In the first reflection of our Lent Series, “Wearing Ash within a World on Fire,” Jer Swigart shared that in our broken world “Lent must be more than a personal exercise—it must be a communal call to making peace.” A communal call… an antidote to the common misconception of Lent as a personal feat of heroic self-denial.

Approaching the traditional Lenten practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving as peacemakers, we discover anew their power to connect us: with the Divine, through prayer; with ourselves, through fasting and simplicity; with each other, through acts of charity and service. This simple taxonomy connects us with an oft-overlooked aspect of Lent: its deep-rootedness in relationship.

And what happens when we add confession to the mix? 

The Gospels present John the Baptist calling for confession. Am I the only one made uncomfortable by this wild prophet in camel’s hair, subsisting on locusts and honey? (And that honey hasn’t sweetened the Baptizer’s tongue—he’s got harsh words for the “vipers” and “hypocrites” he finds wanting!) These passages remind me of the (many) times I’ve fallen short, missed the mark, gotten tangled up in sin. I think of times when God’s love seems distant—when I’d settle for being a “hired hand” because “beloved child” seems out of reach.

Turns out, sin hurts. And not just the ones we sin against. 

Our sin isn’t just personal—it’s communal. 

We find this truth in one of my tradition’s prayers of confession:

God of all mercy, we confess that we have sinned against you,

opposing your will in our lives.
We have denied your goodness in each other, in ourselves,
and in the world you have created.
We repent of the evil that enslaves us, the evil we have done,
and the evil done on our behalf.
Forgive, restore, and strengthen us through our Savior Jesus Christ,
that we may abide in your love and serve only your will.

This prayer reminds me of a recent episode of This American Life, “Talking While Black”, that looks at efforts to ban books—and conversations— that reveal truths that make people proximate to power uncomfortable. The episode reveals that most use uncommon means to avoid the experience of discomfort, especially when that discomfort surfaces inconvenient truths about ourselves. The invitation of Lent is to lean into the discomfort of inconvenient truths. For in them, we discover the invitation to confession and the urgency for repentance. 

Repentance, not merely confession, is the actual call of the one crying out in the desert. This is not a futile self-flagellation, but rather an awareness and sorrow that leads to turning. 

Notice the road to reconciliation in the parable of the Prodigal Son: awareness dawns and the son returns: first to himself, and the reality of his wretchedness; then to his father, and the relationship in need of repair. It isn’t easy, but then, we’re not promised ease. What we’re promised is grace. The grace to persevere in the face of our own human brokenness—to return, again and again, to the divine love and abundance that animated the dust from which we came.