Reflecting On The The Slow Bloom of Lenten Fruits

Tuesday, 7 April 2026.

For most of this Lenten season, I’ll be honest: it felt quiet. Almost too quiet.

I did the digital pruning, attempted to instill the no shopping discipline (with one expensive designer sized bump in the road), and leaned into the silence. But as the weeks ticked by, I didn’t feel any grand spiritual epiphany the way I have in previous years. I didn’t feel very different as the weeks passed. I began to wonder if I had done Lent “right” and if the fruits of my sacrifices were even going to show up.

But then came the Triduum.

There’s something about those three days, from the hushed shadowy anticipation of Holy Thursday to the stark silence of Holy Saturday, that finally moved the stone. In the quiet of the three day long liturgy that spans the Mass of the Last Supper to the Saturday Vigil, the fruits of the previous forty days finally began to be revealed.

The emptying I’d been practicing wasn’t about deprivation for the sake of it; it was about making room. All that pruning of the digital hedge and analog moments had created a space in my heart that I hadn’t even realised was there.

And by the time the Gloria rang out with all bells blazing on Easter Saturday night, I felt my heart burst into joyful bloom.

Easter Sunday was, in a word, joyful. Celebration, music, karaoke, champagne, and so much love. Surrounded by family, an abundant table, and the love of the risen Lord, I realised that the quiet of Lent was exactly what I needed in order to hear the music of Easter.

As I sit here today the house is still a little messy, the Easter decorations have been packed away, and the chocolate eggs are slowly disappearing. But my heart feels so incredibly peaceful.

We often forget that Easter isn’t just a day; it’s a whole season culminating in Pentecost, a full fifty days of celebration.

I’m entering this next liturgical season feeling lighter. The sojourner in me isn’t rushing toward the next big thing, rather I’m dwelling here in the light of the empty tomb. I’m carrying with me the lesson that new life often starts in the dark, and that the best miracles take time to unwrap.

The fruits are here, and they were well and truly worth the wait.