According to the old liturgical calendar, this last Sunday (Jan. 25, 2026) was the last Sunday of Epiphany. That seems strange, because in modern lectionary and liturgical calendars, we still have three more Sundays until Ash Wednesday, and the official start of Lent. But in the old calendar, like the one we use at my church (the 1662 Lectionary with OT additions from the Canadian Prayer Book Society), we are getting ready to enter into what has been known as the pre-Lent season, with three strangely titled Sunday of; Septuagesima, Sexagesima and Quinquagesima Sunday’s. The three names of these Sunday’s come from the Latin origins, stating how many Sunday’s we are away from Easter. Going 70, 60 & 50 days.
These three Sunday’s provide a unique opportunity to ease into the penitential nature of Lent from the joys of Christmas, and the season of Epiphany where the power and nature of Christ are revealed.
Known collectively as Gesimatide (from the old German for these Sundays), this violet-clad interlude, roughly three weeks long, shifts the church’s tone without the full rigor of Lenten fasting. Gloria and Alleluia vanish 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 Quadragesima’s (Lent’s) forty days.
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 (Matt 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, temperance in all things, for the heavenly prize. Adam’s curse of sweatful 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 ~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, purging 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.
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.
In Free Methodist or Anglican contexts like ours, embracing Gesimatide bridges 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, hearts attuned to Easter’s dawn.