Reflections: You do not walk alone

By Robby and Donna Flint | First Presbyterian Church pastors

As winter fades and spring approaches, Christians enter a season called Lent. It is a time to slow down and take an honest look at our lives, to reflect on our choices, our struggles, and our hopes. Lent is serious, but it is not hopeless. It asks us to notice life’s valleys and to consider what sustains us there.

There is an old spiritual often associated with Lent called “Jesus Walked This Lonesome Valley.” The first verse is simple: Jesus walked this lonesome valley; He had to walk it by himself, nobody else could walk it for him.

There is truth in that. As Christians move toward Easter, we remember how isolated Jesus became in his final days. Friends failed him. Crowds turned on him. He faced suffering and the cross alone. His valley was truly lonesome.

But then the song goes on to suggest that we must walk our valleys and stand our trial alone, that nobody else can walk it for us.

That’s where I hesitate. We all know what a “lonesome valley” feels like. It may be a loss, a setback, the fear of judgment, or a burden we carry quietly. It’s true that no one else can carry certain responsibilities for us. No one can make our decisions or live our lives in our place. There are moments when the weight feels uniquely ours, and we feel very much alone.

But saying we walk alone describes only part of the story. Christians believe something remarkable. God came to us in Jesus Christ and stepped fully into our human experience. He understands our story from the inside. God is present, and that presence matters. Support matters. We begin to know we are not alone when someone stands beside us, or when we sense a strength and peace that did not come from ourselves. Even though no one else can carry our responsibilities, we are never abandoned.

The hymn goes on to suggest that we must stand our trial alone. Yet Christians believe that Jesus has already faced the ultimate trial for us, bearing what no one else could and offering forgiveness, so that we do not have to carry our failures alone.

None of this removes hardship or erases loss. But it does change what loneliness means. It allows hope and reminds us that judgment is not the final word.

As Lent begins, this may be something worth considering. In a world where isolation is increasingly common, the promise of presence may be one of our greatest gifts.

Whatever valley you may be walking, may you know this: you do not have to face it entirely alone. The One who walked the darkest valley now walks with us through ours.