Lent Week 4: Crossroads, Caves, and Refuge

“Let us fix our eyes on Jesus… who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”
— Hebrews 12:2

As we move into the final days of Lent, the cross comes into clearer focus.

We are beginning to know where the road is leading. It’s no longer just about giving things up or reflecting quietly. Now, we are called to walk with Jesus into the heart of suffering, into the darkness of death—and to keep walking, even there.

What feelings and emotions does that bring up in you? Is it scary? Frightening? Does it hit a nerve, resurrect a memory or a feeling or a reaction to something from your past? What does it really mean to follow Jesus? That is the question that I believe we are ultimately walking towards.

Lent is not only a season of self-denial; it is a season of staying. Of not turning away. Of learning how to remain faithful when the path becomes painful.

“Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene.”
— John 19:25

Mary Magdalene remained. When the other disciples fled, she stayed near. She did not try to fix the suffering. She didn’t have power to change the outcome. But she didn’t walk away. Her love held her there—at the foot of the cross, in the face of death, in the unbearable tension of watching everything fall apart.

And because she stayed, she was the first to witness resurrection.

This, too, is part of Lent: remaining close to Jesus in suffering. Not rushing to Easter. Not skipping over the cross. But staying near, with love, even when nothing makes sense.

Someone of faith who I personally find inspiring, especially in this context, is Julian of Norwich. Now, you may wonder what is so appealing about a (very tiny) 14th-century English nun who lived in a cave. But I think we all have a lot to learn from her. And given that Lent is a time for reflecting, connecting, remembering, and moving towards the cross, I think it's an excellent season to learn about people of faith who may seem a little different than me.

We see this same kind of faith in Julian of Norwich, a 14th-century mystic who lived through staggering hardship. Julian’s life unfolded during one of the most chaotic and devastating periods in European history. She was born around 1342, likely into a middle-class family in Norwich, England—one of the largest cities in medieval England. Her life was shaped by immense suffering: she lived through repeated outbreaks of the Black Death, the Peasants’ Revolt, and a Church in crisis, marked by schism and corruption.

As a woman, Julian’s opportunities were limited, and her voice would have been easily dismissed in the male-dominated institutions of the time. Yet, through a mysterious illness at age 30, she experienced a series of profound visions—what she called “showings” of divine love centered on the suffering of Christ. These visions did not lead her into despair but into deeper assurance of God's compassion.

Julian eventually chose to live as an anchoress, enclosed in a small cell attached to the Church of St. Julian in Norwich. From this space—just a single window into the world—she spent decades praying, writing, and offering counsel. Her book, Revelations of Divine Love, is now recognized as the first known work in English written by a woman.

And still, her voice rings with clarity and courage:

“He said not: You shall not be tempest-tossed, you shall not be weary, you shall not be discomforted.
But he said: You shall not be overcome.”

Julian’s world was one of uncertainty, suffering, and fear. In that, it’s not so different from ours. We, too, live with upheaval and illness, injustice and grief. We, too, know what it is to sit in small rooms with big questions. We know the wilderness of loss, and the ache of prayers that seem unanswered.

And yet—like Julian—we are invited to trust that even in the midst of ruin and sorrow, love is still the truest thing. That God has not left us. That we are not alone. That even in the wilderness, Christ is near.

Julian’s life reminds us that the voices of the past—especially those who suffered, and stayed, and prayed—can still guide us today. Lent is a season not just of personal reflection, but of connection. When we listen to those who’ve walked through shadow before us, we find we are part of a larger story—a communion of saints who whisper to us in the wilderness: You are not alone. And you will not be overcome.

Reflection Questions:

1. What cross are you being asked to carry right now? Where is God inviting you to remain present, even in pain?
2. How does Julian’s life—her solitude, her struggle, her steadfast faith—mirror your own wilderness experience?
3. Who are the “voices” you turn to in difficult times? What might it mean to receive wisdom from those who have gone before you?

A Prayer for Week 4

Christ who stayed,
teach me to remain with you.
When I am tempted to rush toward resolution,
slow me down.
When I feel helpless in the face of suffering,
show me that love is still powerful.
When I feel alone,
remind me of those who have walked this road before.
Give me courage to stay at the foot of the cross—
in faith, in sorrow, in hope.
Amen.