After the seasons of Advent and Christmas, the Church celebrates Epiphany, which focuses on the glory of God in the life of Christ. Epiphany is followed by Lent, a season of penitence in preparation for Easter. In modern liturgical calendars and lectionaries (lists of Bible readings for each Sunday of the year), Epiphany lasts until Ash Wednesday, the official start of Lent. However, it’s worth considering that in older liturgical calendars and lectionaries (such as those in the 1662 Book of Common Prayer), Epiphany ends earlier and gives way to a three-Sunday, pre-Lent season known as Gesimatide (from the old German for these Sundays).
Easing Into it
The three Sundays of Gesimatide provide a unique opportunity to ease from the joys of Christmas and the glory of Epiphany into the penitential nature of Lent. The violet-clad interlude shifts the church’s tone without the full rigor of Lenten fasting. The Gloria vanishes from the Mass or Mattins, Tract replaces the Alleluia, and a somber expectancy builds, much like church bells tolling faintly before the Lenten knell. Retaining these in traditional Anglican, continuing Anglican, and some Lutheran rites honors a practice traceable to St. Gregory the Great around 600 AD, bridging Epiphany’s manifestation to Lent’s (aka Quadragesima’s) forty days.
The Sundays Considered
The three Sundays of the pre-Lenten season are strangely titled Septuagesima, Sexagesima and Quinquagesima. The names have Latin origins and simply estimate the number of days until Easter—around 70, 60, and 50 days respectively.
Opening this trio about 63 days before Easter (not precisely 70, but evocatively so, recalling Israel’s 70-year exile), Septuagesima calls us to spiritual toil. The Gospel’s parable of the vineyard laborers (Mt. 20:1–16) shatters merit-based thinking: latecomers receive the same denarius as early risers, revealing God’s prodigal grace. Paired with St. Paul’s runner straining for an incorruptible crown (1 Cor 9:24–27), it urges disciplined training and temperance in all things for the heavenly prize. Adam’s curse of sweaty labor echoes here, yet Christ’s generosity redeems it.
Roughly 56 days out, Sexagesima turns to providence amid trial. Noah’s ark (Gen. 1–8 in some uses) and the sower’s parable (Luke 8:4–15) dominate: seeds fall on varied soils, but God’s Word endures floods and thorns. Paul recounts his thorn in the flesh (2 Cor. 11–12), modeling perseverance. It’s a Sunday for battered faith, joy in weakness, trusting the Seed that multiplies despite rocky paths.
At around 49 days (echoing Jubilee’s 50), Quinquagesima crowns the season with love’s supremacy (1 Cor. 13). The blind man’s sight restored (Luke 18:31–43) mirrors our Lenten unveiling, as Christ foretells his Passion. Abraham’s faith may appear in OT lessons, but charity binds all: without it, even prophetic gifts clang empty. Shrove Tuesday confessions often follow as a call to purge the soul for Ash Wednesday.
This pre-Lent rhythm, far from archaic, offers graduated resolve, like an athlete’s warm-up or a laborer’s dawn hiring. In our rushed age, it invites deliberate turning toward Easter’s victory, one numbered Sunday at a time. But its deeper importance lies in reclaiming a lost art of spiritual preparation, countering the modern temptation to plunge headlong into disciplines without reflection.
Resisting the Holiday Rush
Consider our fractured world: instant gratification erodes patience, self-promotion mocks humility, and superficial faith withers under trial. Gesimatide counters this with measured mercy. Septuagesima dismantles pride in our “early arrival,” teaching that God’s kingdom values grace over merit, vital for a culture obsessed with achievement. Sexagesima steels us against despair, reminding Noah-like believers that God’s ark preserves through storms, and His Word, sown generously, yields harvest in unlikely soil. Quinquagesima then clothes these truths in charity, the “greatest” virtue that outlasts all, preparing hearts not just to endure Lent but to love through it.
Historically, this season echoed Eastern asceticism, where Lent’s intensity demanded forewarning, and Western monks buried the Alleluia at Septuagesima’s close in symbolic funerals. Today, amid secular calendars that rush from holiday to holiday, it restores sacred time’s cadence. For pastors and parishioners alike, it fosters communal momentum.
Consider embracing Gesimatide as a way to bridge confessional depth with evangelical zeal. It humanizes Lent, making repentance feel like a gracious invitation rather than a grim duty. These Sundays whisper: Run well, endure faithfully, love supremely—not for corruptible crowns, but for the imperishable joy of resurrection. Let us, then, heed their numbered call, stepping from Epiphany’s light into Lent’s refining shadow, with hearts attuned to Easter’s dawn.
