By Revd Phil Wales
I sometimes picture myself putting on ‘L’ plates in certain situations. I am sure I am not alone in doing so. The English language has some wonderful expressions to describe the feeling of not quite ‘being there’ but needing to get on with whatever it is anyway. I fondly remember a senior and very accomplished colleague from my time as a junior member of a community mental health team. He was widely respected for his considerable skills and wisdom, yet he often described himself as “flying by the seat of his pants”. Though he said it with a smile, he was only partly joking. His honesty was a sign of his humility. He knew that it is impossible to be insulated from dealing with life’s uncertainties and decisions. It is how we respond which matters.
Wearing ‘L’ plates isn’t simply about acknowledging one’s learner status. It can also be a gentle reminder to acknowledge that we will still stall, find ourselves in the wrong gear, misjudge distances, or in various other ways make mistakes along the road. Discipleship, too, is like this; a lifelong journey of discovering and learning how we may grow into being the person God intends us to be.
Lately, I’ve wondered whether sometimes I’ve reached for my imaginary ‘L’ plates too quickly. Perhaps they have become too convenient as a way of avoiding moving forward. There are, after all, multiple ways in which we may try to duck out of God’s irresistible invitation to grow spiritually. But if we are willing to risk it, God rarely waits long to test our openness to His invitation. Lent draws us into this space of honest self-examination with the result that our hold on the illusion that we’re in control gives way to an ever-increasing trust in God’s love.
One afternoon not long ago, I left a meeting which had taken place in a local community building and headed for my car. As I approached the tall metal security gate and went to lift the hasp, I noticed a man nearby talking loudly as he passed by in the other direction. I glanced over, unsure whether he was singing along to music playing in his headphones or holding a conversation with someone on his phone. Whatever it was, he seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings.
It was only when he called out even more loudly and waved vigorously at me to stop that I realised he had been trying to get my attention all along. I stopped, a little put out as he started to quiz me. All too slowly I realised that he saw me as an intruder and that my presence in the grounds at that time of day gave him cause for genuine concern. His intentions were thoughtful and responsible, but I had completely misread the situation. Once we both had made better sense of one another we apologised for the confusion we had unwittingly created and went on our separate ways. A simple misunderstanding, but one which has stayed with me long afterwards.
Why did this encounter unsettled me? Because it exposed something I hadn’t realised: the assumptions I had made about him, about myself, about who ‘belongs’ where and who doesn’t. That moment became a kind of Lenten mirror: an invitation to examine my prejudices.
It reminded me how quickly mental certainties can form, unchallenged, and how quickly pride and fear will try to take hold. Lent reminds us that we are, as disciples, always learners: still finding our way, still getting it wrong, still growing. This season, if we open ourselves to His invitation, God will create the space we need for the journey: space to notice where we’ve misjudged, space to let God loosen pride’s silent grip and a space to begin again.