Lengthening Light, Sudden Glory, and a Spiritual Practice for Ending Lent

Nature and Scripture invite us to walk with Jesus through shadows, trusting a breakthrough will come.

Apr 18, 2025

Last week in a spiritual direction session, one directee shared about a houseplant that seemed to sit still all winter, and then one day, a bright green sprig suddenly appeared inches long as if it had materialized overnight.

It’s the same with my peach tree. For months, the bareness of winter lingered. It looked like nothing was happening. The branches stayed thin and empty with no visible change. But deep beneath the bark, unseen to the eye, movement was happening. A couple of weeks ago, like a surprise party, that hidden labor burst into pink blossoms. The decorated branches wave through the window every time I walk down the stairwell, changing each day as leaves emerge.

Fresh growth comes as we inch closer to the sun. Green courses unnoticed through trunks and stems until it finally shows its glory. This springtime process is an apt pairing with spiritual shifts as we finish Lent and head toward Easter Sunday. A few years ago, I discovered that Lent comes from an old word meaning “lengthening.” The 40-day preparation leading up to Easter isn’t only about penitence and self-discipline. It’s about the gradual increase of light that stretches the hours of day until they outnumber those of night.

I served in Cairo the summer I turned 20. One weekend, we visited the longest-inhabited Christian monastery, St. Catherine’s at Mount Sinai. My friends and I woke ourselves at 2 am to hike to the top of the mountain that many consider to be the place where Moses communed with God for 40 days and received the Ten Commandments. As we traversed the rocky trail at night, there were more than a few stumbles and stubbed toes. At the top, with our legs twitching from the brisk climb, we sat in the cold pre-dawn dark and looked out on the layers of wilderness mountains waiting for light.

Over the course of an hour, a gentle coral color ever so slowly bled into the deep blue-gray. The change was imperceptible moment to moment until finally an orange curve of light showed through a notch of mountain silhouette and rose up into the low-hanging clouds that rested there. From that point on, we could perceive each tick of movement and soon we were squinting our eyes at the increasing brightness as the earth turned degree by degree toward the sun. The path down wasn’t easy, but our footing was more sure.

Like that epic sunrise, Proverbs 4:18 (NLT) says, “The way of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, which shines ever brighter until the full light of day.” In the years since writing The Yes Effect with Luis Bush, I’ve become more watchful for glimmers of this light, evidence of divine growth and guidance, signs of God’s slow, quiet work that suddenly shows up in ALL CAPS. In the book, Luis and I described situations of human impossibility. Religious violence in Indonesia. Citizens living in garbage dumps in Cairo and Manila. Refugees fleeing war-ravaged Syria. Extreme poverty in Bihar. Persecution in China. The orphan crisis in Ukraine.

On the surface, the headlines were bleak. But underneath, in and through the lives of ordinary people saying yes to God’s love and justice, something holy was breaking through. The Spirit was at work, often where it was least expected. Sometimes that work upstaged humanity’s ugly headlines, like the time a Cairo newspaper reported on “Christ in Tahrir Square” when, during the Arab Spring, Coptic Orthodox believers courageously prayed, worshiped, and offered care for Muslim neighbors in the city’s busiest thoroughfare.

Here in the middle of Holy Week, we consider the difficult betrayal, arrest, denial, humiliation, torture, and death that Jesus endured. From the outside, it seemed like the end, like good had stopped growing and evil was winning, like the mission had failed.

The wood of the cross was bare and brutal. Three hours of midday darkness marked the ominous atmosphere. A rock-splitting, tomb-shaking earthquake shocked onlookers. And yet, from the power beyond those rugged elements, new life would spring. Under the surface of those long, painful days and hours, the Trinity was enacting the deepest restoration the world would ever know. Resurrection was not an afterthought.

It’s not easy to wait for righteousness to show itself, especially in confusing times like ours. These days, I flinch as I read the news of people being snatched and deported to dangerous detention centers in El Salvador and elsewhere based on hunches or clerical errors. These are people without criminal records and with families, people who came here seeking safety, provision, or education.* I wonder where our mercy and decency has gone.

Meanwhile, long-standing public programs are hollowed out without any thoughtful consideration. Institutions that once offered some protection for the impoverished and vulnerable citizens of our nation and world are being sadistically dismantled to the tune of a chainsaw. It can seem like the light is losing ground, that justice is a lifeless branch.

And yet, I remember my little peach tree. I remember the slow, unseen work of sap moving in cold wood. I remember my night hike on Sinai, and the first hint of light in the sky. I remember the stories of The Yes Effect. I remember how even when the midday sky went dark and Jesus gave up his breath, the Light of the World was not finished.

The resurrection story doesn’t deny death. It moves through it. The light lengthens until the tomb is empty and the garden hosts a reunion of friends. As Lent comes to a close and Holy Week leads toward Sunday, nature and Scripture invite us to walk with Jesus through shadows and silence, trusting a breakthrough will come.

The flowers on my tree are a sign of what’s been stirring and a sign of what’s ahead, a celebration of fruit in progress. Sometimes, like those peach petals unfolding or the fresh sprig of a houseplant, the grace that’s been at work all along reveals itself in sudden glory. Lent, a season that stretches us, sends us toward the surprise of resurrection. What’s growing underground eventually springs up, undeniable. Lengthening light is an invitation to rise.

[Scroll down and find a spiritual practice for ending Lent.]

A Spiritual Practice for Ending Lent

As Lent comes to a close, this guided meditation will help you bask in God’s presence and reflect on what’s growing around you and in you. Read all prompts before beginning.

Take a few deep breaths, filling your lungs all the way to the bottom. Breath out slowly, like the sap running through a tree’s branches in early spring.
Close your eyes and become aware of the light around you. Is it bright or dim? Natural or human-made? Simply notice.
Picture something green you've seen growing recently, whether in your home, your neighborhood, or out in the wild. Let its features come fully into your mind: hue, shape, size, surroundings.
On your next in-breath, gently lengthen your spine toward the sky. Lean toward the source of light, a sunny window or nearby lamp. Picture your chosen plant responding to light, lengthening upward, drawn by the invitation of increasing warmth and brightness.
Acknowledge God's creative power sustaining that growth. Acknowledge God’s presence with you now.
As you inhale again, lengthen your spine once more—this time lifting your arms overhead. Stretch toward the sky like a growing stem reaching for light. Feel the openness in your chest and body as you continue to breathe. Rest there a moment.
Notice what emotions arise. Bring those emotions honestly before God, holding your hands out in an attitude of openness.
Return to the thought of that growing plant—picture its stem stretching, its flowers unfurling, its leaves reaching. Bask in the light where you are.
Now, open your eyes and slowly read Proverbs 4:18 (NLT) aloud three times:

The way of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, which shines ever brighter until the full light of day.

Read the proverb three more times, this time inserting your name in place of “the righteous.” Let the words settle into you.

The way of _______________ is like the first gleam of dawn, which shines ever brighter until the full light of day.

In a journal or in spoken prayer, reflect on how God has brought spiritual vitality to you in Lent, this season of lengthening. Where have you noticed signs of growth?
Where are you longing to see new life emerge? Express this longing to God.
Read Proverbs 4:18 once more. End by giving thanks for the days of Lent and the glory that is still to be revealed.

*To keep vigil with those wrongfully and carelessly imprisoned, I recommend following Matt Mikalatos, a friend of my friend. It’s vital to our personal and national conscience that we don’t become numb to the injustices of recent months. Whatever concerns our government may have about particular individuals visiting or making a life on our soil, our nation must address issues in an orderly, respectful way (respect for fellow humans’ well-being and respect for freedom and the Constitution), including owning up to mistakes and making things right. Woe to those who refuse to do so. In a civilized society, even accused criminals get due process: a hearing, court date, evidence, presumption of innocence until proven guilty.