Midweek Musing- 3/4/26

When I was growing up, I heard from many people the unofficial creed of “real men.” And while I believe it is false, it was the predominant belief of the time.

Real men didn’t cry.Didn’t hurt.Didn’t need help.

“Men” were supposed to be John Wayne and Rambo rolled into one with quiet grit, clenched jaw, and a heroic ability to walk it off no matter what “it” was. If you were hurting, you didn’t say it. If you were afraid, you certainly didn’t show it. If you were overwhelmed, you sucked it up.

This is less overt today. Most don’t say those lines aloud anymore. But the pressure to be hard, tough, and unshakable is still alive and well, and it is not just a men’s issue. It is an American issue. A human issue. Across genders, generations, and personalities, we are often taught by culture, by family systems, by workplaces, by social media to show a version of ourselves that is always composed, capable, and in control.

But Lent has a way of ruining that façade.

Lent is forty days of God leading us into the wilderness where our façade doesn’t work. There our carefully crafted images start to crack around the edges.

Lent is the season that asks us, “What yoke are you carrying that you pretend doesn’t weigh anything?”

In Exodus 17, the Israelites are in the wilderness. They have followed God out of Egypt and slavery. And now they’re thirsty. Not metaphorically thirsty but literally parched. They are not concerned about religion. They’re in survival mode.

And this leads to a quarrel with Moses.

They say, “You brought us out here, so you need to give us water to drink.”

Moses is exhausted. He’s not just leading these people like a tour guide; he is also trying to shepherd a people who are beyond panicked.

He cries out to God, “What shall I do with these people? They are almost ready to stone me.”

And God tells Moses to take elders as witnesses, to take the staff, and to go to a rock at Horeb.

And here comes the part we tend to either sanitize or rush past: God says, “Strike the rock, and water will come out of it.”

Strike the rock.

Water flows from what is hard.

Now, most of the time, we read that as a miracle story about God’s provision. And it is. God provides life where there is scarcity and sustains the people.

But recently I was challenged to look at biblical stories in other ways. One of them asks you and I to turn the camera around and point it at ourselves.

So, what if we are the rock?

What if the rock is not only something out there, in the desert, waiting to be struck? What if it is also something inside us that has been hardened over time?

Because if we’re honest, many of us have hardened over time.

We harden to survive and to protect ourselves.

And the more we do it, the more normal our hardened lives feel.

We did this as a temporary coping strategy to help us hold together. But over time, what once protected us began to imprison us.

Now, a rock doesn’t become a rock overnight. It becomes a rock through pressure and time.

In the same way, we become hardened slowly, almost imperceptibly. And this hardening shows up as living in isolation, , embracing self-sufficiency, and choose things over people.

And this is the tragedy: you can be hard and still be thirsty.

You can seem strong on the outside and still be parched inside.

This is where one of my favorite authors, Brené Brown, is so helpful. Brown has spent years researching vulnerability and our fear of it, that makes us harden our lives.

Brown encourages us to be vulnerable saying, “vulnerability is the courage to be seen when we can’t control the outcome.”

She sees vulnerability not as a weakness but as essential to connection.

She points out that we often protect ourselves from pain by numbing. But our numbing doesn’t selectively numb. When we shut down pain, we also shut down joy, love, empathy, and belonging. The wall we build for “safety” also keeps out the living water of relationships.

Think about that for a moment.

A hardened heart might avoid heartbreak, but it also avoids intimacy.A hardened spirit might avoid disappointment, but it also avoids wonder.A hardened self might avoid being judged, but it also avoids being known.

But friends, the biblical story does not teach us to be tougher.

Instead, Jesus says, “to come to him with all your worries and burdens and you will be given rest.”

The Greek word translated as rest does not mean a nap or break but relief from carrying burdens along with restoration.

The irony is many of the things we think will secure our lives actually harden us further. And these beliefs are also counter to the gospel.

For example, self-sufficiency says, “I don’t need anyone.”But the gospel says, “You belong to one another.”

And greed says, “If I have enough, I’ll be okay.”But the gospel says, “Life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.”

And the lies of the world over God’s call could go on.

Lent though is the season where we practice letting those lies go.

And here is the good news, when we let them go and let God break in, we also allow love to flow in and through us.

So, here are a few of the questions we are left with…

Where have I hardened?

Where have I been more controlling than compassionate?

Where have I been more self-sufficient than connected?

Where have I substituted more stuff for deep assurance?

In other words where have I avoided being vulnerable?

Because I believe part of Lent is allowing God to meet our thirst honestly.

And that happens when we declare things like:

“I cannot do this alone.”“I am not in control.”“I am hurting.”“I need God.”“I need others.”

And those vulnerable words might just be the ones we need to strike the rock and drink deeply living water.

Friends, as we all move through Lent, perhaps we can work to give up our hardness.

And instead, practice openness and vulnerability.

And thus, move towards relationships where we both love and are loved just as we are.

And if you don’t know where to start, start with this prayer I came across by an unknown author.

“God, don’t let me stay sealed shut.Break what must be broken so love can flow.Strike the rock of my defensiveness.Crack open my need to control.Loosen my grip on the things I use to feel safe.And in the places where I am dry,let your living water rise—not only for me,but through me,for a thirsty world.Amen.”

In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Alleluia Amen.