I confess that I am a bit of a moon stalker. I love to follow its waxing and waning through the seasons. So, please indulge me as I ponder for a while.
Tonight, a thin silver curve will appear, just a whisper of light at the edge of the sky. A new moon. It rises quietly, without fanfare, signalling the start of a new lunar month. For our Muslim neighbours, this new moon ushers in the sacred festival of Eid, a time of celebration, generosity, and gratitude after the fasting month of Ramadan. For us as Christians, this same moon lights the nights of Lent and will grow fuller and brighter until it presides over the night of Maundy Thursday, the night we remember the meal and the command, to love one another as Christ has loved us. It's a gift that the heavens give us, a shared sign. The same moon seen by shepherds in Bethlehem, the same moon that shone over the desert where Jesus Christ prayed and fasted, the same moon that hung heavy over Gethsemane, is the moon that tonight reveals itself anew.
Perhaps this year, as the new moon appears, we might choose to pay attention to it. We may watch it grow day by day until it reaches its fullness in the week we call holy. We may receive it as a gentle teacher, as a way of preparing our hearts for what lies ahead, as a companion in both celebration and contemplation. The new moon is the thinnest sliver of light, a reminder that beginnings often look small. They come quietly, wrapped in darkness and uncertainty. They do not yet reveal what they will become. And yet they are full of promise.
Tonight, our Muslim neighbours greet the new moon with celebration, marking Eid with feasting, visiting family, giving gifts, and offering charity to the poor. Eid begins not with fullness, but with this first fragile crescent. A reminder that spiritual renewal starts with something small: a prayer, a gratitude, a turning of the heart. As Christians still walking the Lenten journey, we might receive this moment alongside them. A new moon can pull us back to our beginnings—our baptismal vows, our early stirrings of faith, the first moment God felt near. It can call us back to the desire at the centre of Lent: to return to God with all our heart, to recommit ourselves to mercy, simplicity, and love.
The new moon also invites us to remember the wilderness. It was under a sky governed by the moon and its cycles that Jesus fasted for forty days. That wilderness time was not only a test but a preparation. It was the slow work of learning what truly sustained him. During those forty days, there would have been nights with almost no moon. Nights when the darkness was near total. And there would have been nights, as the weeks passed, when the moon grew brighter and the landscape shifted, shadows dissolving, paths becoming easier to see. The moon didn't remove the struggle. But it did accompany him.
In the same way, our Lenten season doesn't promise ease. But it does promise presence. God with us. God shaping us. God revealing the next small piece of light. If Jesus walked through nights where the moon was only a thin crescent, we too can walk faithfully through seasons where our hope is only a sliver. The wilderness is not a place of abandonment. It is a place where God meets us in the slow increase of light. From tonight until Maundy Thursday, the moon will change every single night. It will never stay still. It will grow, wax, brighten, round out, and then stand at its fullest on 2nd April (Maundy Thursday).
What if we let the moon become a devotional companion for the remaining days of Lent?
Here are some simple ways:
1. Watch the sky each evening
Noticing the moon can be a way of noticing God. Observe how it changes. Let its gradual brightening be a reminder that growth is often slow and still holy. If you are like me Take a photo and send it to a friend as a reminder of the journey
2. Pray for those celebrating EidAs the moon signals their holy day, may we pray blessing, peace, and joy for our Muslim neighbours. May their celebrations be safe, generous, and full of God’s love.
3. Let each stage of the moon speak to the stages of faithA crescent moon: A reminder that God often works with small beginnings. Pray for the parts of your life where light is only just emerging.
A half moon: Pray for balance—between work and rest, prayer and action, giving and receiving.
A nearly full moon: Pray for those longing for completeness—for healing, reconciliation, or the strength to persevere.
A full moon on Maundy Thursday night: The night when Christ gave the command to love as he loved. Let the brightness of the moon illuminate this calling in a fresh way.
In the Christian calendar, the date of Easter is determined by the moon. Easter Day falls on the first Sunday after the first full moon following the spring equinox. That means the moon has always been part of our story—guiding our feast, shaping our remembrance, marking our most sacred days.
When Maundy Thursday arrives this year, the moon above us will be full, round, and luminous. As we gather for worship, break bread, and recall Christ washing the feet of his friends, the light outside will echo the light Christ shares with the world. A full moon is unmissable. It demands attention. It floods the night with radiance (clear skies permitting). And on Maundy Thursday, that radiance sits alongside the tenderness of service, the vulnerability of love, and the looming shadow of betrayal. The full moon teaches us something important: that beauty and sorrow can coexist. That light and darkness can occupy the same night. And that even in the most difficult of human experiences, God’s glory is still present, still shining, still refusing to be extinguished.
One of the most beautiful things about the moon is that it belongs to everyone. It needs no passport, no translation. A child in the UK, a grandmother in Karachi, a farmer in Nigeria, and a nurse working a night shift in the city, all see the same face of the moon. Tonight, as Eid begins, and in the weeks to come as we approach Holy Week, we are united under this shared sky.
May the moon remind us that God’s love is wider than any one tradition and deeper than any one calendar. May it call us to honour the holy in our neighbours’ festivals and the holy in our own.
May it lead us, crescent by crescent, night by night, towards the fullness of Easter hope.
Go well
Karen
Tonight, a thin silver curve will appear, just a whisper of light at the edge of the sky. A new moon. It rises quietly, without fanfare, signalling the start of a new lunar month. For our Muslim neighbours, this new moon ushers in the sacred festival of Eid, a time of celebration, generosity, and gratitude after the fasting month of Ramadan. For us as Christians, this same moon lights the nights of Lent and will grow fuller and brighter until it presides over the night of Maundy Thursday, the night we remember the meal and the command, to love one another as Christ has loved us. It's a gift that the heavens give us, a shared sign. The same moon seen by shepherds in Bethlehem, the same moon that shone over the desert where Jesus Christ prayed and fasted, the same moon that hung heavy over Gethsemane, is the moon that tonight reveals itself anew.
Perhaps this year, as the new moon appears, we might choose to pay attention to it. We may watch it grow day by day until it reaches its fullness in the week we call holy. We may receive it as a gentle teacher, as a way of preparing our hearts for what lies ahead, as a companion in both celebration and contemplation. The new moon is the thinnest sliver of light, a reminder that beginnings often look small. They come quietly, wrapped in darkness and uncertainty. They do not yet reveal what they will become. And yet they are full of promise.
Tonight, our Muslim neighbours greet the new moon with celebration, marking Eid with feasting, visiting family, giving gifts, and offering charity to the poor. Eid begins not with fullness, but with this first fragile crescent. A reminder that spiritual renewal starts with something small: a prayer, a gratitude, a turning of the heart. As Christians still walking the Lenten journey, we might receive this moment alongside them. A new moon can pull us back to our beginnings—our baptismal vows, our early stirrings of faith, the first moment God felt near. It can call us back to the desire at the centre of Lent: to return to God with all our heart, to recommit ourselves to mercy, simplicity, and love.
The new moon also invites us to remember the wilderness. It was under a sky governed by the moon and its cycles that Jesus fasted for forty days. That wilderness time was not only a test but a preparation. It was the slow work of learning what truly sustained him. During those forty days, there would have been nights with almost no moon. Nights when the darkness was near total. And there would have been nights, as the weeks passed, when the moon grew brighter and the landscape shifted, shadows dissolving, paths becoming easier to see. The moon didn't remove the struggle. But it did accompany him.
In the same way, our Lenten season doesn't promise ease. But it does promise presence. God with us. God shaping us. God revealing the next small piece of light. If Jesus walked through nights where the moon was only a thin crescent, we too can walk faithfully through seasons where our hope is only a sliver. The wilderness is not a place of abandonment. It is a place where God meets us in the slow increase of light. From tonight until Maundy Thursday, the moon will change every single night. It will never stay still. It will grow, wax, brighten, round out, and then stand at its fullest on 2nd April (Maundy Thursday).
What if we let the moon become a devotional companion for the remaining days of Lent?
Here are some simple ways:
1. Watch the sky each evening
Noticing the moon can be a way of noticing God. Observe how it changes. Let its gradual brightening be a reminder that growth is often slow and still holy. If you are like me Take a photo and send it to a friend as a reminder of the journey
2. Pray for those celebrating EidAs the moon signals their holy day, may we pray blessing, peace, and joy for our Muslim neighbours. May their celebrations be safe, generous, and full of God’s love.
3. Let each stage of the moon speak to the stages of faithA crescent moon: A reminder that God often works with small beginnings. Pray for the parts of your life where light is only just emerging.
A half moon: Pray for balance—between work and rest, prayer and action, giving and receiving.
A nearly full moon: Pray for those longing for completeness—for healing, reconciliation, or the strength to persevere.
A full moon on Maundy Thursday night: The night when Christ gave the command to love as he loved. Let the brightness of the moon illuminate this calling in a fresh way.
In the Christian calendar, the date of Easter is determined by the moon. Easter Day falls on the first Sunday after the first full moon following the spring equinox. That means the moon has always been part of our story—guiding our feast, shaping our remembrance, marking our most sacred days.
When Maundy Thursday arrives this year, the moon above us will be full, round, and luminous. As we gather for worship, break bread, and recall Christ washing the feet of his friends, the light outside will echo the light Christ shares with the world. A full moon is unmissable. It demands attention. It floods the night with radiance (clear skies permitting). And on Maundy Thursday, that radiance sits alongside the tenderness of service, the vulnerability of love, and the looming shadow of betrayal. The full moon teaches us something important: that beauty and sorrow can coexist. That light and darkness can occupy the same night. And that even in the most difficult of human experiences, God’s glory is still present, still shining, still refusing to be extinguished.
One of the most beautiful things about the moon is that it belongs to everyone. It needs no passport, no translation. A child in the UK, a grandmother in Karachi, a farmer in Nigeria, and a nurse working a night shift in the city, all see the same face of the moon. Tonight, as Eid begins, and in the weeks to come as we approach Holy Week, we are united under this shared sky.
May the moon remind us that God’s love is wider than any one tradition and deeper than any one calendar. May it call us to honour the holy in our neighbours’ festivals and the holy in our own.
May it lead us, crescent by crescent, night by night, towards the fullness of Easter hope.
Go well
Karen
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