Perhaps like me, you’re not too fond of complainers. I don’t mean people who draw attention to things that need fixing. I mean those folks who simply complain about everything, no matter what it is.

I heard it said that if humans could somehow remove their opinions from most things, we’d likely find we have little to complain about in life. I think I agree. Pitched against Lent, it makes complete sense.

For starters, Lent leads to Golgotha. No one can arrive at Golgotha’s dreadful scene and actually grasp its significance without first having a handle on why it had to happen. Jesus is doing what He’s doing because He’s the only one who can. That’s important.

Of course, this reason has other dimensions to it. Perhaps the most essential is that the Lord loves us as no one could or would, so everything Jesus does, up to and including Golgotha’s exacting, is born from this love. His passion reveals His immeasurable yearning to save us. That’s one reason the crucifixion will forever be the heart of Gospel preaching.

Closer to where I began, another dimension is sin and the fact that we’re responsible for it. We let it in, and now everything is infected. Only Jesus remains untouched; that is, until, as Saint Paul described, He became the infection in a way that will forever be mysterious to us (1 Corinthians 5:21). Simply put, He bore every ounce of sin’s dreadfulness in Himself on the cross (Isaiah 53:6, 1 Peter 2:24). Yes, He carried and endured what we could see: mocking, injustice, bludgeoning, flogging, piercing, crucifixion, and death. These things are surface products, horrible in every way. There’s still something else He carried and endured in Himself that we couldn’t see. He gives it a nod when He’s arrested in Gethsemane. He tells His betrayer, “This your hour, and the power of darkness” (Luke 22:53). He wasn’t just submitting to the physical terrors. He was submitting to something else there. And it was the awful of all awfuls. He called it a power—an all-encompassing reality. As we are so often, Judas was the power’s agent.

I know some commentators think Satan is the power Jesus is referring to. Sure, he’s a big deal. Nevertheless, Satan does what Satan does because he, too, is infected by the power. If you haven’t guessed it already, I’m saying that the power of darkness is the reigning power of sin itself. It’s the all-consuming plague that holds each of us in its sway, ultimately poisoning the whole world with eternal death and condemnation.

So, what does any of this have to do with setting aside human opinion and thereby discovering fewer reasons to complain in this life?

Well, for example, there’s plenty to complain about, especially if, in our opinion, we somehow believe we deserve better than what this sinful world so often doles out. But the thing is, Lent teaches us the power of darkness thoroughly diseases us, and we don’t deserve better (Romans 3:12). Objectively, then, the calculation becomes quite simple. We own sin’s predicament and all its potential wages, including death. If our opinions have us convinced otherwise, Lent’s destination—the crucifixion of Jesus—must be a brutal demonstration of what’s really true: Behold, there on the cross! See what the sin nature warrants! See what you deserve for your crimes!

I guess what I’m saying is simply this: What is there to bemoan when the mineral element of everything wrong with this world is technically our fault? To complain about anything troubling is to complain about ourselves.

I think this is an incredibly recalibrating thought. Having recently felt the urge to say, “I don’t deserve to be treated this way,” this Lenten recalibration pulled me back from the edge of self-righteousness. It reminded me that I was experiencing exactly what sin offers to this world. And yet, having this awareness, navigating the contentious situation was a bit easier. Indeed, contentious scenarios unfold far differently when you can readily confess to being partly responsible for all contention in general.

That leads me to something else. The sinner that I am, and living in this sinful world, I’ll always find reasons to complain about the misery. By the way, and as I began, I’m not saying we should just ignore the travesties sin imposes. These things almost certainly require our attention. What I am saying, or better yet, asking is: How are things different for me now that I know the only One who could save me stepped up and did so?

The power of sin has been overthrown. I have been rescued. Jesus did it. Knowing this, the messes I find myself in are no longer occasions for complaining. Instead, they are opportunities to understand just how terrible sin is, acknowledge what my role in the terribleness might be, and observe the Lord’s crucifixion through tears of joy. Golgotha becomes less a reminder of what I deserve and more the ultimate emblem of hope in every sadness.

Even better, this hope is empowering. It moves its bearer beyond complaining. It strengthens for getting right to work making changes in a world that needs what Christians bring to the table. For every minute I spend complaining about how bad everything is, I lose a valuable minute meant for trusting Christ and, in faith, doing what I can to make things better.