“Love that calls us to return”

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, a sacred season inviting us to return to God with humility and renewed intention. The ashes placed on our foreheads remind us that we are dust, fragile, and dependent on God’s sustaining grace. This is not a moment of shame, but a gentle reorientation of our hearts toward the deepest love that calls us home through prayer, fasting, and acts of generosity. We prepare ourselves spiritually for the journey toward Easter. The biggest love in the universe invites us back into a relationship before it asks us to change our lives. Lent begins with a call: “Return to me with all your heart”, that is the cry of the prophet Joel; it is not a threat, it is not condemnation, it is an invitation. “Return,” the Hebrew word carries the meaning of turning back toward someone who already loves you; it is relational language, it assumes connection, it assumes covenant.
 
In the Wesleyan tradition, we understand this as prevenient grace, the love of God that goes before us, reaching toward us even when we are distracted, distant, or wandering. Before we change, before we confess, before we improve, God loves. That is why the key idea for this series is simple: The biggest love invites us back before it asks us to change. Repentance in Lent is not shame, it is reorientation, it is turning back toward love. In Luke 4, Jesus enters the wilderness for forty days; Lent mirrors that journey; the wilderness is not punishment; it is preparation. Jesus faces temptation, power without obedience, bread without trust, glory without surrender. Each temptation is about control; each temptation offers a shortcut, but Jesus resists because He trusts the Father’s love.
 
For us, Lent becomes a wilderness space where we confront our own temptations: self-sufficiency, comfort, distraction. Prayer slows us down, fasting teaches us dependence, and almsgiving reminds us that love moves outward. In Free Methodist theology, holiness is not isolation; it is love perfected in relationship. John Wesley called it “social holiness”; our transformation is never only about personal morality; it is about becoming people shaped by love in community and in the world. There is an old song that asks a question: How deep is your love? The lyrics speak of needing love in a world that can feel cold, of depending on someone who won’t let you down. Though written as a romantic song, the question resonates spiritually. John 15:13 answers: “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” That is the biggest love in the universe, a love that gives itself, a love that sacrifices, a love that does not abandon. The cross is not divine anger; it is divine depth. The cross reveals how far God is willing to go to restore a relationship, love that deep is not sentimental. It is costly.
 
Today, our world feels fragile. News of war reminds us how quickly fear escalates into violence, how distrust turns into destruction, when nations clash, ordinary families suffer, children suffer, and communities fracture. War exposes the absence of love at a systemic level; it reveals what happens when pride overrides humility and power replaces compassion. As followers of Christ in the Wesleyan tradition, we affirm that love is not weakness. Love is the strongest force in the universe; it confronts injustice, it seeks reconciliation, and it refuses to dehumanize even enemies. Lent calls us to examine not only our personal sins but also the systems that distort love, racism, violence, exploitation, nationalism, without compassion. Just as slavery had to die for justice to grow, so too must hatred and prejudice die in every generation. Holiness is not withdrawal from the world; it is engagement shaped by love. Where Do You Need to Turn? Joel says:
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“Return with all your heart.”
From where do you need to turn?
perhaps from distraction to presence
perhaps from resentment to forgiveness,
perhaps from fear to trust,
Prayer reconnects us to love,
Fasting reveals what controls us,
 almsgiving expands our hearts toward others,
These practices are not spiritual performance.
They are pathways back to love.

 
And this is why Communion matters; the bread and the cup are not symbols of shame; they are signs of love. At this table, we remember that Christ gave Himself for us before we deserved it; the table is the visible proclamation of John 15:13. When we come to Communion, we declare that love is stronger than division, stronger than history, stronger than war. Love is the only force that can truly connect people and nations; political treaties may pause conflict, but only transformed hearts sustain peace. In Wesleyan theology, the Lord’s Supper is a means of grace. It is not merely memory; it is an encounter. As we receive the elements, we receive the renewing presence of Christ through the Holy Spirit. We are strengthened not only for personal comfort but for mission. We become people shaped by the biggest love in the universe.
 
That old song suggests needing someone who understands weakness, someone who lifts us when we’re falling. The Gospel tells us that in Christ, we have that love. A love that does not fluctuate, a love that does not abandon, a love deeper than failure. Lent asks: How deep is our love in response? Are we willing to love sacrificially? are we willing to forgive? Are we willing to stand for justice? Are we willing to pray for peace even when the world trembles?  Lent is the season of returning, Easter will be the season of rising, but we cannot experience resurrection without first turning toward love. The biggest love in the universe is not abstract; it is revealed in Christ’s obedience in the wilderness, His sacrifice on the cross, His victory in the resurrection, and His presence in Communion, and today, that love calls us:

Return,
come back to love,
trust the depth of it,
live from it.
because before God asks you to change, He invites you home.
Amen