In Lent, we grow by dying

By Fr Robert Christo

Vicar for Communications

Awaiting my turn to open Dimanche Gras 2025 at the Grand Stand, a strange thing happened. A security officer rushed over to me: “Are you Anthony Pantin?”

I stuttered, caught off guard. Fond memories of our beloved Archbishop flooded my mind, especially as we mark his 25th anniversary this year. With a lump in my throat, I quipped, “Boi, he died decades ago!” The officer, looking embarrassed, traipsed off stage.

As I put back on my space helmet—yes, it’s Carnival and creativity is at its  peak—my mind kept racing. And so, I pen this Lenten reflection with that memory.

Archbishop Pantin, in his wisdom and humour, once recalled that in the old days, schoolboys would “cut Lent” by linking pinky fingers and then striking them apart–symbolising breaking the season’s discipline. But in truth, Lent isn’t something to cut, it’s something to enter. It’s a road through the wilderness, one that leads us closer to the heart of God.

From bacchanal to barefoot repentance

We Trinbagonians love a good bacchanal. But come Ash Wednesday, for the dwindling few, the nation tries to cool down. From the last lap sounds on Carnival Tuesday to the hushed, solemn “Father, I have sinned” whispered in churches the next morning, it’s as if the country itself takes a deep breath.

Ash Wednesday marks a shift—a 40-day shape-up plan for the soul. The ashes smeared on our foreheads? They whisper a sobering truth: “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Ashes, however, do not absolve sin. From ancient times, they have symbolised repentance. In the Old Testament, people covered themselves in sackcloth and ashes as a sign of sorrow.

Today, the Church continues this tradition, calling us to face our frailty, our mortality,  recognise that life is short, and start again with a clean heart.

But in true Trinbagonian style, we have our own way of approaching Lent, blending the sacred with the familiar.

From fete to fast

Lent is no random season. It’s a time of deep spiritual training, modelled after Jesus’ 40 days in the desert. But let’s be real, 40 days without something we love? That’s a serious test.

Sacrifice isn’t about deprivation for its own sake; it’s about making room for something greater. That’s why fasting, almsgiving, and prayer—our Lenten triple-threat pyramid—are so important.

Fasting isn’t just about skipping meat on Fridays or cutting back on food. Think of it like a panyard before Panorama: too much clutter and confusion, and d band eh ready. But cut out the excess, tighten the arrangement, and suddenly the orchestra shines. That’s fasting—it tunes the soul so we can hear God’s rhythm clearer.

Prayer? That’s when we stop talking so much and listen. Like a fisherman out in the Mazzie waters before dawn, sometimes we just have to wait in the silence to hear God’s voice ripple through the sea.

Almsgiving is another key piece. We can’t say we fasting from one thing and then ignoring those struggling around us. Lent calls us to be like the sou-sou tantie—always looking out for who needs a little help, sharing what we have, trusting that in the giving, we too are enriched.

Growing by dying

This is where it gets real. Lent is not about looking holy while secretly counting down to Easter Sunday, waiting for the all-inclusive on Easter Monday. It’s about letting go–dying to self and all distractions in the desert so that something new can live in us.

We all have some part of us that needs to go: pride, selfishness, lust, corruption, bad worship, greed, gossip, unforgiveness. Sometimes it feels like peeling green fig–stubborn and sticky, but necessary if we want something good to come from it.

The great paradox of Lent is that by letting go, by dying to the old ways, we actually grow into something new.

So, as we continue into these days of Lent, let’s not treat it like a temporary detox before going back to the same old ways. Instead, let’s see it for what it is—a journey towards Resurrection.

Maybe this year, we may or may not ‘cut Lent’ but let us embrace it with a special companion–Christ Himself. Because in Lent, as in life, the only way to truly live… is to die to self.