our posture toward others mirrors our posture toward God. This is where we discover if we’re meeting Jesus or just embarking on an introverted program of self-improvement.
Of course, discipline doesn’t have to be opposed to grace. But grace comes from beyond ourselves. And there comes a point where our strivings cease. For some that will mean giving up giving up things for Lent. For each of us, there’s the invitation to give up.
To give up and to ask God to be more than we could ever be when we have the wind at our back.
