Lately, I long for sincerity, selflessness and simplicity. Mostly – along with the rest of the world – I long for hope.

Is it just me? I try to write, and then I wonder what I can possibly have to say to this weary world. I feel overwhelmed as I look at everything with my own blend of consumerism, confusion, fury and fear. I feel compassion, and this makes me more furious. I become obsessed with watching for kindness and wisdom. When I see these qualities, I crave more. I am dissatisfied with the way I am living in the midst of all this global strife. I want to be better and do better, to raise my children to live with love and exuberance. I have glimmers of joy and hope, then feel disenchanted with life. I am full of wonder at the natural world, but deeply saddened by human error, apathy and cruelty. I yearn to see less empty content creation and more heart and soul. I want the world to do away with egos and rediscover grace and humility. I want to trust our leaders, but I am filled with cynicism and even contempt for them. As many generations have asked before, I wonder, “what is the world coming to?”

This year, I need Lent as I have never needed it before. Feeling lost, I was reminded that this ancient season was almost upon us. So, as a true milennial, I googled it.

Lent is traditionally a time for reflection, repentance and reconciliation. It is a sombre time, dominated by the colour purple, which is associated with suffering. The traditions also incorporate a dash of pink, for hope.

For many people, Lent begins with an Ash Wednesday service, when ash is used to mark a cross on our foreheads. I have tended to be wary of institutions or authority figures wielding shame like a weapon. And yet, this particular ritual doesn’t feel that way for me. It feels humbling, in a personal, grounding way. It reminds us that we are human, in the best sense of the word. It draws our minds to how short and precious our lives are. It reminds us of Jesus, and how, sometimes, sacrifice is beautiful. Sometimes, humility makes space for the divine. And the ‘cracks’ in our lives can sometimes allow light to pour in and out of us.

Then, for forty days, Christians try to focus our thoughts and prayers on Jesus. We may fast or give things up, or take up new practices. We may read the Bible more or follow other Christian books. The idea is to practise humility and honour God with our time, thoughts and worship.

During Lent, we reflect on ourselves and our choices, but more so, on Jesus and his example to us. We also focus on repentance, which means to turn around: we turn away from selfishness, and we turn towards the ways of Jesus. Reconciliation is perhaps the most profound of all the “three Rs” of Lent: it is about reconnecting with God, other people and nature, seeking the same closeness and unity that Jesus preached and prayed about.

When I think about Lent, I picture Jesus in the ‘wilderness’, and then I envision him in the garden.

The wilderness is at the beginning of the story. There, I imagine Jesus, one human in a wild, vast desert, alone, but full of the determination that comes from love. The skies above him would have been sublime: clouds, sunrises and constellations moving across the landscape. Of course, within Jesus was the Creator-spirit that brought these things into being. In Jesus, glory was contained in a fragile human body, which perhaps shivered with cold in the desert night, and felt the pangs of hunger. In this isolated place, his pride and ego were challenged. He had to choose between sensationalism and quiet holiness, between celebrity and humility, between immediate gratification and faith.

Jesus chose well, and after forty days, he began his ministry among ordinary, imperfect people. He drew crowds because of his love, his wisdom and his ability to see past social and cultural assumptions. He was unwavering in his willingness to uphold those who were vulnerable. Instead of being a domineering leader who threw his weight about, Jesus led like a shepherd. When faced with suffering, poverty and grief, Jesus allowed tears to fall and compassion to move his heart. Instead of rushing to high profile events, Jesus made time for those he met along the way, or took himself to remote places to pray. His anger was not roused easily, but it was sparked when corrupt people tried to turn the place of worship into a trading place. Jesus knew it was meant to be a safe and holy space for all. Jesus’ love, patience and wisdom brought hope in dark times.

Then, nearing the end of the story, he found himself in the Garden of Gethsemane. He had grown friendships and helped many people. Now, he faced another sacrifice: the laying down of the life he had grown to love, the friends he had made, and the work and travel he had undertaken. Emotional and physical pain nearly overwhelmed him. In the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus, the source of life, chose to offer up his life. The story was not yet over, but in this poignant scene, he prayed, wept and sweated blood, before coming to the grisly commitment to go like a lamb to slaughter. Humans sent him to be stripped, whipped and taunted, then killed. We failed to see divine goodness in this kind man. But even when he hung on the cross, he loved us. The act of love he chose captivated the world, and brought us hope.

During Lent, we follow Jesus from the wilderness to the garden, where something new is planted and his life-giving spirit is at work in a new way. Flowers must die to release seeds, which are then buried before they spring up and grow. Jesus, the gardener, did this for each of us when he died, and he is able to tend the life within us. Whatever darkness or difficulty we find ourselves in, we are not alone, because Jesus went through it all. And like seeds in the ground, we have hope for growth and life.

This Lent, I want to meditate on Jesus’ story. In my mind’s eye, I see twisting strands of purple and pink, like a friendship bracelet. I see these dual strands of suffering and hope, death and life, in Jesus’ story, and also in the story of humanity, and in my own story, too.