REFLECTION:

Have I mentioned that I love the season of Lent? I am looking forward to it. There is something about these forty days that always feels like a reset — a return, a refocusing, a coming home to the heart of God.

But as Lent is about two days away, I am reading the first reading today from James, and there’s that line: “Consider it all joy, my brothers and sisters, when you encounter various trials…” (James 1:2)

And I pause.

Because that is an interesting reading — and very fitting.

Yesterday and even throughout last week, people have shared with me their trials and tribulations. One person shared about a diagnosis that might be cancer. Another told me how their phone was stolen — and the fear of tracking it, dealing with the police, and wondering who might have access to their personal life. Someone else spoke about still grieving a loved one, months later, and how the ache hasn’t gone away. And another shared about a son who is dying in the hospital.

If we just list it out, it sounds heavy. Dark. Overwhelming. And yet James says: Consider it all joy. How can that be?

James is not dismissing pain. He is not minimizing grief. He is not pretending suffering doesn’t hurt. The early Christians he was writing to were scattered, persecuted, struggling financially and spiritually. They knew fear. They knew uncertainty.

What James is inviting them — and us — into is not joy because of suffering, but joy within suffering. A deeper joy. A joy that comes from knowing that our trials do not have the final word. A joy that comes from trusting that God is at work even in what feels like chaos. A joy rooted not in circumstances, but in Christ.

When I listen to people share their struggles, my heart aches with them. I pray with them. I carry them. But at the same time, my heart is filled with a strange and quiet joy — not because of what they are going through, but because I know who we worship.

We worship a God who is greater than cancer. Greater than theft. Greater than grief. Greater than hospital rooms. Greater than death itself.

James goes on to say that the testing of faith produces perseverance — and perseverance makes us mature and complete. Lent is exactly that kind of season. It is not about giving up chocolate just for the sake of it. It is about allowing God to strengthen our spiritual muscles. It is about discovering that faith is not fragile — it is forged.

Lent begins in ashes. It begins with the reminder that life is fragile. But it moves toward the Resurrection. It moves toward hope.

So maybe “consider it all joy” means this: Even in trials, we are not alone. Even in fear, God is steady. Even in suffering, grace is working. Even in death, resurrection is promised.

As we enter Lent in two days, perhaps the invitation is not to avoid our struggles, but to bring them honestly before God — trusting that He can transform them.

Not because the darkness isn’t real. But because the Light is greater.