There is a version of Lent that looks exactly right. Mass on Ash Wednesday, fish on Fridays, a noble sacrifice announced with appropriate humility. The rosary gets picked up again. The chocolate stays in the cupboard. From the outside, everything is in order. And yet, by Holy Week, something feels hollow — not because we failed to keep our commitments, but because we kept them and still feel no different. The practices were observed. The person was not converted. This is the quiet problem at the heart of Lenten discipline. Jesus, in Matthew 6, assumes his followers will pray, fast, and give — but his concern is never merely whether they do these things. It is why, and from where. The Pharisees fasted rigorously and prayed at length. Their discipline was real. What was missing was the interiority behind it, the turning of the heart that the practices were meant to produce, not substitute for. When we fast from food but feed every other appetite without question, we have managed our hung...