This post is adapted from Rev. Samantha Gonzalez-Block’s reflection at an IFFP Gathering on Sunday, February 22nd, 2026. Click here to watch it on YouTube.
Traveling by plane, train, automobile, or foot – particularly in the DMV area – can be compared to moving through the Lenten wilderness. It’s nothing close to the torturous tale of Jesus for sure, but travel in all its many forms can bring with it its own set of trials, temptations, split-decisions, and major consequences.
For example: Imagine, there you are, sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic trying to exit the highway and head home, when suddenly in comes that car that has managed to skip the line and now wants to cut in front of you…
do you let him in?
Or how about this: You are riding the school bus and some friends get into a pretty heated conversation…do you step in and try to calm things down, or get the bus driver involved, or just stay out of it?
Or how about this one: You are late for a big meeting with your boss, when you see a group of tourists, who are lost and speaking Russian, a language you did happen to minor in in college…do you stop to help them, or keep hurrying on?
These are indeed Lenten-esque questions because they invite us to discern our ability to step off the path – even for a moment- to break free from our routines, get out of our own heads and agendas – in order to step up, to step toward, to step into grander kindness, mercy, intentionality and heartfelt compassion. The things our faith – our faiths – encourage us to grab hold of, especially in this season and the times in which we live.
Let me explain in another way.
Last Thursday, I flew from Baltimore to Asheville, and the trip down was nothing short of a wilderness story. Let me paint the picture…
So here I am late Thursday evening, driving in the dark, in the pouring rain, trying for the life of me to find Long Term Parking at the Baltimore Airport. Where is it!?!
Finally, like those pristine white Mormon temple towers on 495, I see the sign for Long Term Parking and go park my car. I then rush out with my umbrella and suitcase toward the closest shuttle bus stop, “A14.” Now this bus stop is a glass rectangular structure, and inside are wall-to-wall, soaking-wet people, standing like wonder bread slices – expressionless and in total silence.
They were standing so tightly and still that they could have easily been a 1920s Hopper painting or some sort of artistic form of protest. What does it all mean?
As I approached them, I asked, “Any room for me?” And almost everyone in unison took a tiny step back, enough for me to push my suitcase out of the rain.
Now, I bet you know me well enough to know how well I do with silence…
“Wow,” I said, “Have you all been waiting here long?”
“Almost 20 minutes,” one shivering person said.
“It’s looks like you’ve been waiting for years,” I said.
A few desperate laughs and then more silence – more rain – more waiting.
“Does anyone know a joke?” I said. “I feel like we should dance to keep warm.”
“Hellooo, I’m the ghost of the bus stop. I’ve been waiting here for one hundred years!
Groans.
Finally, I said, “Are you sure they know we were here? I know it says Long Term Parking, but I didn’t know it meant long-term waiting.”
“Here’s a phone number,” one woman said, pointing to a sign pasted on the glass. She was probably eager to do anything to change things up.
“Well, let’s call it!” I said. I dialed the number, and after 100 rings, the person on the other end said,
“Ma’am, everything is just delayed tonight.”
“But people are waiting and freezing.”
“I’m gonna miss my flight,” one person said.
“Me too,” said another.
With no help from the operator, we pathetically watched as buses came down the road, and turned the other way.
One woman said, “That’s it – my husband is going to come get me.” And she hurried away toward a car.
“Take us with you!” someone shouted.
More people came. Now, we were even more squished, and soon we all couldn’t fit underneath the shelter.
Finally, a man stepped out from our little shelter and into the rain. Think Ryan Gosling in The Notebook, but absolutely nothing like him.
“I can drive people to the airport!” He declared.
“But what about you!?!” We all said, as one water-logged Greek chorus.
“I’ve already missed my flight…but I’ve got an SUV, and I’ll take as many of you as I can.”
Now I am savvy about not riding with strangers, but we had bonded in that little booth, and hands started going up – mine included.
We walked to his car, saying thank you over and over.
“Where is home for you?” I asked him
“A few hours away,” he said. “But it’s ok.”
“It’s nice to know there are still good people out there in the world,” said the woman sitting next to me in the car.
When we got to the terminal. The man opened his trunk and tenderly got out our bags. “I promise we will pay it forward,” I told him. “What’s your name?”
“Samit,” he said.
And then he handed me my suitcase and said, “Have a safe flight.”
~
Now, what I didn’t tell you is the reason I went down to Asheville. I was there for a funeral of my dear friend and fellow pastor’s son. He was 28 years old and had spent his young life battling all sorts of demons inside, and had died tragically of an accidental drug overdose. He was also a songwriter and case-manager for those experiencing homelessness, and he was a gentle soul with a goofy smile – who was loved by many. His name was Nicholas.
And let me tell you, friends, when my flight – which I made – touched down and I got to wrap my arms around his wrecked, grieving parents and younger brother, I could not help but feel such gratitude for a stranger I had met at a bus stop just a few hours before. Samit’s act of selfless kindness made it possible for me to be able to embrace this family in their heartbreak.
I promised Samit I would pay it forward.
And I guess this is my little way of doing it.
Friends, what this stranger – this friend – did is what Lent is all about.
We can never know the full impact of our small gestures of goodness, but we have to believe that small seeds of compassion can yield mighty fruit. After all, we can only build up the sort of world God dreams of…step by step.
In a society that is so eager to keep us all cramped and still in our shelters, our bubbles, in a time where there are countless temptations to only feed and clothe
and take care of ourselves, Lent is this earth-flipping invitation to dare to step out from it – and step into fresh courage and vulnerability and imagination –
in order to transform and tend to those around us –
in their time of suffering, in their time of need –
to be of service to every beloved soul.
In the Gospel story of Jesus in the wilderness being tempted by the devil, Jesus had a North Star – it was his devotion to God. It grounded him and allowed him to face the impossible. He let go of his own wants and needs and kept his eyes on the prize. He stayed faithful and attentive to the grander picture, to a wider world in need of a healing touch.
My new friend Samit had a North Star too that night – empathy and compassion – which helped him care for fellow travelers, even when things didn’t go his way.
And my late friend Nicholas’ North Star was likely music and family.
And his parents now, I imagine, might be acceptance and comfort.
What is yours? What will yours be this season?
During these 40 days of Lent, may we choose a North Star that will inspire us to step out from our places of comfort and guide our feet to where we are needed most. And if our feet can move together, just imagine where we can go.
In closing, I would like to share a final blessing for you and our interfaith family as we begin our Lenten journey. This blessing was shared as the benediction for the funeral yesterday (and was written by Episcopal priest Brian Baker). I offer it to you.
“The world now is too dangerous
and too beautiful for anything but love.
So bless your eyes so you see God in everyone.
Bless your ears so you hear the cry of the poor.
Bless your lips so you speak nothing but the truth with love.
Bless your hands so that everything you give
and everything you receive, is a sacrament,
Bless your feet so you run to those who need you.
And may your heart be so opened, so set on fire
that your love, your love, changes . . .everything.”
