I realize that we are living in an age where public opinion seems to matter more than truth. Approval ratings shape decisions, and applause often replaces integrity. I watch leaders shift their convictions as easily as they shift their words, guided less by conscience and more by the mood of the crowd. And if I am honest, I wonder how immune I really am. I tell myself I stand apart, yet I know how subtly the desire to be liked, affirmed, or admired creeps into my own life.
When those in power speak with confidence, I feel how easily we become paralyzed—captivated by grand language and empty promises. We fall for big words without corresponding action. We choose utopian dreams over the hard, costly work of truth because facing reality demands courage. I see this pattern not only “out there” but also within me. That recognition unsettles me.
This is where Lent confronts me gently but firmly. It asks whether my faith is shaped by sincerity or performance. When I give, pray, or speak, am I doing it for God’s glory or for human approval? Jesus never courted applause. He sought the Father’s will, even when it led to misunderstanding, rejection, and the cross. Lent calls me back to that same alignment.
The philosopher Søren Kierkegaard once wrote that “purity of heart is to will one thing.” That line stays with me. How divided my heart often is—wanting truth, yet craving affirmation; desiring integrity, yet fearing its cost. Lent invites me to will one thing again: faithfulness. Not success. Not recognition. Faithfulness.
Theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer warned against “cheap grace,” grace without discipleship, without the cross. I wonder if we now live with a kind of cheap truth—truth without sacrifice, truth without accountability. It is easier to repeat slogans than to live honestly. It is safer to stay silent than to speak truthfully. I feel that fear in myself. Naming falsehood means I must also examine where I have benefited from it.
Lent does not allow me to point fingers without first opening my own hands. It calls me into self-awareness. Accessing truth is hard work because it strips away illusions—about the world and about myself. Yet the more honestly I face who I am, the freer I become. Authenticity grows slowly, but it grows surely when I stop pretending.
The world urges me to store up approval, possessions, and praise—treasures that fade as quickly as they come. Scripture reminds me how fragile that pursuit is. What lasts is not applause, but integrity; not image, but faithfulness; not power, but love rooted in truth.
As we enter Lent, I hear it as an invitation rather than a demand. An invitation to simplicity. To humility. To courage. This season asks me to loosen my grip on public opinion and tighten my trust in God. It calls me to speak more truthfully, pray more quietly, give more sincerely, and live more fully aligned with what truly matters.
Lent is a journey toward authenticity—a journey our world desperately needs, and one I must choose again for myself.
Listen to my prayer to the Blessed Mother in this journey of life, “Hail Holy Queen.”
Love / Bishop Jos
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