Each year in early spring, during the season of Lent, which

The words of Jay Parini—“Each year in early spring, during the season of Lent, which begins on Ash Wednesday and concludes on Easter, a plenitude of books, magazine articles, and television shows about Jesus appear”—serve as a mirror reflecting the rhythm of human faith and remembrance. In this simple observation lies a profound truth: that human hearts are bound to cycles, not just of nature, but of spiritual reflection. Every spring, as the earth awakens from its long slumber, so too does the soul stir, seeking to understand again the mystery of sacrifice, renewal, and resurrection. Parini’s words remind us that religion, art, and media are but different vessels carrying the same longing—the longing to know the eternal through the temporal.

Lent itself is a season of introspection and repentance, a journey through forty days of self-denial leading to the triumph of Easter. It is as though humankind, weary from the indulgence of living, must return each year to the desert of the soul to remember what truly matters. Parini’s mention of the “plenitude” of works about Jesus is not a complaint but a revelation: each generation must rediscover the divine for itself, retelling the story in its own voice, through its own tools—be it parchment, printing press, or television screen. The abundance of such works shows not a redundancy, but a renewal of devotion. Every artist, every writer, every believer feels the impulse to reinterpret the eternal narrative in the light of their time.

Consider how this has echoed through the ages. In the Renaissance, artists like Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo turned their brush toward the Christ story, painting it not merely as religion but as revelation. Centuries later, the writers of modern faith—from C.S. Lewis to Jay Parini himself—have sought to reawaken that same story through literature and film, understanding that though the truth is ancient, its telling must forever be reborn. This cycle mirrors nature’s own pattern: spring after winter, life after death, faith after doubt. Humanity must relearn reverence again and again, for forgetfulness is our oldest sin.

But Parini’s words also hint at something more subtle—a commentary on how modernity engages with the sacred. In the age of constant media, where belief can be sold, debated, or dramatized, the divine story risks becoming spectacle. Yet even within that spectacle lies a hunger, a yearning. Why, after millennia, do we still write and speak of Jesus? Because his story—of suffering, forgiveness, and rebirth—is not bound by creed; it is the mirror of the human condition. Lent calls us to remember that to rise, one must first descend; to be reborn, one must first surrender.

The cycle Parini describes is not just external but internal. Within every soul there is a season of Lent—a time when the heart feels stripped bare, wandering in the wilderness of self-doubt and pain. And then comes the Easter of the spirit, when forgiveness dawns like morning light and one’s inner winter melts away. The books, the films, the sermons—all are attempts to give language to this eternal return, this dance between despair and hope that defines the human story.

From this reflection, we draw a lesson both spiritual and practical. Each year, as the world blooms again, let us not only read about faith but live it anew. Let us take these reminders—the words of Parini, the rituals of Lent—as calls to renew compassion, to cleanse the heart of bitterness, to rise with the dawn of understanding. For what good are the countless stories of Christ if they do not awaken the Christlike within us?

Thus, when spring returns and the shelves fill once more with tales of sacrifice and resurrection, do not see it as repetition, but as rhythm—the heartbeat of faith echoing through the ages. Every retelling, every reflection, is a resurrection in itself. And so long as humanity continues to tell this story, it proves that the divine spark has not dimmed. For in each new generation, Easter lives again, not just in books or screens, but in the awakened hearts of those who remember to seek the light.