Can I Honestly Say, 'Truly, This Was the Son of God'?

Lindsay Schlegel considers the words of the centurion in life after the Easter Octave.  

As I walked into Mass on Tuesday of Holy Week, I was struck by the centurion on a banner promoting Hallow’s Lenten prayer series. In the image, he is the only figure facing upward toward Jesus dead on the cross. His finger points in such a way as to bring his words, recorded in Scripture, to mind: “Truly, this was the Son of God!” (Matthew 27:54)  

Would I be able to say the same, I wondered, when the sacrifices of Lent were behind me, when I’d celebrated the full octave of Easter, rejoicing that the Bridegroom was with us. Can I say with conviction today — this third day after the octave, when though we’re still in the Easter season, things are relatively back to normal — that Jesus is the Son of God, Lord of my life, my Redeemer and Savior, the One for whom I live? And can I say this not just with my words or with my routine attendance at Mass, but in my daily thoughts, words, and deeds? In what I do and in what I choose not to do? 

Lent as Training Ground 

In his homilies this Lent, Fr. Mike Schmitz spoke about Lent being a training ground, a set of circumstances in which we prepare to do something we couldn’t have done before. For me, that thing is suffering minor inconveniences well. It’s bearing the little things that irk me with greater patience. It’s not complaining about the mistakes other people make. It’s appreciating the ages and stages of my children and not wishing things were otherwise.  

Not eating dessert through the week, being quiet in the car, listening to reflections on the seven last words of Christ are not enough in themselves to have made those changes in me. I read at the start of Lent that “fasting without prayer is just dieting.” It is no different with these practices. Unless I allow myself to be vulnerable with the Lord and unless I continue to be honest with myself, sacrifices made during Lent bear only superficial and temporary fruit.  

Being Different 

The other option is to recall these practices in new habits. Starting today, I can ask the Holy Spirit to continue the work done in my heart during those forty days. This Lent is only a checkpoint on my journey; I have not arrived at my final destination. And so it strikes me that I can’t consider the prayer, fasting, and almsgiving that I tried to practice during Lent to be over and done with. I want to acknowledge what’s changed in me and continue in that direction.  

That will happen when I focus less on my own abilities and more on the reality that Jesus Christ is the Son of God — perhaps when I make the words of the centurion a daily antiphon. As my 4-year-old randomly reminds me, “Jesus is very kind.” Kind, yes, and merciful. Loving. Compassionate. Patient.  

In “Lord, I Need You,” Matt Maher sings,  

Where sin runs deep, Your grace is more 
Where grace is found is where You are 
And where You are, Lord, I am free 
Holiness is Christ in me 

I needed to do the things I did during Lent. And it is right and good to feast after the fast. What I want to take with me from these seasons into Ordinary Time and into the next Advent, Christmas, Lent, and Easter — into as many of these seasons as the Lord has planned for me — is that truly, Jesus is the Son of God. I rely on His grace, I am indebted to His sacrifice, I am eternally grateful for His love. I choose Him to be the center of my life, of my family, of my work. I desire that those whom I encounter will experience that truth through me.  

This Easter season is a time to rejoice, an acknowledgement that the battle is, indeed, already won. Still, my race isn’t over yet. I pray this season is a time of renewal and rejuvenation, without a backslide. I ask the Lord that what He has been begun in me will continue in me. I hope that when my days do come to an end, my eyes, too, will look up toward Christ in love and affection, my life having proclaimed Him as the Son of God.  

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Copyright 2025 Lindsay Schlegel
Images: Johann Friedrich Sichelbein II, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons; Canva