Although perhaps less common today, Lent has long been associated with giving things up and denying ourselves. Such self‑denial has been practiced either as reparation for sin or as a way of strengthening our weakened wills, freeing them from enslavement to inordinate desire and the pursuit of pleasure. And when Saint Benedict says that the whole of a monk’s life should be a Lent, we can easily conclude that the Christian life is essentially one long season of doing without—grim, joyless, and puritanical. Many contemporary critics of Christianity see it precisely in this way.
From that perspective, Jesus’ claim that he has not come to steal and destroy seems dubious. One might argue that he is the thief who takes from us what we hold dear, while the “thieves” he condemns—agents of the devil—appear to give more than they take, encouraging indulgence in pleasures and worldly consolations. By contrast, the lives of many saints seem marked by deprivation, suffering, and little of what the world calls comfort. And perhaps there have been moments in our own journey when monastic life has felt more like loss than gain, leaving us to wonder whether we made a foolish mistake in embracing this self‑denying path.
So what are we to make of Jesus’ bold promise that he came so that we might have life, and have it more abundantly? What is this abundance that seems to require letting go of so much? Jesus does not present it as a distant reward in the next life, but as a reality to be entered into now. Saint Paul bears witness to this when he says, I have accepted the loss of all things…that I may gain Christ. Saint Francis, too, found overflowing joy in stripping himself of all possessions and embracing radical poverty. These were not men stoically enduring present deprivation for future happiness; they were already tasting the abundance Christ promised. Why, then, is such loss the doorway to abundance?
Because self‑denial helps us unlearn the illusion that more things will quiet the restlessness of our hearts. Wealth and pleasure can accompany happiness, but they cannot guarantee it. The human heart was made for God and finds peace only in him. Yet in our sinful condition, our hearts—meant to be empty and open to God—are cluttered with attachments we use to numb our deepest longing. The Christian call to self‑denial is therefore a call to clear away whatever blocks the inflow of divine life, which is the true abundance Christ offers.
A simple analogy may help. During wartime, Europeans deprived of real coffee made do with ersatz substitutes—poor imitations that could never satisfy a true coffee drinker. The things we cling to for peace and happiness are like that ersatz coffee. Self‑denial is the act of setting it aside so we can receive the real thing. Jesus may seem to take from us, but only to create space for the gift of himself. As Pope Francis reminded us, God asks everything of us, yet at the same time offers everything to us in return. And so we do well to heed Saint Augustine’s warning against seeking joy apart from God: Why persist in walking difficult and toilsome paths? There is no repose where you are seeking it… You are seeking a happy life in the realm of death, and it will not be found there.