Philippa Strachan invites us to consider how an “analogue Lent” might help us slow down and truly prepare our hearts for Easter. With wisdom and gentleness, she challenges us to step back from digital distraction and rediscover the sacred gift of presence — with God, with others, and with our own souls.
Easter is coming. Soon, Christians across the world will proclaim the glorious news that death has been defeated and hope has a name. It is one of the most beautiful celebrations in the Christian calendar.
But before the joy of the resurrection comes the quiet season of Lent. For many, Lent is the most overlooked season of the Church year — easily bypassed in the rush of modern life. Yet for those who dare to enter it, Lent is pregnant with spiritual possibility and reflective opportunity. It is forty days of invitation: to slow down, to wake up, to return. This space is important. Because the deeper you go into Christianity, the more you find yourself craving substance. Something sober. Something sacred. Something that is solid enough to hold the weight of your real life.
READ MORE: What is the point of Lent?
Easter proclaims a world-shaking truth: through the death and resurrection of Jesus, sinful humanity has been reconciled to God. The grave is empty! But if Easter is only a single Sunday squeezed between busy weeks, its power can be swallowed up by familiarity. We give Jesus a reverent hour, sing a triumphant song, and then move on.
Lent refuses to let us move on too quickly.
Historically, Lent has been a season of reflection, confession, fasting and generosity. A season of stripping back. Christians have entered it as a kind of spiritual pilgrimage —walking slowly toward the cross so that resurrection morning does not catch them unprepared.
READ MORE: My encouragement to fast this Lent
At its heart, Lent is about presence.
Presence with God.
Presence with others.
Presence with our own souls.
And presence requires space.
That is why one of the most powerful Lenten practices you could adopt this year is surprisingly simple:
Go analogue.
We live in a world that never powers down. The digital age offers extraordinary gifts —connection, creativity, access to information — but it also cultivates distraction at scale. Our phones ensure that silence is optional. Our newsfeeds scroll endlessly. Streaming platforms fill every spare hour. Boredom, once the gateway to reflection and prayer, has been engineered out of existence.
READ MORE: The ‘raw-dogging’ TikTok travel trend helped me understand the importance of spiritual practices
The problem is not technology itself. It is what constant digital noise does to our souls.
The problem is not technology itself. It is what constant digital noise does to our souls. When every quiet moment is medicated with a screen, we lose our capacity to notice. We skim life rather than inhabit it. We are physically present but mentally elsewhere. And then Easter arrives and we find ourselves asking, “How is it Easter already?” Lent is a chance to interrupt that pattern. Going analogue is not about rejecting modern life. It is about reclaiming attention. It is about creating intentional limits so that your heart has room to connect with God again. If you’re feeling far from Him today, it’s never too late. ““Even now,” declares the Lord, “return to me with all your heart.” (Joel 2:12)
Imagine what these forty days could look like if you reduced your phone to its essential functions. What if you deleted social media and news apps for the season? What if your device became primarily a tool for communication rather than consumption? Or consider your evenings. What if you swapped some screen time for books, shared meals, board games, conversation, or simple stillness? You do not have to abandon television entirely, but start with a couple of easy boundaries. One episode instead of three. Three nights a week instead of seven. Make space, not rules for the sake of rules.
You might even choose to take it further. How about this: Write letters, not texts. In a world of instant messages and disappearing texts, a handwritten note feels precious. Imagine writing one short letter each week during Lent — thanking someone, encouraging them, asking forgiveness, expressing love. Ink on paper slows you down and embodies care.
Small analogue choices like these are formative and transformative. They can change how you engage with your world…and how present you are within it. Christian faith is not merely about ideas; it is about becoming. And what we repeatedly give our attention to shapes who we become. If Lent is a season of repentance —literally, a turning — then reducing digital noise is a tangible way of turning toward God.
When Jesus went into the wilderness for forty days, He stepped away from noise and applause.
When Jesus went into the wilderness for forty days, He stepped away from noise and applause. He faced hunger, temptation, silence. The wilderness stripped Him down to what mattered. Lent echoes that journey. We voluntarily enter a smaller, quieter space so that our love for God can be purified and deepened. There is a quiet courage in choosing less. Less noise. Less scrolling. Less distraction. So that there can be more prayer. More awareness. More love.
This Lent, you do not have to do everything. In fact, don’t. Maybe choose one or two realistic practices and commit to them. Let the limitation be concrete and sustainable. Lent is not about dramatic gestures that collapse after a week; it is about steady reorientation.
This year, as Easter approaches, refuse to be surprised by it. Walk toward it slowly. Feel the weight of Good Friday. Sit with your own need for grace. Let the analogue spaces you create become meeting places with God.
Because He often speaks most clearly when the notifications are silenced.
This Lent, choose to be present. Restrict the digital. Embrace the analogue. And watch what happens when you give your soul room to hear again. For God says: “Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10).
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If something in you quietly responds yes to the idea of an analogue Lent, you may find it helpful to pause here and reflect on what that might look like for you.
Take a moment with these questions:
In which quiet or transitional moments do I most instinctively reach for digital distraction?
What one or two analogue practices feel life-giving rather than burdensome?
With whom could I cultivate moments of deeper presence this Lent?
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