What to Do When Lent Feels Like It Isn't Working
It is week three of Lent, and you feel absolutely nothing. Maybe you began this sacred season with such hope and earnest intention--eager to draw closer to God, to deepen your faith, to experience something new and transformative. Yet now, the spiritual practices you embraced seem like a heavy weight pressing down on your spirit. The fast you committed to is making you irritable and restless, your prayers feel like they're bouncing off the ceiling without landing in your heart, and deep inside, you're wondering if this entire season is just an exercise in futility.
If this is where you find yourself--defeated, dry, maybe even a little ashamed that your Lenten discipline has unraveled--I want you to pause and take a deep breath with me. You need to hear this truth right now: you are not failing, and you are certainly not alone. This feeling is part of the journey, not a sign that you have done something wrong or that God has abandoned you.
The Ancient Fellowship of the Dry
You are in good company, my friend. Some of the most profound figures in Scripture walked through seasons of deep spiritual dryness and emptiness. Consider Elijah, worn out and utterly exhausted, sitting beneath a broom tree, pleading with God simply to let him sleep. His soul was so heavy that he wished for release from even the act of living. Or remember John the Baptist, who had dedicated his entire life to preparing the way for the Messiah. When he found himself imprisoned and isolated, he sent his disciples to Jesus with a question that revealed his own spiritual struggle: "Are You the One who was to come, or should we look for someone else?"
And then there's the Psalmist, who doesn't shy away from expressing the rawness of spiritual despair. In Psalm 88, he cries out, "O LORD, the God of my salvation, day and night I cry out before You... My soul is full of troubles, and my life draws near to the grave." This is no polished hymn of victory; it is a heartfelt lament from a soul overwhelmed. The Bible doesn't pretend that the spiritual life is always full of light and warmth. Instead, it gives voice to the seasons when God feels distant, when your prayers seem to disappear into the silence. Feeling dry or distant from God does not mean you've disqualified yourself from His presence--it means you are human, navigating a broken world that often feels heavy and confusing.
The Meaning of the Desert
This dryness you feel might actually be trying to teach you something important. It's easy to fall into the trap of treating your faith like a transaction: you do the right things--fast, pray, serve--and God will surely bless you with peace, joy, or a surge of spiritual feeling. When those feelings don't come, you might assume something is broken inside you or that God is withholding His favor.
But what if the desert you're walking through is not a dead end but an invitation to go deeper? What if God is gently weaning you off the need for emotional highs so that you can learn to trust Him even in the dark? The desert can be a sacred place where you learn to rest not in feelings but in the reality of God's love and presence. Sometimes, the dryness is the result of trying too hard to perform for God rather than simply resting in His unfailing love. If your Lenten practice has become a performance, then the exhaustion and emptiness you feel may actually be God's way of whispering to your soul, inviting you to stop striving and start receiving.
It's okay to admit that you're tired. It's okay to admit that the spiritual disciplines you once embraced with enthusiasm now feel like a burden. The desert is not a place of defeat; it's a place where your faith can be purified and renewed. Sometimes God's greatest work in us happens precisely when we feel empty.
The Beautiful Practice of Returning
Remember, Lent was never meant to be about maintaining a perfect streak of discipline. The heart of this season is captured beautifully in the Hebrew word for repentance: shuv, which means "to turn back" or "to return." This word reminds us that every time your mind wanders during prayer, you don't have to beat yourself up--you simply notice it and gently turn your thoughts back to God. Every time you stumble in your fast or fail to keep a spiritual commitment, you don't have to despair. Instead, you acknowledge your failure, receive God's grace, and turn back to Him.
This practice of returning is actually the whole point of Lent. It's the rhythm of the season. God's mercies are new every morning, as Lamentations 3:23 reminds us: "The Lord's mercies are new every morning." He is not standing over you with a checklist, scrutinizing your every misstep. No, He is waiting down the road, open-armed, longing for your return. The beauty isn't in perfection; it's in the faithful turning back, again and again.
This means that even if you feel dry or distant, your spiritual life is not over. It's simply unfolding in a different way. You are invited to trust that God is working beneath the surface, even when you cannot sense it. Your turning back, your small acts of faithfulness, are not invisible to Him. They are precious in His sight.
Small Steps Forward
If your ambitious Lenten goals have collapsed under the weight of your own limitations, don't try to resurrect them through sheer willpower. That kind of striving will only leave you more exhausted. Instead, lower the barrier. Give yourself grace to start with something impossibly small today.
Begin by carving out five minutes of silence. Don't pressure yourself to produce profound spiritual insights or powerful prayers. Just find a quiet spot, set a timer for five minutes, and offer your scattered, weary mind to God. Let yourself simply be present with Him, even if your thoughts wander or you feel numb. This small practice can be a gentle doorway back into God's presence.
Next, pray one honest prayer. You don't need fancy words or polished phrases. A simple, heartfelt prayer like, "Lord, I am tired and I feel nothing right now. Please meet me here," is complete and holy. God delights in your honesty more than your eloquence.
Finally, read one Psalm. Let the ancient words carry you when you don't have the strength to form your own. Psalms like 42 or 139 are tender companions in times of dryness. They give voice to longing and remind you that you are known intimately by God.
As you take these small steps, remember that the pressure to perform is not from God. It's okay to be gentle with yourself. Lent is about the journey, not the destination, and God meets you exactly where you are.
I invite you to let go of the pressure and join the Real Prayer challenge or begin the Whispers in the Numbness reading plan in Faithline. Let God meet you in the quiet reality of your present moment. In that stillness, discover the profound grace of simply turning back to Him, again and again.