As I walk into the office, one of my colleagues leans over and whispers, “Happy Lenten Season.” I pause and smile back, but something in me hesitates. Happy feels like the wrong word, not because Lent is bad, not because it is joyless, but because it is solemn. It is weighty. It is sacred in a quiet, uncomfortable way.

That feeling settles deeper in me as I think back to how Mass ended today. Unlike any other weekday Mass, on Ash Wednesday, it felt different at the end. There was no joyful dismissal, no celebratory sending forth, no familiar closing tone.

What is Lent?

Lent has always been described as preparation, yet the more I reflect on it, the more I realise that it is also a return to the essentials of faith, of love, of dependence on God. It remains the cornerstone of every Christian celebration because it draws us back to the mystery of Christ’s life, suffering, death, and resurrection. Lent is not an interruption to our lives but a mirror.

During the Lenten season, one practice is fasting. In the Catholic Church, fasting is a form of penance and spiritual discipline. It involves limiting food intake. Traditionally, one full meal and two smaller, non-equal snacks, so that we may grow in self-discipline, reliance on God, and solidarity with those who have less. Yet I find myself strangely challenged by this. I barely eat much on ordinary days, so when I think about fasting, I realise that the “sacrifice” does not feel like much of a sacrifice at all. And when I think about abstaining from meat, especially for a vegetarian, I almost smile. Where is the struggle in that?

It leaves me sitting with an uncomfortable thought. If Lent only changes my diet but not my heart, have I truly entered the season?

This is where my reflection lingers, as I unravel the spirit behind it. On what it means to allow something to cost me, to disturb my comfort, to make space for something deeper.

This year, I am especially moved by the words of Pope Leo XIV, who invites us into a different kind of abstinence:

“In this regard, I would like to invite you to a very practical and frequently unappreciated form of abstinence: that of refraining from words that offend and hurt our neighbor. Let us begin by disarming our language, avoiding harsh words and rash judgement, refraining from slander and speaking ill of those who are not present and cannot defend themselves. Instead, let us strive to measure our words and cultivate kindness and respect in our families, among our friends, at work, on social media, in political debates, in the media and in Christian communities. In this way, words of hatred will give way to words of hope and peace.”

I find myself returning to those words again and again, “refrain from slander and speaking ill.” These words feel simple, yet strangely demanding. They make me realise how easily words slip out of us without much thought, how casually we can wound without intending to.

So perhaps Lent is not happy in the usual sense. But I do believe there is a quieter joy hidden beneath its solemnity, the joy of becoming more attentive, more gentle, more aware. The joy of becoming who we are meant to be.

That said, Happy Lenten Season!

Article written by Briege Ochieng