“Cleanse Your Soul and See God’s Face” Lenten Reflections (First Friday)

“Cleanse Your Soul and See God’s Face”

Lenten Reflections (First Friday)

Jacob Mascarenhas

First Friday of Lent

“Cleanse Your Soul and See God’s Face”

Dear Readers,

The first Friday of Lent always carries something heavier in the air. There is a quiet seriousness about it. Friday already reminds us of sacrifice, of the Cross, of love poured out completely. Lent reminds us of repentance, of returning, of facing ourselves honestly. When these two meet, it is not just another devotional moment on the calendar; it becomes an invitation into something deeper, something more personal. It becomes a call to transformation.

“Cleanse your soul and see God’s face.” Those words are not merely poetic. They are both an invitation and a gentle confrontation. Because if we are honest, many of us know what it feels like to long for God and yet feel as though He is distant. There are seasons when prayer feels dry, when heaven seems silent, when we whisper, “Lord, where are You?” In those moments, it is easy to assume that God has hidden Himself. Yet sometimes the harder truth is this: it is not that God has withdrawn, but that our vision has been clouded.

Sin works quietly, almost subtly. It is less like a dramatic storm and more like dust settling over time. Imagine a mirror that is meant to reflect clearly. Day after day, particles gather on its surface. At first, the change is barely noticeable. But gradually, the image becomes distorted. You look into it and cannot quite see yourself accurately. The reflection is blurred, dimmed. In the same way, sin clouds perception. It does not simply break a rule; it reshapes how we see. Pride convinces us we are self-sufficient. Arrogance whispers that we are better than others. Resentment persuades us that our bitterness is justified. Slowly, without fanfare, the mirror of the soul gathers dust.

The tragedy is not that God stops shining. The tragedy is that we no longer perceive His light reflected within us. Lent, then, is not about inventing a new self. It is about wiping the mirror clean.

In the Gospel of Matthew (9:14–15), we hear about a question posed to Jesus regarding fasting. The disciples of John observe that they fast, as do the Pharisees, yet Jesus’ disciples do not. On the surface, it sounds like a discussion about religious discipline. But Jesus answers in a way that shifts everything from rule to relationship. He asks, “Can the wedding guests mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them?” In that single image, He reveals something intimate. He calls Himself the Bridegroom.

A bridegroom signifies joy, union, and celebration. When He is present, there is feasting. There is rejoicing. Yet He adds a solemn line: “The days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast.” There is a shadow in those words, a quiet foreshadowing of the Cross. Lent places us in that space of longing. We walk spiritually toward Calvary. We enter into the ache of absence, not because Christ is no longer risen, but because we choose to accompany Him through His Passion.

Fasting, then, is not punishment. It is desire made visible. We mourn because we love. We fast because we recognise that sin disrupts communion. We feel the distance, and we do not want it to remain.

Often, when God feels absent, the deeper issue lies within our orientation. If we turn our back to the sun, the world grows dark. The sun has not ceased to shine; we have simply turned away. When we cling to pride, humility feels uncomfortable. When we cling to lust, purity feels restrictive. When we cling to anger, forgiveness feels unfair. The heart hardens gradually. Prayer becomes mechanical. The soul grows dull. God feels far.

But Lent gently turns us back.

On this first Friday, there is a quiet whisper to examine ourselves. Not with harsh self-condemnation. Not with despair. But with truth held together by hope. In a world that thrives on noise and distraction, silence has become rare. We scroll more than we sit. We react more than we reflect. Yet the soul cannot see clearly without stillness.

Take a moment and ask yourself where pride has crept into your words. Where impatience has strained your relationships. Where comfort has been chosen over courage. Where prayer has been avoided because conviction felt uncomfortable. This is not about dwelling in guilt. It is about allowing the Holy Spirit to illuminate hidden corners so that healing can begin.

Jesus speaks of mourning. Mourning is deeper than regret. Regret says, “I wish that had not happened.” Mourning says, “This wounds my heart because it wounds the heart of the One I love.” There is a holy sorrow that does not crush us but frees us. When repentance flows from love rather than fear, something softens within. Tears become cleansing waters. The dust begins to lift from the mirror.

Fasting supports that cleansing. It is often misunderstood, reduced to a diet or a display of willpower. But its purpose is interior. When we deny ourselves something voluntarily, whether food, entertainment, or habitual comforts, we are retraining the heart. We are reminding ourselves that our desires do not rule us. We are creating space. Space for prayer. Space for Scripture. Space for listening.

In that space, we begin to see more clearly.

Our relationships often reveal the condition of our souls. The way we speak to others, the grudges we hold, the apologies we avoid, all of these reflect something within. Each person we encounter carries the image of God. When we dishonour them, we obscure that image in ourselves as well. Sometimes cleansing the soul begins with a simple act: reaching out to say, “I’m sorry,” or choosing to forgive without being asked. Reconciliation clears vision.

Christianity is not merely moral self-improvement. It is a relationship with the Bridegroom. He longs for closeness. He longs for communion. Lent heightens that longing within us. We do not rush to Easter prematurely. We walk through the valley. We allow absence to intensify desire. And purified desire becomes devotion.

As the soul is cleansed, transformation unfolds quietly. Peace begins to replace anxiety. Patience softens irritability. Compassion gently overtakes judgment. Courage slowly displaces fear. Others may notice something different, a steadiness, a gentleness, a light. That is not self-generated virtue; it is grace reflected through a clearer mirror.

If today you feel distant from God, take heart. The very longing you feel is already grace at work. The awareness of absence is often the first step toward return. God has not abandoned you. The dust can be wiped away. The mirror can be restored. His face can be seen again.

Lent is not about despair; it is about hope born through honesty. As we fast and reflect on this first Friday, let us not rush past the discomfort. Let us allow mourning to soften us, silence to clarify us, humility to cleanse us. And slowly, gently, light returns.

When the mirror is clear, we discover something beautiful. We were never meant only to see God’s face. We were meant to reflect it. Cleanse your soul, and you will see His face shining not from a distance, but from within.

God Bless Us All…

Jacob Mascarenhas