Susan Rardon
Rose, Ph.D.
Lent is often described as a journey — a season of reflection, repentance, and surrender. It is a time when we slow down, strip away distractions, and prepare our hearts for the hope of Easter. But for those who are grieving, Lent is more than a religious observance; it is an echo of the sorrow we carry, an acknowledgment of the wilderness we now walk through without the one we love.
Grief is its own kind of Lent. It is a season of emptiness, a stripping away of the life we once knew. It forces us to confront pain, to wrestle with questions, and to sit in the uncomfortable reality that things will never be the same.
But just as Lent is not the end of the story, neither is grief.
When Jesus spent forty days in the wilderness, He was hungry, isolated, and tempted. Anyone who has experienced deep loss knows this feeling all too well. Grief is a wilderness of its own—a place where we feel alone, vulnerable, and tested in ways we never expected.
And yet, just as God was with Jesus in the wilderness, He is with us in our grief. Lent reminds us that even in the desolation, we are not abandoned.
For those that celebrate Ash Wednesday, the words that are spoken are "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."
For those in grief, these words cut deep. We already know too well the frailty of life, the pain of loss, the reality of death. The ashes placed on our foreheads feel like an outward expression of the sorrow we carry inside.
But ashes are not just a symbol of death; they are also a sign of repentance, renewal, and transformation. Throughout Scripture, people covered themselves in ashes not only to mourn but to surrender — to bring their grief, their failures, their brokenness before God. Lent invites us to do the same.
Lent is a season of fasting, of giving up something to draw closer to God. But for the grieving heart, Lent feels like an involuntary fast—we have already lost so much. We have already given up the presence, the laughter, the daily companionship of someone we loved.
In grief, we fast from what was. We fast from the life we expected, from the future we envisioned. And yet, in this emptiness, God invites us to something deeper:
Lent does not end in sorrow. The wilderness leads to resurrection. The ashes lead to new life. The pain of Good Friday is met with the joy of Easter morning.
Grief does not promise a neat resolution, and it does not follow a predictable timeline. But it does not have the final word. Lent reminds us that suffering and loss are not the end of the story — that even in our deepest sorrow, God is still at work.
If you are grieving this Lent, allow yourself to walk through the wilderness with honesty. Bring your sorrow to God. Sit in the quiet, in the questions, in the longing. But also hold on to the promise that grief, like Lent, is a journey — not a destination.
There is hope beyond the wilderness. There is resurrection beyond the tomb. And in the waiting, in the sorrow, in the ashes — God is near.
"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." — Psalm 34:18
I am a school counselor turned counselor educator, professor, and author helping educators and parents to build social, emotional, and academic growth in ALL kids! The school counseling blog delivers both advocacy as well as strategies to help you deliver your best school counseling program.
I'm a mother, grandmother, professor, author, and wife (I'll always be his). Until October 20, 2020, I lived with my husband, Robert (Bob) Rose, in Louisville, Ky. On that awful day of October 20,2020, my life profoundly changed, when this amazing man went on to Heaven. After Bob moved to Heaven, I embraced my love of writing as an outlet for grief. Hence, the Grief Blog is my attempt to share what I learned as a Counselor in education with what I am learning through this experience of walking this earth without him. My mission is to help those in grief move forward to see joy beyond this most painful time.
Useful Links