S2 Ep.2 Give Up? Nah...Give Out!

What if Lent isn’t about subtracting pleasures but adding presence? We open our hearts to a gentler, braver path into the season by sitting with Matthew 25 and its plain, searching vision of faithfulness: feeding, welcoming, clothing, visiting. No grand gestures. No spiritual scorekeeping. Just the slow courage to notice and to stay. Along the way, we name how distraction, hurry, and self-monitoring can warp Lent into anxiety, and how love interrupts our pace long before it touches our wallet.

We trace the subtle but vital movement from private piety to public love, recognizing that Jesus praises not perfected rituals but ordinary attention offered to the least of these. There’s a freedom here: this is fruit, not currency—evidence that the kingdom has taken root, not payment for admission. We don’t have to fix everything. We are called to be faithful somewhere. One conversation, one meal, one visit, one interruption. And we tell the truth that serving won’t always feel meaningful; love is measured not by our sensations but by whether it stays when it’s awkward, tiring, or inconvenient.

Lent can become a school for sight. Formation happens through repetition: practice noticing threats and you become anxious, notice inconvenience and you grow irritable, notice need and compassion takes shape. Christ does not hide in riddles; he places himself in ordinary vulnerability right in front of us—at home, at work, in our neighborhoods. So we offer a simple practice for the week: intentionally notice one person you usually rush past and offer something small—time, listening, encouragement, patience, help. Not to earn, but to learn to see. If this reframing resonates, subscribe, share with a friend who’s rethinking Lent, and leave a review with one small act of love you plan to practice this week.

Scripture:

Matthew 25:31-40

Let's Get Into It!!

Transcript

Matthew 25 Read Aloud

Ordinary Acts Of Compassion

Distraction Versus Seeing

Love Interrupts Our Pace

From Private Piety To Public Love

The Least Of These And Presence

Fruit Not Currency

Faithful Somewhere, Not Everywhere

Speaker 0:08

Hello friends, welcome back to Ancient Truth for the Modern Heart. I'm Steve Pozzato, and as always, I am glad and grateful that you are here to spend this time with me. Over the next couple of weeks, I'd like to talk about turning our hearts toward Lent. I don't want us to rush into it, and I don't want to brace ourselves for it, but perhaps there is a way we can prepare for it. I think the way we enter a season matters. And for me, Lent has never really been about giving things up. It seems more likely that it's about giving ourselves out to me. You see, I often wonder what it is about this season that makes us think that now is the time that we should give up those things that don't serve Christ or serve ourselves. Why were we doing them in the first place if that's the case? I'm guilty of these things too. I drink the coffee and eat the chocolate and, you know, all those other popular things that we tend to give up. But I wonder if it's more about giving ourselves out in a way that does serve Christ. Is it greater to give up the one or two things for these forty days and then just go back to doing it again? Or does it make sense to build in us habits of doing things that serve Christ and serve one another? Maybe that means giving ourselves more fully into the life of Christ, or giving ourselves more openly for the sake of others. Maybe it means giving our time, our attention, our compassion and our love. See, I don't believe that Jesus died so that we would spend forty days mourning our faith in guilt. Guilt for a debt paid by the Son of Man. I don't believe Jesus went to the cross so that our primary spiritual posture would be one of self-punishment. He loved us. And as we love each other, we don't want punishment to be our postures. I believe Jesus gave himself so that we could learn how to give ourselves. And so today, as we prepare for Lent, I'd like to read you a passage where Jesus tells us very plainly what faithfulness actually looks like. So let's listen together to Matthew 25, verses 31 to 40. When the Son of Man comes into his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave me food. I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me. I was naked and you gave me clothing. I was sick and you took care of me. I was in prison, and you visited me. Then the righteous will answer him Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you? And the king will answer them, Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me. To me, this is one of the most searching passages in all of Scripture, and it is also one of the most gentle. Jesus does not begin by listing sins, he does not begin by listing failures, he begins by naming moments of care, moments of attention, moments of quiet, ordinary compassion, hungry, thirsty, stranger, naked, sick in prison. There's nothing heroic here. There are no dramatic spiritual achievements aside from that which people are able to do of God for God's children. There are only people who noticed. And what strikes me every time I read this passage is how surprised everyone seems to be. The people welcomed into the kingdom do not realize that they have done anything extraordinary. They don't say, Yes, Lord, we were very faithful. They say, When did we see you? When did we see you hungry? When did we see you thirsty? When did we see you a stranger? When did we see you sick? They were not keeping spiritual score. Perhaps they were simply living with open eyes. So let me be honest for a moment. Most of us don't fail to love our neighbor because we are cruel. Sometimes we simply don't do it because we're distracted. We are tired, or we're late, or we're preoccupied, and we're already mentally somewhere else, and that's not to make us feel guilty. That is life. Those are human things. It's not so much that we miss it, but that it was always there. And I think that matters. Jesus doesn't say you ignored me. He says you did not see me. And that's a different issue. It's one many good-hearted people carry quietly. We scroll past need and we rush past loneliness. Sometimes we avoid situations that might slow us down because we're human. Not because we don't care. Because our lives are packed tight, yours and mine included. If only I practiced what I preach more often. And Lent, if we let it, can interrupt that pace. Not to burden us, but to slow us up just enough to notice who is standing right in front of us. Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is simply to stop rushing. I think part of our struggle with compassion today is that our culture trains us to move quickly past anything that feels uncomfortable or complicated, or that will add to the pile of things we already need to do in the hours that we are waking. But I want you to think about love for a moment, too. Love almost always interrupts us, it rearranges our schedules, and most times we welcome that. It unsettles our plans and it costs us attention before it ever costs us money or food or clothing or a visit. I think that's important for how we think about Lent. So many of us were taught very well intentionally that Lent is about discipline, and discipline does matter. But somewhere along the way, discipline quietly turned into self-monitoring. And self-monitoring turned into spiritual anxiety. We started asking questions like, Am I doing enough? Am I giving up the right thing? Am I observing the season correctly? And slowly, without noticing, Lent became something that we performed. But listen to Jesus. He doesn't say when you fasted correctly. He says, when you fed, when you welcomed, when you visited, when you clothed. That's not private spirituality, this is public love. And I think one of the quiet tragedies of modern faith is that we have become very skilled at our own inward religion. Notice I said religion, not faith. We are good at working on ourselves, and we are good at reflecting on ourselves, and we are good at managing our personal spiritual practices, but Jesus keeps turning us outward. And that's not because inward growth doesn't matter, but it's because inward growth that never becomes outward love might be missing its purpose. And I want to say something that might feel uncomfortable, especially for church people, but we can be very faithful and still be very insulated. We can attend worship regularly, we can read scripture, we can pray, we can listen to podcasts like this one, and still build a life that rarely puts us in contact with real vulnerability, with real need, with real difference and real disruption. Sometimes our spiritual lives become very safe. Sometimes they become very controlled or very curated, even. But Jesus keeps leading his followers into unscripted moments, unplanned conversations, uncomfortable proximity. And that is not a failure of spirituality. That is often where it becomes real. It is much easier to reflect on love than it is to practice love. It is much easier to admire compassion than it is to offer it when it feels inconvenient. But the kingdom of God is not built in our reflections, it is built in our relationships. And there's another detail in this passage that I don't want you to miss. Jesus does not say when you did these things for people who deserved it. He says, When you did it for the least. Because every time we help, we change their life, and in doing so, they and we become one whole person stronger. That is how we change the world, my friends. And in Matthew 25, then comes a line that changes everything from our reading. As you did it to the least of these, you did it to me. Just take a minute and let it sink in. He does not say they reminded me of you. He does not say you honored me by helping them. He says, You helped me. Lent is not a season of distancing ourselves from the world. It is a season of recognizing Christ already present within it. And that is a very different posture. And I want to speak gently here because I know how many sincere believers carry quiet guilt around Lent. I have felt this as well. We hear calls to fasting and to prayer and self-denial, and all of that has deep roots in Christian tradition for a very long time. But sometimes that tone becomes heavy, as if joy itself were suspicious, as if delight were something that we must apologize for, as if God were most pleased when we were the most uncomfortable. That doesn't sound like love to me. That sounds like guilt. And my friends, guilt are not the bricks that we ought to carry to build ourselves a home. Listen to what Jesus praises. Not suffering, not austerity, not withdrawal, but love that shows up. Love that notices. Love that stays. And this passage also protects us from something else. It protects us from turning compassion into projects. Because what is being praised here is not a program, it is a posture. It's not an initiative, it is attentiveness. Notice again how small the acts are: food, drink, welcome, clothing, presence. Most of us imagine that serving Christ must be large and organized and impressive, but Jesus seems deeply interested in the scale of ordinary life, in kitchens and in conversations, in waiting rooms and in doorways and in small interruptions. This is one of the reasons I say Lent is a time to give out, not to give up. Because the danger of focusing only on what we remove from our lives is that we may never ask what we are meant to add. What relationships are we being invited into? What burdens are we being invited to help carry? Who is being placed in front of us, not as a project, but as a neighbor? And let me say something very clearly. The passage we've heard today is not about earning salvation. Jesus is not giving us a checklist to get into heaven. He is showing us what life looks like when the kingdom of God has taken root in a person. This is fruit, not currency. This is evidence of transformation, not payment. And so let me push on this just a little because I think we need to be honest with ourselves in this time. Sometimes we resist passages like this because they feel demanding. We worry that if we take them seriously, we will be overwhelmed. That we will never do enough, that we will never fix enough, that we will never serve enough. But Jesus never asks us to be the solution to everything. He asks us to be faithful somewhere. And that's a huge difference. And I think one of the quiet lies we carry is that if we cannot do much, then we should just do nothing. If we cannot fix the system, we don't bother with the person. If we cannot solve the problem, then we just avoid the pain. But Jesus consistently works on a human scale. One conversation, one meal, one visit, one moment of presence, one interruption. You are not responsible for the whole world. But you are responsible for the part of the world you actually touch. That is where love becomes real. And here is something else we don't often say out loud: serving others will not always seem or feel fulfilling. It might not even always feel meaningful. It might not always confirm our sense of usefulness. Sometimes it'll simply feel awkward or tiring or inconvenient or emotionally messing, but love is not validated by how it makes us feel. I'll say that again. Love is not validated by how it makes us feel. It is validated by whether it remains present. And if I'm honest, this is one of the reasons I believe Lent should be about giving out instead of giving up. Because giving up something that inconveniences me is pretty easy. Right? If you want to grow your hair long, you simply just don't cut it. That's easy. Giving myself to someone else is not. Especially when I am tied into myself. And here is another quiet grace in this story. The righteous are not aware that they are righteous. That may be one of the most hopeful lines in the entire gospel. They are not congratulating themselves on being righteous. They are not aware even of their own goodness, of the things they have done. They're simply living in a way that has become natural to them. And I think that speaks of all of us. We all want to do good. And in so many ways, we are already doing it. And you don't have to see yourself as righteous when it happens. That tells us something very important about formation: that love, while it is innate and given to us and inside us, it is also learned. Attention is practiced. Compassion becomes instinct through repetition. So if you are preparing for Lent, the question is not only what will I stop doing? It is also what kind of person am I becoming? What habits of attention am I forming? What reflexes of compassion am I strengthening? I often think we underestimate how deeply our lives are shaped by what we regularly notice. If we practice noticing inconvenience, we become irritated people. If we practice noticing threats, we become anxious people. If we practice noticing need, we become compassionate people. And so in this way, Lent can train our eyes, and there's something else very beautiful there. Jesus does not require us to find him. We do not have to search the world for hidden Christ figures. He places himself directly in front of us, in the ordinary vulnerability of other people. This means you do not need to go anywhere special in order to serve Christ this Lent. You do not need to wait for a mission trip. You do not need to wait for a church program, and you do not need to wait for permission. The place where you already live is enough. You serve. You care. You give. And sometimes when we hear passages like this, it can feel like one more demand. So hear this carefully. Jesus is not inviting us into burnout. He is inviting us into shared life. Notice how relational every example is. This is not about solving all the world's problems. It is about being present where you are able. Faithfulness is not measured by capacity, it's measured by love. And this is where I believe Lent becomes not heavier but lighter. Because we stop asking ourselves to become heroic and instead allow ourselves to become available, attentive, present. So as we prepare for this season, I want to offer you a very simple invitation for this coming week. Not a challenge, not a checklist, just an experiment in attention. Sometime this week, intentionally notice one person you usually rush past. Not the person who feels easy, not the person who already feels familiar, but the person you normally don't quite have some time for. I'm going to do this too. And ask a quiet question in your own heart. Where might Christ be meeting me here? Maybe not dramatically or not symbolically, but relationally. And then, if you are able, offer something small. Time. Listening, encouragement, patience, help. Not because you're trying to earn something, but because you are practicing seeing. It is meant to stretch our attention outward. It is meant to train us in the self-giving life of Jesus Christ. As we close today, I want to pray for us. Would you join me in that prayer? Gracious God, open our eyes to the places where your Son is already waiting for us. Teach us to recognize Christ not only in prayer and scripture, but in the fragile and ordinary lives around us. As we prepare to walk through Lent, shape us into people whose faith is visible in love, whose devotion is practiced in compassion, and whose hope is carried into the lives of others. Be with us now and in all of our days. In love. Amen. My friends, thank you once again for spending this time with me today. Next week we'll be continuing to prepare our hearts for Lent by listening to one of Scripture's clearest and most challenging visions of what God actually means by fasting. But until then, my friends, be kind to yourselves. Love those around you. May you notice Christ in the smallest of places, and may you find Him in the largest of hearts. Go now with joy in your steps. Go with hope on your lips and carry love with you everywhere. Because, my friends, wherever you carry love, you go in peace. Be well. And until next time, farewell.