Dear Brothers,
As we find ourselves in the season of Lent, we step into a space of reflection, surrender, and preparation. Lent is a wilderness season—a time of reckoning with our hunger, our longing, our limitations. It invites us into an honest encounter with our own brokenness, not as something to be feared or shamed, but as the very place where Christ meets us with tenderness and truth.
Recovery is, in many ways, its own kind of Lenten journey. It is the slow, courageous work of facing what we’d rather avoid, of naming what we’d rather numb. It is a journey into the depths, where we wrestle with our false selves—the masks we wear, the strategies we use to protect ourselves from pain—and where we are invited, instead, to step into the vulnerability of being fully known.
Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness were not just about deprivation; they were about exposure. The enemy whispered lies that echo the ones we still battle today: You are what you produce. You are what others say about you. You are as powerful as your ability to control. And yet, Jesus resisted—not with strength, but with surrender. He refused to grasp for power, proving instead that real strength is found in dependency on the Father.
What if this Lent, we practiced that same surrender? What if instead of white-knuckling our way through temptation, shame, or despair, we opened our hands? What if instead of trying to be “better men,” we allowed ourselves to be broken men, loved in the midst of our undoing?
Lent is not just about loss—it is about making space for what is most real. It is about unlearning the lies we’ve believed about ourselves and making room for the voice of the One who calls us beloved. It is about the long, slow resurrection that happens in the shadows, before the dawn of Easter morning.
Brothers, you are not alone in this wilderness. Christ is here, holding you even in the places you cannot hold yourself. And we are here, too—walking alongside you, as fellow sojourners, fellow sinners, fellow beloved sons.
May this season draw you deeper into the heart of the One who does not demand your perfection, but delights in your presence.
Grace and peace
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