The Desert, the Bees, and the Soul: Why Lent Isn’t About Punishment
- Fiach OBroin-Molloy
- 8 hours ago
- 5 min read
There is a quiet misunderstanding about Lent that returns every year. Somewhere along the way, we began to treat Lent like a spiritual endurance test — a harsh season of denial, grit, and willpower. We picture it as grey, grim, joyless: something to “get through,” something to survive.
But Lent was never meant to crush us. It was meant to heal us. Lent is not a punishment. Lent is a return. And return is not about proving your strength — it is about remembering God’s gentleness.
If you’ve ever felt discouraged by Lent, if you’ve ever started with determination and ended in frustration, this is for you. Because the truest Lent is not found in self-anger. It is found in mercy.
Why the Desert Matters
In the Christian imagination, the desert is more than a landscape. It is a place where the false supports fall away. In the desert you can’t pretend as easily. You can’t distract yourself. You can’t shop your way out of discomfort, or scroll your way out of grief, or keep the noise high enough that you never have to face what’s going on inside.
The desert is where we are forced into honesty. And honesty is not cruel. It is cleansing. That’s why Lent begins, year after year, with Jesus in the wilderness.
He fasts.
He prays.
He is tempted.
He endures.
And then — only then — His ministry begins. Not because the desert made Him worthy.
But because the desert clarified Him.
The Desert Saints Knew Something We’ve Forgotten
The early Christians who fled into the deserts of Egypt and Syria were not trying to punish themselves. They weren’t performing holiness. They were trying to become free.
St Antony the Great — one of the most famous of the desert fathers — left behind wealth and comfort not because he hated the world, but because he understood something profound: Too much comfort can numb the soul. So he went into silence. Not because silence is pleasant. But because silence tells the truth. And in that silence, he wrestled. Not only with hunger, not only with demons, but with himself — with the tangled inner life that we all have if we’re brave enough to look. In a way, this is the invitation of Lent.
Not “how much can I give up?”
But: what is keeping me from love?
Why Lent Feels Hard
Here’s the honest truth: Lent feels hard because it disrupts our usual coping mechanisms. Even small Lenten disciplines can expose things we didn’t realise were there.
When you fast, you discover how much you rely on comfort.
When you reduce screen time, you discover how much you avoid silence.
When you pray more, you discover how distracted you are.
When you try to forgive, you discover what wounds are still bleeding.
This isn’t failure. This is revelation. Lent is not a season of pretending you’re holy. It is a season of letting God show you what is real — without shame.
A Gentler Definition of Lent
A better definition of Lent might be this: Lent is a season where we create space for God to speak, and allow Him to reorder us in love. That’s it.
Not “prove your devotion.”
Not “beat your body into submission.”
Not “become spiritually impressive.”
Just: make space.
Just: return.
The Bees Teach Us How Lent Works
If you keep bees, you begin to understand something about the soul. Beekeeping is not about control. It’s about attentiveness. You can’t force a hive to thrive by being harsh with it.
You can’t bully bees into producing honey. Instead you learn to support the conditions that allow life to flourish:
warmth when it’s cold
feed when stores run low
protection when disease threatens
calm when the hive is unsettled
And slowly — patiently — the hive becomes strong. It’s the same with Lent. Many of us try to transform ourselves through harshness. We approach Lent as if holiness grows best under self-criticism:
“Try harder.”
“Do more.”
“Stop being so weak.”
“Why can’t you just be disciplined?”
But the soul doesn’t heal under contempt. A soul thrives under mercy — supported into life. Lent is not spiritual self-hatred. It is spiritual beekeeping. You are not trying to crush yourself into obedience. You are trying to create the conditions where love can grow.
Why Honey Belongs in the Story of Lent
There is something almost unbearably beautiful about honey. It is created through labour — not glamorous labour, but thousands of small actions:
one flight, one gathering, one return, again and again. Honey is sweetness born from discipline, yes — but it is not born from violence. And Lent is similar. The sweetness Lent produces — peace, clarity, humility, courage, prayerfulness — does not appear because we punish ourselves. It appears because we return to what is life-giving.
Bead by bead.
Breath by breath.
Day by day.
Lent Isn’t Here to Make You Miserable
If Lent is making you miserable in a way that leads to bitterness, despair, or self-disgust — something has gone wrong. God does not lead His children by humiliation. Lent involves sorrow, yes — because we must face sin, grief, wounds, and the brokenness of the world. But sorrow is not the final word. Lent is a tunnel that points toward light. It is a pruning that prepares for blossom. It is a wilderness that opens into resurrection.
A Lent That Actually Works
So what does a healthier Lent look like? It looks less like punishment, and more like a rule of life. Not enormous, dramatic disciplines, but small faithful ones:
a few minutes of prayer each day
a decade of the rosary
one act of mercy
one act of restraint
less noise
more silence
a return to Scripture
a return to kindness
Nothing flashy. But real. And gradually, you begin to notice something: The heart softens. The mind becomes quieter. Anger loosens its grip. Cravings lessen. God feels closer. Not because you earned Him — but because you made space to notice He was already near.
If Your Lent Has Been a Mess
If your Lent has already fallen apart — you are not disqualified.
The most Lenten sentence in the world is:
Begin again.
Not with drama.
Not with guilt.
Not with self-contempt.
Just: begin again.
Because the goal is not perfection.
The goal is return.
A Closing Prayer for the Season
Lord Jesus,
lead me into the quiet place —
not to punish me, but to heal me.
Strip away what is false,
and strengthen what is true.
Teach me to fast without pride,
to pray without performance,
and to love without counting the cost.
Make my heart a place where mercy lives.
And let this Lent prepare in me
the joy of resurrection.
Amen.
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