Is it easy or hard to stay consciously engaged with God as you go through your day? 

I bet nearly all of us would say it’s hard. Very hard. 

Out of sight, out of mind, the saying goes. And Christ, our Invisible Friend, is in one sense always out of sight.

But this quirk of human nature has an upside: whatever is in sight is usually top of mind. Our lives are shaped by whatever our minds consciously or unconsciously focus on, by where we place our attention. We become like what we attend to.

So how do we attend to invisible realities? 

In the same way we attend to visible ones: we use our bodies.

Instead of wishing we weren’t so tethered to our senses, think of them as God’s gifts. God designed us with bodies, after all. So surely there is a way to commission our organs of perception to cooperate with God and work for us rather than against us. 

Great disciples through the ages model the way. And above all, Jesus models it. Still dripping wet from his baptism — a feast for the senses where God’s voice boomed like thunder and the Spirit visibly descended like a dove — he struck out into a wilderness of sights, sounds, textures and temperatures that prepared him for ministry.

He fasted forty days, taking advantage of one of the body’s primary signal systems — hunger — to cement total dependence on the Father and to practice obeying in extreme discomfort. He was stronger, not weaker when temptation showed up. Hyper-aware of God’s protective presence, discernment sharpened by absence of distractions, he decimated Satan’s attempts to divert his purpose.

Ascetic practices aren’t body-hating exercises. They are experiments in spiritual resistance training, an imitation of Christ’s calisthenics. In Lent, we enter a gym where our bodies are counterweights for training our attention and strengthening our dependence on God. By God’s grace, we emerge from the desert-gym of Lent awake and alive.

Whether you use traditional Lenten practices or something God sparks in your own imagination, this is a season to embrace your body as your ally in discipleship. 

Maybe you put ashes on your head and remember your mortality and immortality and utter need for the cross of Christ.

Maybe you fast or change your eating routine to let your stomach’s alarm bell call you to conversation with God.

Maybe you turn off noise, news, and podcasts. Or maybe you put something in your ears — like audio-devotions from Dwell or Lectio365 — to disrupt the self-centered internal monologue.

A friend of mine writes the letter P (for pray) on her hand every day during Lent. ​“Writing and rewriting builds determination,” she says. ​“Whenever I see it, I pray. For whatever is happening in the moment, for whatever I need, for whoever I’m with.”

If you are wondering what soul-training exercise Jesus might call you to this season, the Gospels are an excellent place for clues. And once you’ve caught a glimmer of direction, don’t hesitate to act. To paraphrase our Lord, understanding these things is essential, but the real blessing comes as you put them into practice.