Somebody recently asked me a version of this question. They were gracious about it, but the concern was real: “Why are we doing Ash Wednesday? Why Lent? Why Stations of the Cross? This all feels a little too… Catholic.”
I’m glad they asked. Because it gave me a chance to paint a bigger picture.
And I want to be honest about something before we go any further. I know that for some of you, this isn’t just a theological question. It’s personal. Some of you grew up Catholic. Some of you left that tradition carrying real pain. Hearing words like “Lent” or seeing ashes on a forehead can stir up things that go deeper than just personal preference. I see that.
I want to say clearly at the outset that I believe there are people who attend Catholic Mass who are true Christians, just as I believe there are people who attend Protestant churches who are true Christians. At the same time, I believe there are people who attend Catholic churches who are not Christians and people who attend Protestant churches who are not Christians. I have no idea what those percentages are, and I’m thankful to God, it’s not up to me to decide who’s in and who’s out!
With that being said, I also want to gently suggest that the story behind these practices in the weeks leading up to Easter is bigger than any one tradition. And it might be worth exploring.
These Aren’t Exclusively Catholic Practices. They’re Christian Ones.
The split between Protestants and Catholics happened in the 1500s. Which means, for the first fifteen centuries of the faith, there was one church. And during those fifteen centuries, Christians developed rhythms and practices for following Jesus together. Lent, Ash Wednesday, the Stations of the Cross; all of these grew up in that shared soil, long before anyone had heard the word “Protestant.”
Lent is one of the oldest traditions in the Christian faith. By the 300s, believers were already setting aside the forty days before Easter for reflection, repentance, and preparation. The number mirrors Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness, where he faced temptation and anchored himself in the Father before his public ministry began. Lent has always been an invitation to do the same thing: slow down, get honest with God, and prepare your heart for the resurrection.
Ash Wednesday grew out of Lent as its opening moment. By the 500s, Christians were gathering to receive ashes as a physical act of humility before God. This practice comes straight from Scripture. Daniel covered himself in ashes when he prayed for his people. Job sat in ashes when he encountered God’s majesty. Jeremiah and Mordecai did the same. Ashes were the ancient way of saying, “God, I need your mercy.” When we place ashes on our foreheads, we’re stepping into that same prayer.
The Stations of the Cross started when early believers would travel to Jerusalem to physically walk the path Jesus walked on his way to the cross. As the church spread across the world and most people couldn’t make that trip anymore, so local churches began recreating the journey in their own spaces. It was a way of meditating on what Jesus endured for us, step by step, station by station.
Catholics preserved these practices. Many Protestant churches let them go. But they don’t belong to one side of the family. They belong to the whole family of Christianity.
Related Video Lesson: Is there a difference between Catholics and Christians?
So Why Now?
We’re not borrowing from another tradition for the sake of novelty. This comes from something we’ve been learning and pursuing at Grace for a while now: spiritual formation.
Here’s what I mean. Most of us grew up in churches that were strong on information. You came on Sunday, you heard a sermon, you learned something about God. All of these things are important. But formation is different from information. Formation is about building rhythms into your life that shape you over time. It’s the difference between hearing about prayer and actually developing a practice of prayer. It’s the difference between knowing that Jesus suffered for you and spending some time stepping into that suffering, letting that reality settle into your bones.
These ancient practices have survived for centuries because they slow us down. They pull us out of our heads and into an embodied experience of faith. They connect us to something older and larger than our own preferences.
We’re not trying to add religion to your life. We’re trying to offer you tools that Christians have used for two thousand years to pay attention to God.
Something We Didn’t See Coming
There’s another piece to this. Whenever we reintroduce some of these embodied practices, we notice that younger people in our church respond immediately. This makes sense when you think about it. Gen Z has grown up in a world that feels formless. Everything moves. Everything changes. Algorithms decide what you see next. The ground never stops shifting. And into that chaos, these ancient practices offer something sturdy. A rhythm. A structure. A way of connecting to a faith that has been here for two thousand years and will be here long after the next cultural trend passes.
Younger generations are drawn to these kinds of liturgies because they’re hungry for roots. They want to belong to something with history and weight. They want their faith to feel like more than a Sunday morning event. They’re curious to tap into the same Christ-centered rhythms that carried believers through the fall of Rome, through plagues, through wars, through every season of uncertainty the church has ever faced.
We didn’t start doing this for Gen Z, but we’d be foolish to ignore that it’s resonating with the very generation we’re trying to reach.
What We’re Really Doing
We’re not becoming Catholic. We have deep respect for our Catholic brothers and sisters, and the ways they’ve faithfully preserved many of these traditions. But our aim isn’t to adopt their identity. Our aim is to go back further than the Reformation, into the shared roots of the faith, and reclaim practices that help people encounter Jesus.
Some of these practices may feel unfamiliar. That’s okay. Unfamiliar doesn’t mean wrong. Sometimes the things that feel strange at first become the things that shape us most deeply.
If any of this raises questions for you, feel free to talk to one of our pastors. That’s how a healthy church works. We talk. We learn together. We extend grace to each other when our experiences and preferences don’t perfectly align. And we keep Jesus at the center of all of it.
That’s all we’re doing here. We’re keeping Jesus at the center, and we’re using good tools the church has given us to help people find him.
