The Lenten Array
Vol. 57 No. 14 The Second Sunday in Lent March 1, 2026
“Lenten array” refers to the old custom of veiling the splendor of the sacred images of the church in penitential garb of unbleached linen adorned with symbols of the passion in red and black. Last year, thanks to memorial donations, we were able to replace an old and home-made Lenten array, with a set of veils crafted for us by a firm in the United Kingdom, and which now covers the entire reredos, heretofore veiled only in part.
What is the significance of the Lenten array? As the Scriptures read on the Sunday before Lent indicate (1 Corinthians 13; Luke 18:31-end), Lent is a journey of faith from blindness to vision. What self-seeking worldly wisdom cannot grasp – the charity of God toward sinners, the hidden victory of Christ, won upon the cross – will be revealed in his resurrection to the eyes of faith. The disciplines of Lent are not ends in themselves; they are instruments by which the Holy Spirit heals our vision. Fasting loosens the hold of the immediate and the obvious, teaching us that we do not live by bread alone. Prayer stretches our hope beyond what we can secure for ourselves, training us to wait upon God in trust. Almsgiving breaks the illusion that life is a possession to be guarded, and draws us into the generous self-giving love of Christ. In these practices, our vision is gradually corrected. We begin to see the hidden wisdom of God revealed in the cross.
As to the particulars: the unbleached linen of the Lenten array is the garb of repentance. The symbols that adorn the veils are the “arma Christi” – the weapons by which he won the victory of the cross: the scourge that flayed his back, the thorns that crowned his head, the sponge dipped in vinegar and hoisted on a branch of hyssop to quench his thirst; the lance that pierced his side; the three nails that fixed his hands and feet to the cross; and lastly, the drops of precious blood that flowed from his wounds for the remission of our sin and the healing of our souls. In these symbols we are invited to ponder the sins which were the cause of his crucifixion, and the price of our redemption.
By thine Agony and Bloody Sweat,
by thy Cross and Passion;
by thy precious Death and Burial,
Good , deliver us.
The Collect for Lent II
Lent begins with Christ in the wilderness, assaulted by Satan, but victorious in his obedience. By the second Sunday, he is already on the offensive, casting out demons. Lent is not only about resisting temptation on our own; it is about living in the wake of Christ’s victory, a victory that now advances into the lives of others through his word.
It is this context that shapes the language of the collect: “that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul.” “Assault” is not the language of therapy. It is the language of conflict. The collect teaches us to name temptation honestly—as something that comes against us, something that wounds and destabilizes, something that does not wait politely for our consent, but is the work of demonic malice.
The collect begins with a confession that cuts against self-confidence: “Almighty God, who seest that we have no power of ourselves to help ourselves…” This confession guards against the dangerous illusion that religious discipline produces spiritual self-sufficiency. Moral seriousness can quietly become confidence in ourselves. The collect dismantles that illusion. Even our best efforts do not secure us. We are dependent, and that dependence is the condition under which Christ’s authority becomes operative in us. This confession of need clears the ground for faith. As this Sunday’s gospel lesson shows, deliverance comes not through technique or effort, but through the authoritative word of Jesus, spoken into a situation of helplessness. The unclean spirit is expelled, not because the woman’s daughter has pulled herself together, but because Christ has mastered the enemy.
The heart of the collect is its petition: “Keep us both outwardly in our bodies, and inwardly in our souls.” We do not pray for triumph or conquest, but for keeping—for preservation. This is deeply biblical language. To be kept is to be guarded and preserved in the face of danger. In the context of spiritual warfare, this is crucial. The victory belongs to Christ. Our part is not to reproduce his combat, but to remain within the sphere of his authority, the shepherd who keeps the sheep. Our prayer does not summon Christ into battle; it acknowledges that he is already at work. Thus Lent becomes a season of deepened dependence on Christ, in which we learn to pray honestly amid conflict and to trust confidently in Christ’s authority. And in that prayer, the Church learns again how to live—not by power of her own, but by faith in the One who has already overcome.