There is a point in any long effort when enthusiasm is no longer what carries you. 

The beginning of something often comes with energy—new ideas, new commitments, new plans. But somewhere along the road the excitement fades, and something else has to take its place. That something is endurance. 

Lent arrives at that moment in its fifth week. 

We have already moved through worn-thin places. We have acknowledged the tears. We have gathered the edges and begun the patient work of stitching. Now we arrive at the part where faith is less about insight and more about staying power. 

This week’s Gospel shows Jesus kneeling to wash the disciples’ feet. (Yes, for liturgical purists, this is early—and we will revisit it on Maundy Thursday.) It is a moment of humility and care, but it happens at a very particular time. Jesus knows what lies ahead. He knows the cross is coming. And before that moment arrives, he does something simple and grounding: 

He serves. 

The writer of Hebrews describes the life of faith in similar terms: “Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us.” I’ve always appreciated the realism of that image. The race is not one we designed for ourselves. It is the one set before us. And perseverance is not about sprinting—it is about steady movement over distance. 

Most of the things that shape our lives work this way. 

Morning routine. 

Daily prayers. 

Showing up for work. 

Cooking meals. 

Relating with people throughout the day. 

None of these things are spectacular. But over time they create a kind of strength that cannot be manufactured in a moment of crisis. The same is true in the life of the church. 

In the Wesleyan tradition we talk about the means of grace: prayer, Scripture, worship, Communion, acts of mercy, Christian conversation. These practices are not dramatic. They are disciplines—steady habits that strengthen us over time. 

These are the things that give us strength for the strain. 

Because strain will come. 

Life stretches us in ways we cannot predict. Relationships grow complicated. Work becomes demanding. The world itself feels unsettled at times. In those moments the easiest path is often withdrawal—or cynicism. 

But Lent reminds us that endurance is possible. Not because we are endlessly strong, but because we are sustained by practices that keep drawing us back into the presence of God and the care of community. 

For the last 10 months I have been having a long morning walk  nearly everyday. One of the quiet gifts of walking regularly—something I have come to appreciate more and more—is how it teaches patience. You do not conquer six miles by thinking about mile six. You just take the next step. And then the next one. And eventually you look back and realize you have traveled farther than you expected. 

The life of faith works the same way. 

You pray today. 

You show kindness today. 

You return to worship this week. 

You listen when someone needs you. 

Step by step. 

Jesus knew the strain that lay ahead of him. Yet before facing it, he knelt down and washed feet. That moment tells us something important about strength. True strength is not found in domination or spectacle. It is found in humility, service, and perseverance. 

As Lent moves toward its final weeks, the road begins to narrow. Holy Week is approaching. But before we arrive there, we pause to remember something simple and grounding: 

Faith is sustained through steady practice. 

We do not have to sprint. W

e do not know have to know all of the details that may or may not unfold. 

We simply keep walking – keep living with integrity – keep doing that only thing you can do and that is what YOU CAN do. And by the grace of God, that is enough to carry us forward. 

Grace and Peace, 

Pastor M@