Every spring, in addition to doing a more thorough cleaning of the house, my wife and engage in a “cleaning out” of our closet and personal items. This process involves sorting, discarding, and reorganizing.
The season of Lent arrives each year quietly inviting us to open the closet of our soul and take an inventory. Just as spring cleaning clears away the dust and clutter that accumulates unnoticed, Lent calls us to examine our inner lives and make space for God’s renewing grace. It is not about self-condemnation, but soul-restoration.
Scripture reminds us that God is deeply interested in this interior work. The psalmist prays, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10). Lent is that season when we hold our inner self up to the light and ask what needs to be swept out. This may include things like the resentments we’ve nursed, the habits that dull our compassion, and distractions that throw us off track.
Spring cleaning is rarely glamorous. It involves getting into corners we’d rather ignore. Yet it is precisely there that grace does its best work. When we fast, pray, give generously, and practice repentance, we are not earning God’s love. Rather, we are clearing away the debris that keeps us from experiencing it fully.
C.S. Lewis suggested,“Relying on God has to begin all over again every day as if nothing had yet been done.” Lent gently reorients us in this daily reliance. Each act of surrender is like wiping down a dusty shelf. It is a small but intentional practice that is transformative over time.
In the early 16th century, Martin Luther described repentance not as a one-time event but as a lifelong posture. In a world focused on outward religious performance, Luther emphasized the ongoing need for inner renewal. This radical idea reframed faith as a continual turning of the heart toward God. His insight affirms that repentance is not about dwelling on guilt, but about returning to grace again and again.
As we journey through Lent, imagine God walking through the rooms of your soul with you, not as a harsh inspector, but as a loving companion. Some things will be kept, while others will be discarded.
Lent has a way of decluttering the chaos within so that our sense of peace is restored. Many years ago, Billy Graham advised, “Like a spring of pure water, God’s peace in our hearts brings cleansing and refreshment to our minds and bodies.”
This year, when Easter arrives, may it find our hearts lighter, cleaner, and more spacious, and ready to welcome the risen Christ with joy.
“Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions.” -Psalm 51:1
In my growing-up years, I remember the elderly in our community and in my family saying, “Lawsy mercy!” whenever they heard about an accident or an illness or some sort of tragedy. In Southern Appalachia, “Lawsy mercy” was a common expression of concern or sympathy to surprising or troubling news. The saying was a derivative of the biblical phrase, “Lord, have mercy.”
The biblical version, however, packs a more powerful punch. It is one of the most ancient and enduring prayers of the Church and yet also one of the simplest: “Lord, have mercy” is a cry that rises from deep within the human heart, a prayer offered not from a place of strength, but from a place of need. During Lent, we are invited to slow down long enough to hear ourselves praying these words honestly, without defensiveness or disguise.
Historically, the prayer Kyrie eleison (“Lord, have mercy”) was spoken not only in worship but also in moments of desperation. During the Black Death of the 14th century, entire communities processed through the streets chanting this plea, not as a magical formula, but as an act of trust when answers were few and suffering was overwhelming. The prayer acknowledged a hard truth: human effort has limits, but God’s mercy does not.
Lent helps us rediscover that truth. It reminds us that mercy is not something we earn through self-denial or religious effort. Mercy is something we receive when we finally stop pretending we don’t need it. To ask for mercy is not only to confess our shortcomings, but to practice humility. It is to recognize that grace, not perfection, is the foundation of our relationship with God.
The reformer Martin Luther once wrote, Those words were found scribbled on a scrap of paper after his death. They capture the spirit of Lent beautifully. No matter how accomplished, faithful, or disciplined we may be, we remain people in need of daily, ongoing, and undeserved mercy.
Echoing this posture of trust, Thomas Merton proposed, “Mercy is the kindness that makes sense of our failures.” Lent does not deny our brokenness. It places it gently in the hands of a merciful God who knows us fully and loves us completely.
To pray “Lord, have mercy” is a way to open ourselves to transformation. Mercy does not merely forgive the past; it reshapes the future. As we receive mercy, we are invited to extend mercy to ourselves, to our neighbors, and even to those we struggle to love.
This Lent, let that simple prayer rest on your lips and in your heart. Not as a sign of defeat, but as an act of hope. For the God who meets us in mercy is already at work, healing what is wounded and restoring what feels lost.
So today, as we pray for ourselves and for our world, may we begin “Lord, have mercy!”
17 Be good to your servant while I live, that I may obey your word. 18 Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your law. 19 I am a stranger on earth; do not hide your commands from me. 20 My soul is consumed with longing for your laws at all times. 21 You rebuke the arrogant, who are accursed, those who stray from your commands. 22 Remove from me their scorn and contempt, for I keep your statutes. 23 Though rulers sit together and slander me, your servant will meditate on your decrees. 24 Your statutes are my delight; they are my counselors. Psalm 119:17-24 (NIV)
When I visited my optometrist for my annual eye exam, he said, “Your vision has changed a little. We need to update your prescription for your glasses.” I knew it would happen one day. I’ve had the same prescription for almost 7 years.
Sight is extremely important. Maybe that is why the psalmist prayed, “Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your law” (v.18). However, I don’t think the psalmist was referring to the ability to see the smallest letters on the vision test chart.
Just as eyesight gives us the capacity to see the physical world around us, things like hindsight, foresight, and insight give us the capacity to better understand God’s word, to shape our faith perspectives, to formulate our worldview, and to exercise wisdom and discernment in our decision-making.
Helen Keller contended, “The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.”
Lent is an eye-opening season where the Spirit helps us better understand our purpose in life as we revisit the story of Jesus, who fully embodied God’s universal mission.
The psalmist wanted the eyes and minds of worshippers to be wide open as they pursue a deeper understanding of God’s vision for the world. The petitioner prayed, “Cause me to understand the way of your precepts, that I may meditate on your wonderful deeds.”
After the eye exam, my optometrist gave me my new prescription and advised me to upgrade to progressive lenses. For years, I had worn bifocals, mostly for reading. He cautioned that the change from bifocals to progressive lenses would require a period of adjustment. “You need to be especially careful when walking because your depth perception will be a little different.”
I have discovered that every new flicker of insight or morsel of wisdom requires a period of adjustment as I apply it to life. May our understanding of God’s word encourage and equip us to follow God’s ways.
Reflection:
How does God communicate new insights to you? Do you welcome new points of view or are you inclined to resist changes in your understanding? How easily can you move from stale presuppositions and open your mind to fresh insights from God’s word?
Prayer:
Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart; Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art; Thou my best Thought, by day or by night; Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light. (Eleanor H. Hull, Mary E. Byrne)
Each year, the season of Lent invites us to slow down, pay attention, and tend to the deeper places of our lives. Observed during the forty days leading up to Easter, Lent has long been understood as a season of preparation, a time to tune our hearts, habits, and hopes to the teachings and attitudes of Jesus. Far from being a gloomy or burdensome practice, observing Lent can be deeply enriching, offering clarity, freedom, and renewal for everyday living.
I was not introduced to the disciplines of Lent until I was in college. I had heard about Lent, but I assumed it was something my more liturgical friends dutifully observed by giving up one or two things they enjoyed. However, once I better understood the intent, I discovered a more prayerful and reflective prequel to the resurrection.
Lent is a season to reevaluate, realign, and recalibrate. Here are 7 ways observing Lent can deepen your faith and enrich your life:
Lent teaches us to pause. In a culture that prizes speed and productivity, Lent gives us permission to stop and reflect. It invites us to notice where we are spiritually and where we may be drifting. Andy Stanley observed, “We don’t drift in good directions. We discipline and prioritize ourselves there.” We need to pause introspectively for self-evaluation.
Lent sharpens our self-awareness. Through prayer and honest reflection, Lent helps us recognize both our gifts and our growing edges. We become more attentive to the habits, attitudes, and assumptions that shape our lives, for better or worse. We need to be alert to our vulnerabilities and awakened to our potential.
Lent cultivates humility. Historically, the early church used Lent as a season of catechesis and repentance, reminding believers that faith is not about perfection but transformation. Acknowledging our need for grace softens our hearts and increases our compassion for others.
Lent reorders our priorities. Fasting, whether from food, screens, affinities, or distractions, teaches us that we do not live by bread alone. What we set aside reveals what we have been relying on. In that letting go, we rediscover what truly nourishes us.
Lent strengthens empathy. When we practice restraint, we become more aware of those who live with daily scarcity, struggle, or deprivation. Lent stretches our concern beyond ourselves and invites us into acts of generosity, advocacy, and justice.
Lent clarifies our focus. Cleaning out a cluttered garage can be challenging. However, once the excess is removed, the remaining items become visible and useful again. Often, we discover tools we had forgotten. Lent functions the same way for the soul, clearing shelves, discarding, re-purposing, and reclaiming, so faith has space to grow and flourish.
Lent prepares us for joy. The purpose of Lent is not the denial of pleasure but the restoration of joy. By walking honestly through repentance and reflection, we increase our gratitude for the passion of Christ and strengthen our commitment to the mission of Christ.
Lent creates sacred space for solitude and spiritual reflection. As Henri Nouwen once observed, “Without solitude it is virtually impossible to live a spiritual life.”
Whatever you choose to give up for Lent will be more than outweighed by the blessings and benefits you receive through its faithful observance. When embraced with intention, the ancient practice of Lent becomes a gift that gently reshapes how we live, love, and walk with God each day.
In case you haven’t noticed, there is a universal temptation for human beings to tear one another down rather than to build one another up. It is based on the false notion that to diminish someone else’s character or credibility elevates my own. This is not a new thing. It goes back centuries.
As the apostle Paul closes his second letter to the Corinthians, he continues a theme prevalent in his previous correspondence by urging them to “encourage one another and build each other up” (I Thessalonians 5:11). Eugene Peterson captures Paul’s pastoral intent with refreshing clarity: “Put things in order, keep your spirits up, think in harmony, be agreeable… and the God of love and peace will be with you” (II Corinthians 13:11-14).These are not lofty theological abstractions. They are practical, everyday practices for communities that want to live well together.
Churches then, and now, are made up of imperfect people learning how to follow Christ side by side. Paul’s words offer spiritual guidance that is relevant to churches, communities, businesses, and even nations. Here are five practices drawn from this passage that help us to build each other up:
Put things in order.
Spiritual health begins with honest self-examination. Paul’s call to “put things in order” invites us to take responsibility for our lives and relationships. This is not about perfection, but continually re-tuning or recalibrating our faith, values, and priorities. It’s about asking what needs attention, repair, or repentance.
The early Christian communities practiced regular confession, not to shame believers, but to restore fellowship. A wise teacher observed, “The church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.” Healthy communities are willing to name what is broken so healing can begin.
Whether it’s addressing unresolved conflict, clarifying expectations, or setting healthier boundaries, aligning our lives with Jesus’ teachings creates space for growth, maturity, and wise living.
Keep your spirits up.
One translation says, “Be of good cheer.” Paul knows discouragement can drain a community’s life. “Keep your spirits up” is not a denial of difficulty or naivete about the unfairness of life. Keeping a positive spirit involves an intentional choice to nurture hope, especially in the most difficult seasons of life.
During World War II, Londoners famously painted signs in bomb shelters reading, “Keep Calm and Carry On.” The message did not minimize danger, but it did remind people how to endure it. Encouragement works the same way in life. It keeps us steady when circumstances are hard.
As theologian Henri Nouwen wrote, “Encouragement is the ability to see hope in the other person.” A timely word of affirmation, a handwritten note, or a prayer offered at the right moment can sustain a weary soul and strengthen the whole community.
Think in harmony.
Paul’s counsel to “think in harmony” does not require uniform opinions. Harmony is not sameness. Harmony is shared commitment. Like voices in a choir, different parts blend together without losing their distinctiveness.
The early church debated vigorously about Gentiles, food laws, and leadership, but they learned to stay at the table together. Unity was preserved not by avoiding disagreement, but by practicing love within it.
Harmony grows when we listen more than we speak, when we seek understanding before we register our perspective, and when we remember that relationships matter more than winning arguments.
Be agreeable and live in peace.
“Be agreeable” may sound countercultural in an age that rewards outrage. Being agreeable does not mean we agree on everything. It means that we start with the things we agree on, and we work toward solutions on the things we don’t agree on.
Paul reminds us that peacemaking is a spiritual discipline. Abraham Lincoln once said, “I don’t like that man. I must get to know him better.” That posture reflects spiritual maturity. And it is only possible when we choose curiosity over contempt, and we opt for acquaintance rather than accusation.
Peace does not mean avoiding hard conversations. It means entering them with humility and grace. Ask not only, “Am I right?” but also, “Am I loving?” Peace flourishes when people feel heard, respected, and valued.
Practice kindness.
Paul encourages believers to greet one another warmly, which serves as a reminder that faith is embodied. Small gestures carry spiritual weight.
Simple acts of hospitality have a unique way of building others up. When a greeter remembers a name, when we share a meal at a common table, or when we do a quiet check-in with another person during a turbulent week, these actions preach sermons no words can replace.
As Maya Angelou wisely observed, “People will never forget how you made them feel.” Kindness is not peripheral to faith. It’s no wonder that Jesus urged his followers to “be kind,” for kindness it is one of faith’s most powerful expressions.
Paul ends with a benediction that frames daily life: “The amazing grace of the Master, Jesus Christ, the extravagant love of God, and the intimate friendship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” Grace grounds us, love galvanizes us, and the Spirit guides us.
We need a revival of “living well together.” It’s not complicated. And it’s much better for our spiritual health, physical health, and mental health than treating other children of God as our evil adversaries. When communities practice alignment, encouragement, harmony, peace, and kindness, they communicate the love and grace God intends for every person.
And in a fractured world, that witness matters more than ever.
(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who currently serves as a leadership coach and consultant with the Center for Healthy Churches. He and his wife live on Cove Lake in northeast Alabama.)
(This column is based on a sermon I preached at the First Baptist Church of Corbin, Kentucky, in February 2003.)
What contributes to genuine happiness? During my years serving as a pastor, I have tried to observe the values and practices of happy people. I’m not talking about momentary happiness, where someone is happy in the moment because their team won the game or because they received a promotion at work. I’m thinking more about people who live happy lives.
Internationally acclaimed motivational speaker Denis Waitley wisely observes, “Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, or worn. It is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude.” That insight rings true in both life and ministry.
I have never met anyone with perfect circumstances or anyone who lives in a constant state of bliss. Life is demanding, unpredictable, and often heavy. Everyone I know carries burdens, navigates disappointments, and wrestles with uncertainty. Happiness, therefore, cannot be reduced to ideal conditions.
So what really makes a person happy? Is it professional success, the right soulmate, good health, or financial security? While these factors can contribute to well-being, they do not guarantee happiness. Chasing perfect circumstances is like pursuing the proverbial—but nonexistent—pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Through the years, I have known people across the economic and social spectrum—some wealthy, some modest in means—and I have learned that circumstances alone do not determine happiness. Recently, as my wife and I reflected on our friends, I noticed recurring qualities among those who live with a steady sense of joy. Over time, we have observed seven traits that happy people hold in common.
Happy people treasure relationships. They view family, friends, and colleagues as gifts rather than inconveniences. Research supports this observation. As Thomas Oppong notes in an article published by the Stanford School of Medicine, “Good social relationships are the most consistent predictor of a happy life.”
Happy people are generous people. They give cheerfully, not reluctantly. A 2017 University of Zurich study concluded that generosity—even in small measures—actually rewires the brain in ways that increase happiness.
Happy people find joy in serving. They have an affinity for helping others through hospitality, volunteerism, and acts of compassion. A Chinese proverb captures this well: “If you want happiness for a lifetime, help somebody.”
Happy people are resilient. They face adversity without being defined by it. They bounce back, adapt, and refuse to let setbacks become dead ends.
Happy people live with grit, grace, and gratitude. They have a stalwart spirit of determination. They are quick to convey grace rather than pronounce judgment. And they tend to focus on their blessings rather than fixating on life’s unfairness. Gratitude has a way of shifting the soul’s posture from scarcity to abundance.
Happy people are present in the moment. They are not perpetually haunted by the past or consumed by anxiety about the future. They learn to inhabit today with attentiveness and appreciation.
Happy people are rooted in their faith. The happiest people I know possess a humble, simple trust in God that shapes their daily lives. Psalm 144:15 says it simply: “Happy are the people whose God is the Lord.” Their faith is not performative or episodic. Rather, it is life-shaping and life-giving.
While there is no guaranteed formula for happiness, it seems far more connected to attitude, purpose, and faith than to circumstances. Pretense is exhausting, and authenticity is freeing. I am convinced that lasting happiness is discovered, not by chasing it directly, but by following Jesus and practicing his teaching in ways that ground you and guide you through the maze of life’s shifting circumstances.
As Groucho Marx once quipped, “I have just one day, today, and I’m going to be happy in it.” Once I heard a pastor preach, “God is more interested in your holiness than your happiness.” However, at this stage of life, I have come to understand that happiness and holiness are not competitors after all. Maybe they walk hand in hand, on the same path, as partners on life’s journey.
(This column is a revision of a Wednesday evening devotional message I shared at the First Baptist Church of Pensacola in 2014.)
The one concept that progressively travels throughout the entire Bible is the notion of grace. It continues to gain momentum until it overflows from the heart of the gospel message. As Bryan Chappell aptly states, “Grace does not spring up like a surprise jack-in-the-box in the New Testament.” It has been there all along.
If a church achieves nothing else, it should be a place that thrives on grace. And those who follow Jesus should be working to make more space for grace.
Grace is more than a church word. It is the word that distinguishes Christianity from every other religious system in the world. Grace does not begin with human effort or moral achievement; it begins with God’s generosity. As the apostle Paul reminds us, “To each one of us grace has been given as Christ apportioned it” (Ephesians 4:7).
If we are serious about following Jesus, then we must be serious about making more space for grace—within ourselves, within our churches, and within our public conversations.
Grace is not an accessory to the Christian life. It is its foundation, its fuel, and its defining characteristic.
Grace is always undeserved. Occasionally, you may hear someone comment about another person whom they deem less worthy, saying, “They don’t deserve grace.” Well, here’s the thing about grace: It is always undeserved.
By definition, grace cannot be earned. If it could, it would no longer be grace.
Paul writes, “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God” (Ephesians 2:8–9). Grace meets us where we are, not where we pretend to be.
Anne Lamott captures this beautifully: “I do not at all understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.”
That paradox is essential. Grace welcomes us without conditions, but it never abandons us to condemnation. It receives us honestly and then reshapes us lovingly.
Grace really is greater than our sin. Just like the hymn says, “Grace is greater than all our sin.” Grace has greater bandwidth than our brokenness. No failure outruns it. No shame exhausts it.
Dwight L. Moody once said, “Law tells me how crooked I am; grace comes along and straightens me out.”
That is not denial—it is redemption. As Jerry Bridges reminds us, “Your worst days are never so bad that you are beyond the reach of God’s grace. And your best days are never so good that you are beyond the need of God’s grace.”
Grace does not minimize sin. However, grace neutralizes sins power to define us forever.
Our need for grace is ongoing, yet God’s supply of grace is unlimited. Grace is not a one-time transaction. It is a daily provision.
Life has a way of pressing us through things like uncertainty, cultural division, fatigue, and moral complexity. In every generation, the church is tempted to substitute spectacle, style, or strategy for spiritual depth. But grace remains the only force strong enough to sustain real transformation.
John Blanchard wisely noted, “For daily need there is daily grace; for sudden need, sudden grace; for overwhelming need, overwhelming grace.”
Grace does not run out when life gets complicated. It expands to meet the moment.
Grace is life-shaping, while guilt is life-depleting. Guilt may get our attention, but it cannot change our hearts. Guilt may spur us back to the right path, but it cannot provide fuel for the journey. In other words, guilt has a short shelf life, but grace has no expiration date.
Max Lucado puts it this way: “Grace is the voice that calls us to change and then gives us the power to pull it off.”
Think of your phone’s storage. When it’s full, everything slows down. You can’t download updates, take new photos, or function efficiently. Guilt clogs the soul in the same way. Grace doesn’t just reorganize the clutter; it clears space so something new can grow.
A grace-saturated life is not a careless life. It is a liberated life.
When followers of Jesus err, they do not fall from grace; they fall toward it. Perhaps nowhere is grace more urgently needed than in moments of moral failure—especially public ones. When others declare that someone has “fallen from grace,” the calling of those who follow Jesus is not to pile on condemnation, nor to excuse wrongdoing, but to make more space for grace.
And this applies in two directions. Grace is needed for the one who has committed the moral indiscretion, who must face responsibility, repentance, and restoration. But grace is also needed for the judgmental ones, those who are tempted to weaponize outrage, reduce a person to their worst moment, or forget their own dependence on mercy.
Jesus was remarkably consistent here. He refused to minimize sin, but Jesus also refused to dehumanize sinners. Grace does not deny accountability; it insists on dignity.
A church that makes space for grace becomes a place where truth can be told without fear—and where healing is possible because love remains present.
Grace is meant to work within us, through us, and beyond us. It is the birthmark of the church and the trademark of those who follow Jesus.
Not only are we saved by grace through faith, we also live and learn by grace through faith.
Or, as this prayer from William Sloane Coffin puts it:
May God give you grace never to sell yourself short. Grace to risk something big for something good. Grace to remember that the world is too dangerous for anything but truth, and too small for anything but love.
May we who have tasted grace, always be working to create more space for grace to do its work.
(This blog is based on a sermon about grace I shared in 2009 at FBC Pensacola.)
Cove Creek Reflections 