First things first?
We are wired for self-preservation. From an early age, we learn to look out for ourselves. Secure your future. Protect your reputation. Make sure you’re not left behind. In many ways, that instinct keeps us safe. But left unchecked, it can quietly shape a life where “me first” becomes the guiding principle.
Easter tells a very different story. As Jesus approached the cross, He did not choose the safe option. He did not protect His own comfort, reputation, or even His physical life. Instead, He chose the path of sacrifice. Christians believe that His death was not an accident of history but a deliberate act of love, placing humanity’s need above His own suffering. In a world built on self-interest, the cross stands as a startling contradiction.
Easter also gives us someone we may find easier to relate to: Peter.
Full of bold promises, Peter once insisted he would never abandon Jesus. And yet, when the pressure mounted and fear took hold, he denied even knowing Him. In that moment, self-preservation won. We can imagine the crushing disappointment that followed; the realisation that when it mattered most, he had put himself first.
Most of us know that feeling. The times we stayed silent when we should have spoken. The moments we protected our image instead of defending someone else. The occasions when convenience outweighed compassion. And yet Peter’s story did not end in failure. After the resurrection, Jesus sought him out, not to shame him, but to restore him. The one who had denied Jesus was invited back into friendship and purpose. Grace met disappointment. Putting ourselves first is natural. But Easter invites us into something greater. Love moves us to consider others before ourselves. Compassion leads us to step towards someone in need, even when it costs us time or comfort. A sense of justice urges us to speak up when something is wrong, even if it risks misunderstanding.
We see glimpses of this every day: a neighbour checking in on someone who lives alone; a colleague taking the blame to protect a junior team member; a parent sacrificing sleep, energy, and personal ambition for their child’s wellbeing. These small acts echo a much bigger story.
The cross shows us that real strength is found not in grasping for ourselves, but in giving for others. Easter reminds us that while self-interest may be instinctive, self-giving love is transformative. In choosing to put others first, we reflect something of the heart of Christ Himself. Come and join us or one of the other churches this Easter and experience a community marked by compassion, humility, peace and a love for others.
More or less
We live in a world shaped by “more”. More choice. More speed. More upgrades. More next-day deliveries. We’re surrounded by messages that tell us we deserve the newest, the fastest, the best – and ideally, we should have it right now. Want something? There’s an app for that. Need cheering up? Buy a treat. Feeling bored? Scroll, stream, order, repeat.
And yet, just as this article publishes, we find ourselves in a season that gently pushes against that way of living. Shrove Tuesday has come and gone – traditionally a day of using up rich foods before Lent begins – and now we are in the middle of Lent, a time when Christians have, for centuries, chosen to go without.
At first glance, that can seem odd. Why would anyone choose less in a world offering so much? Why deliberately say no when we’re told that happiness comes from having more?
Fasting, in the Christian tradition, is about choosing not to have what we want, in order to pay attention to what we really need. For some, that still looks like giving up certain foods. For many today, it’s more likely to be stepping back from social media, alcohol, online shopping, streaming, or habits that quietly take up more of our lives.
Interestingly, even outside faith, there’s growing recognition that “more” doesn’t always make us happier. Going without, for a while, can be surprisingly good for us. It can help our finances breathe again. It can break patterns that have become automatic rather than chosen. And it can cultivate gratitude – when you step away from something, you often realise how much you take for granted.
There’s also something deeply human about learning to wait. We’re not very good at it. Waiting can feel uncomfortable. But it can also teach patience, self-control, and a quieter kind of joy – the joy of not being ruled by every impulse or advert that crosses our path.
For Christians, fasting isn’t just self-improvement. It’s about creating space. Space to notice what usually gets crowded out. Space to listen. Space to pray. It’s a way of gently saying: I don’t live by bread alone. There is more to life than what I consume. In going without, Christians seek to refocus on God – on trust, dependence, and the deeper hunger for meaning, hope, and connection.
And Lent doesn’t end in endless denial. It leads somewhere. The fasting and waiting move towards Easter – a season of celebration, joy, and new life. The story Christians tell is not one of permanent scarcity, but of hope beyond the waiting, and life beyond the letting go.
So whether you observe Lent or not, perhaps this season offers a simple invitation: to ask where “more” is quietly ruling your life – and what might happen if, for a while, you chose a little less.
