This Lent, we are invited to embrace the Gifts of the Dark Wood. These are the moments when hope feels distant, when clarity fades, and when everything familiar falls away. These are not moments we would choose, but they are often the very places where something unexpected begins to grow. When everything else is stripped away, we are able to see what truly remains, what is unable to be taken away, and whose presence has been there all along.
Lent reminds us that faith, wholeness, and even glimpses of heaven are not found in the absence of struggle, but in the very heart of it. This does not mean suffering is sent by God, is the result of inaction from God, or that hardship is something to be glorified. Rather, it means that when we find ourselves in those dark and tender places, we may discover what is most essential. We may discover what endures. We may discover a love that does not leave us.
And yet, if we are honest, it can be incredibly difficult to see God in the midst of heartbreak and hardship. It can be difficult to find any sense of meaning when we or those we love are hurting.
Rev. Lauren and I attended the Faith and Justice Rally on the Martin Luther King Bridge, and we heard countless stories of the fear and violence that is being done to our immigrant siblings and families. People who are human, people who have found a home in America, people who have children, people who have jobs, people who just want to live a happy life who are fearful and scared for their very lives. Tears fell down the faces of so many people as we heard and held these stories.
And alongside that, we saw God in organizations that provide clothing, food, transportation, and safety to those who have been wrongfully detained by ICE. We saw God in voices lifted together in songs of resistance, in prayers of hope, in cries for justice. We saw God when our hearts broke open for one another instead of turning away. We knew standing there together, that God’s heart was surely breaking beside us all, crying out for all of us who were lost, uncertain, and exhausted.
We were a witness to something greater than our present circumstances, and being called to be courageous. We were being called to action. Called to be a beloved family. We saw hands reach for one another and refuse to let go. We saw courage rise in the face of fear and uncertainty. We saw people of different races, immigration statuses, and faith traditions stand together, united by love. I do not know if we can always see God in suffering itself. But I believe with my whole heart that we can see God in what rises from the ashes.
In this season of Lent, as we walk through our own Dark Woods together, in our own places of uncertainty, grief, and vulnerability, may we remember this truth: the dark is not empty. It is not barren. It is not the end of the story. It is the place where God meets us, holds us, and reminds us that even here, especially here, we are not alone.
In Solidarity,
Pastor Eli