In Old English, the word lent means lengthening, and it originally referred to spring. As the days of spring become longer, nature blossoms with renewed life, energy, and growth.  In this sense, perhaps we can think about Lent as a spiritual spring - a time of spiritual growth. 

I like that image… 

I remember when I lived in Atlanta, we had more of a striking distinction between the seasons. Those of you who have lived in colder climates, you know what that’s like - especially as you come out of winter - there is that longing, that yearning…

When I was in seminary, I remember running the neighborhoods in Atlanta. (Of course, there was no surfing, so I did a lot more running back then.) In the wintertime, the trees were completely bare of leaves, the lawns dormant, and the gardens were nothing but dirt. Everything was cold and dead. 

But then, almost without warning, you would begin to see just a hint of green popping up in the trees and from the ground. And then it seemed like just one day, I would wake up, and the flowers would be in full bloom, and the weather near perfect - everything glorious. There was a feeling of life, vibrancy - total renewal.

I think about the natural seasons of the year and how they can mirror the seasons of life - seasons of abundance and growth, seasons of stillness and barrenness, seasons of dying, seasons of rebirth and renewal. And the church calendar, too - if we let it - moves us through these seasons of faith…

And as we head toward Easter, we have begun our spiritual spring. Not the full bloom yet—not the trumpet blast of resurrection—but the quiet work beneath the surface. The slow softening of what has been hard. The patient greening of what looked dormant or lifeless.

Lent reminds us that new life rarely arrives all at once. It begins subtly, almost imperceptibly, with small signs of hope—an openness to prayer, a willingness to let go, a hunger for something deeper than what has sustained us before. Like spring itself, this season asks for attentiveness more than urgency, trust more than control.

So perhaps Lent invites us not to force growth, but to make room for it. To notice where God might already be at work, coaxing life from places we assumed were finished. To trust that beneath the surface of our lives—even in seasons of barrenness or waiting—something is stirring.

Let us pray: God of New Life, the days are lengthening. The ground is warming. Prepare our hearts for your renewing work, and lead us faithfully toward the joy of resurrection. We ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

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