Lent: Becoming Children of God

Lent presses us into a paradox: God binds himself to us in covenant love and then calls us to love beyond what feels possible. Today’s readings move from identity to action, from being chosen to choosing the hard good. They insist that holiness is not an escape from the world’s mess but the very way we inhabit it; with fidelity and mercy that resemble the Father’s own.

The Covenant That Names Us

Deuteronomy presents a solemn exchange: “Today you are making this agreement with the Lord… and today the Lord is making this agreement with you.” The people are claimed as “a people peculiarly his own,” not to be coddled but to be commissioned. Covenant isn’t a contract we negotiate; it’s a belonging that redefines us. God says, in effect: I am yours; be mine. Walk in my ways; let my voice shape your steps.

Modern life often trains the heart to keep options open, to avoid deep commitments because they might cost too much. The covenant cuts against that grain. It gifts identity; beloved, set apart, sacred; and then calls forth a life that matches the gift. When belonging is settled, obedience stops feeling like a bargain and becomes a response of love. The difficulty of Jesus’ later command to love enemies only makes sense inside this prior truth: we are God’s own. He does not merely demand; he shares his life and empowers what he asks.

The Law That Forms the Heart

Psalm 119 sings of statutes that steady the soul: “Blessed are they who follow the law of the Lord.” The psalmist isn’t romantic or naïve; there is longing for firmness, for a heart that does not bend in the wind. In a culture of instant outrage and performative virtue, God’s precepts are not shackles but scaffolding. They hold us up while grace reshapes our loves.

Lent is the season to re-learn the inner music of God’s commands; truth-telling in small things, fidelity in hidden places, purity of intention when no one is watching. To “walk in the law of the Lord” is to let his voice be the first check on our impulses and the final word over our fears.

Now Is the Acceptable Time

The brief acclamation from 2 Corinthians strikes a bell that will not stop ringing: now. Not tomorrow when the wound is less raw; not after the other side apologizes; not when the schedule clears. Salvation is not only about the soul’s distant end but about the heart’s conversion today. Delay hardens habits. The Spirit’s nudge often comes as a present tense: make the call, drop the sarcasm, pray for that person by name, step away from the endless scroll that keeps you simmering.

Lent is God’s calendar reminder; more tender than an alert, more urgent than a deadline. Time is sacramental: a limited, graced space in which love can still be chosen.

Enemy-Love in an Age of Contempt

Jesus’ words cut to the hardest nerve: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” He doesn’t say, “Approve what is evil” or “Erase necessary boundaries.” He says, “Love.” In a world of curated feeds and ideological sorting, “enemy” can become anyone who interrupts a narrative; an ex-spouse, a colleague who thwarts projects, a neighbor with the wrong yard sign, a public figure who triggers outrage. The heart slowly narrows its definition of “neighbor” until it mirrors our preferences, not the Father’s mercy.

Jesus roots enemy-love not in sentiment but in resemblance: “That you may be children of your heavenly Father.” The Father gives rain and sun without pre-screening recipients. Divine generosity does not ignore justice; it precedes and enables it. If we wait until we feel warm toward opponents, we will never begin. Love here means willing the other’s true good before God; blessing instead of cursing, truth without contempt, advocacy without dehumanization, boundaries without hatred.

There is a deep freedom hidden in this command. Hatred chains the heart to the offender; resentment keeps handing yesterday’s pain the keys to today. Prayer for enemies is a jailbreak; from the cell of retaliation into the spaciousness of the Father’s house.

“Be Perfect”: Growing into the Father’s Likeness

“Be perfect” can sound crushing until we hear the Gospel’s Greek: teleios; complete, mature, brought to its purpose. Jesus calls for a wholeness that refuses partial loves. Perfection, then, is not flawlessness but fullness, the integrated heart whose loves align with the Father’s. It is the difference between a life fragmented by rival allegiances and a life gathered around one center: the God who loves both the just and the unjust.

This maturity is a gift as much as a grind. Grace initiates, sustains, and perfects. Our part is consent and cooperation; choosing practices that train the will to follow where love leads.

Lenten Practices for Impossible Love

• Name your “enemies.” Write a short list; people, public or personal, who ignite anger or fear. Ask God to show you where pain has narrowed compassion.
• Pray blessing, not just release. A simple daily formula: “Father, increase their good, heal their wounds, lead them into your truth, and do the same in me.” Keep it short; keep it faithful.
• Fast from retaliation. Choose one arena; email, meetings, group chats, social media; and fast from the last word, the cutting reply, the share that fuels contempt. Offer the restraint for the person who provokes you.
• Seek one concrete generosity. Send a private word of encouragement to someone you disagree with. Help behind the scenes without announcing it. Choose an “inconvenient kindness” for someone difficult.
• Tell the truth without venom. If a hard conversation is needed, prepare in prayer. Name behaviors, not identities. Keep commitments to justice but guard the heart from contempt.
• Reconciliation, not erasure. Boundaries can be holy. Loving an enemy does not require denying harm or foregoing safety. It means refusing to let enmity define the other or dictate your soul.

Hope: Rain on the Just and the Unjust

The Gospel’s weather report is our hope: the sun still rises; rain still falls. God has not ceased to be generous in a world that has grown skilled at division. His impartial gifts are not a shrug at evil but a sign that mercy is still the first movement of his heart. The covenant in Deuteronomy, the passion for God’s law in the Psalm, the urgency of “now” in Corinthians, and the enemy-love of Matthew converge into one Lenten invitation: become, by grace, what you already are by covenant; children of the Father.

Perfection will not be achieved by force of will before Easter. But maturity can deepen today. If the day closes with one resentful thought surrendered, one enemy blessed, one sharp word restrained, one hidden good enacted, then the Father’s likeness has grown a little more visible. And that is the quiet miracle Lent was made to midwife.