Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Every year, sometime after we’ve finally forgiven ourselves for whatever happened between Christmas cookies and New Year’s champagne, someone quietly announces, “It’s Lent.” And suddenly people are giving up chocolate, swearing off social media, or announcing—like spiritual CrossFit champions—that they’re doing “no sugar, no alcohol, no joy” for 40 days.

So what is Lent, really? And why are we still doing this?

At its core, Lent is a 40-day season of reflection, repentance, and preparation leading up to Easter. It begins on Ash Wednesday and mirrors the 40 days Jesus spent fasting in the wilderness. Traditionally observed in the Catholic Church and many other Christian denominations, Lent is meant to be a time of spiritual recalibration. Less indulgence, more introspection. Fewer distractions, more discipline. In theory.

In practice, it often becomes the world’s earliest New Year’s resolution reboot. “I gave up desserts for Lent” is essentially a theologically upgraded version of “I’m cutting carbs.” The difference is that Lent isn’t supposed to be about beach season—it’s about spiritual depth, humility, and confronting the less flattering parts of yourself.

The number 40 is symbolic. In biblical tradition, 40 represents testing and transformation—40 days of rain in the flood story, 40 years in the wilderness, 40 days of fasting. It’s long enough to feel uncomfortable but short enough to survive without dramatic medical supervision. Lent institutionalizes the idea that growth requires restraint. Radical concept, really.

But here’s the thing: Lent is not uniquely Catholic, nor even uniquely Christian in spirit.

Plenty of other traditions have their own versions of sacred restraint. In Islam, Ramadan involves a month of fasting from dawn to sunset—arguably a far more intense spiritual discipline than skipping lattes. In Judaism, Yom Kippur includes fasting and deep repentance. In Hindu and Buddhist traditions, various fasting practices and periods of renunciation are built into the rhythm of spiritual life. Even outside formal religion, many cultures embrace cycles of abstinence and renewal—seasonal cleanses, vision quests, silent retreats.

In other words, Lent mirrors a nearly universal human instinct: periodically step back from comfort to remember what actually matters.

What makes Lent distinct is its blend of three classic practices: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. It’s not just “give something up.” It’s also “add something meaningful” and “give something away.” Ideally, it’s less about self-improvement and more about self-emptying—loosening the grip of ego, habit, and consumption.

Of course, modern life has a talent for turning solemn traditions into social media announcements. There’s always someone posting, “Day 12 without caffeine. Please respect my sacrifice.” But even in its slightly commercialized, occasionally performative form, Lent survives because the underlying idea still resonates: we need structured pauses.

We live in a culture of constant consumption—food, media, outrage, noise. Lent whispers (or sometimes coughs dramatically), “Maybe try less.” Less scrolling. Less reacting. Less numbing. Whether one approaches it religiously or philosophically, that rhythm of voluntary restraint is almost revolutionary.

So why do we follow Lent?

For believers, it’s about preparing the heart for Easter. For others, it’s a built-in accountability season. And for the skeptically amused observer, it’s a yearly reminder that human beings have always known something essential: discipline clarifies desire.

Strip away the theology, and Lent asks a timeless question: What controls you?

Chocolate? Ego? Speed? Anger? Algorithms?

Forty days is long enough to find out.

And maybe that’s why the tradition endures—not because everyone perfectly understands it, but because deep down, across religions and cultures, we recognize the power of stepping back from indulgence long enough to see ourselves clearly.

Even if we complain about it the entire time.