Reflections
Lent as a School of Listening
The first word of the Rule of Benedict is “listen.” Lent gently schools us again in this posture of attentiveness.
We are in the beginning days of Lent. As I reflect on this season, I am realizing that Lent comes to us as an invitation to listen more deeply so that we might choose, live, and act more faithfully in the world God loves.
The first word of the Rule of Benedict is “listen.” Lent gently schools us again in this posture of attentiveness: listening to God, to one another, to the movements of our own hearts, and to the cries of the hurting world around us.
Benedict speaks of Lent as a time when the whole community takes on “something extra” whether in prayer, fasting, or self-denial, not as punishment, but as a way of making space. Space for God’s mercy. Space for truth. Space to notice where our lives are entangled with injustice, indifference, or fear. Lent invites us into conversion of life—not only personal change, but the ongoing conversion of how we live together in society.
Benedict asks us to “prefer nothing whatever to Christ.” Lent gives us time to notice what we have preferred instead.
In a world that urges us to put ourselves and our own needs first, Lent invites restraint and simplicity for the sake of others. It asks us to notice where our lives are cluttered by excess, by comfort purchased at another’s expense, by habits that dull our awareness of suffering. Letting go is not loss, but freedom: freedom to see more clearly, to listen more honestly, and to respond more courageously. What might we release this Lent so that love and justice can breathe more freely within us? How might inner freedom make room for us to shoulder the burdens of our neighbors, especially those whose lives are crowded with fear, exclusion, poverty, racism, violence, or the denial of dignity?
Benedict asks us to “prefer nothing whatever to Christ.” Lent gives us time to notice what we have preferred instead – security over solidarity, silence over truth, convenience over compassion. To prefer Christ is to prefer the vulnerable Christ, the Christ who meets us in the poor, the stranger, the refugee, the forgotten, and the oppressed. This return is rarely dramatic. It is quiet, repetitive, and ordinary, shaped by daily choices to listen, to stay and to stand with others.
Monastic life forms hearts for stability in unstable times, for remaining present rather than turning away, for listening before reacting, for resisting the forces that fragment and dehumanize. May the simple, sacrificial practices we take on this Lent train our hearts not only for prayer, but for solidarity. And may our listening lead us to courageous love, love that speaks, love that acts, and love that refuses to look away from the suffering of the world—love that impels us to act in the face of injustice.
