There is something special about the third week of February 2026. Chinese New Year (February 17), the beginning of Lent (February 18), and the start of Ramadan (February 18 or 19) all occur within the same single week.¹ As an Indonesian Christian born and raised in the Chinese community, surrounded by Muslim neighbors, this shared sacred week raises important theological and pastoral questions for me. For instance, as an Indonesian Christian, can I practice Lent not only as a personal discipline but also as a relational public witness to Muslim and Chinese neighbors? As a Chinese Christian, can I celebrate Chinese New Year joyfully while remaining attentive to the quiet spirituality of Lent and Ramadan? More substantially, can Christian spirituality be shaped in ways that are deeply rooted in the Gospel of Christ while remaining attentive to the plural cultural and religious realities surrounding it?

This article reflects on these questions by exploring the spiritual significance of this shared sacred week. It seeks to consider how the cross (the symbol of Christian Lent), the crescent (the symbol of Muslim Ramadan), and the Chun Jie (the Chinese term for Spring Festival, celebrated as the Chinese New Year) may together invite Indonesian Christians into a more contextual, hospitable, and Christ-centered way of living and witnessing in a multicultural and multireligious society. I will begin this reflection by briefly describing the practices and spiritualities of each celebration and, in doing so, imagine the spiritual postures and practices that Christians might adopt.

The Spirituality of Lent

Lent is the 40-day period leading up to Easter Sunday, beginning with Ash Wednesday and culminating in Holy Week, which includes Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and ends with Holy Saturday². This period is primarily marked by seasons of prayer, personal reflection, fasting, and abstinence, symbolically imitating the 40 days Jesus spent in the wilderness before His public ministry began. During this time, many Christians detach themselves from comfort and luxuries and commit themselves to practices of spiritual discipline. In Indonesia, these spiritual disciplines range from routines of waking up early for personal prayer and Scripture-reading—often accompanied by specially designed church devotionals—to daily morning prayer meetings. Some skip lunch or coffee to give the money to charity, while others fast from Netflix, TikTok, or Instagram, an especially popular choice among younger believers.

However, these practices are merely symbolic of something deeper: the “heart” of the Lenten season is the posture of turning back to God in repentance. Esau McCaulley notes: “Lent is inescapably about repenting. Repentance is a change in direction, a Spirit-empowered turning around … Lent, then, is about turning away from our sins and toward the living God.”³ During Lent, Christians are invited to reflect deeper on their own life and soul, to mourn and grieve the depth of their misery and rebellion (cf. Matt. 5:3-4), and to reflect on God’s great mercy over sinners. In fasting, we are shaped to deeply realize our hunger, both physical and spiritual, and to reflect that only Jesus Christ, the Bread of Life, brings ultimate fulfillment by pouring out his broken body and blood as a ransom for many⁴.

The Spirituality of Ramadan

Ramadan is the name of the 9th month in the Islamic lunar calendar and is regarded as one of the most sacred periods in Islam. Its significance is rooted in the belief that, during this month, the Qur’an was first revealed to the Prophet Muhammad through the angel Jibreel. Because Muslims understand the Qur’an as God’s ultimate guidance for humanity, its revelation elevates Ramadan above all other months. Thus, the Surah Al-Baqarah (2:183–187) describes Ramadan as the month in which the Qur’an was revealed and instructs believers to observe fasting as an act of gratitude and devotion to God.⁵

During Ramadan, Muslims are called to intensify their religious life through prayer, recitation of the Qur’an, and fasting, which is one of the five pillars of Islam. From dawn (fajr) until sunset (maghrib), believers abstain from food, drink, and sexual relations.⁶ This continues for twenty-nine or thirty days, depending on the lunar calendar. Fasting is obligatory for Muslims who have reached puberty, but those who are elderly, chronically ill, pregnant, menstruating, and confined after childbirth are exempted.⁷ The exempted individuals are encouraged to either make up for the missed days later or to compensate by providing food for those in need. In this way, the discipline of fasting is balanced with compassion and social responsibility.

Toward the end of Ramadan, particular spiritual attention is given to Laylat al-Qadr, commonly known as the “Night of Power.” This night, occurring during one of the five final odd-numbered nights of the month, is associated with exceptional spiritual significance. The Qur’an describes it as being more valuable than a thousand months, emphasizing its unique importance for prayer, repentance, and divine encounter. Many Muslims intensify their worship during the last ten days of Ramadan, sometimes staying in mosques for extended periods of prayer, reflection, and Qur’anic reading. At the conclusion of the month, Muslims give zakat al-fitr, a special charitable contribution intended to purify the fast and extend its spiritual meaning through care for the poor.

The most important thing about Ramadan is not the practice of fasting itself but the spiritual significance of renewing one’s devotion to God, expressing collective obedience as the ummah (the community of God’s people), and cultivating taqwa—an attitude of God-consciousness, reverence, and devotion. As Tariq Ramadan observes, in abstaining from natural human needs such as food, drink, and sexual relations, Muslims exercise self-mastery and turn inward, seeking closeness to the Divine and attentiveness to the spiritual breath within.⁸ In resisting fleshly consumption and worldly dependence, fasting becomes an experience of liberation from egotism and possessiveness. Beyond personal transformation, it also carries a vital social dimension: it nurtures solidarity with the poor and marginalized and reinforces the ethical responsibility to share in their vulnerability. It is widely believed that sincere fasting during Ramadan brings remission of past sins and multiplies pahala (eternal reward) in the sight of God.

The Spirituality of the Chūn Jié

Chūn Jié (春节) is the Chinese term for Spring Festival, commonly known as Chinese New Year. It marks the beginning of the new year on the traditional Chinese lunisolar calendar and is considered the most important traditional holiday in China. This celebration, which takes place for 15 days, brings families together in a grand reunion and often encourages those who live in other cities or abroad to travel back home. Families usually gather at their parents’ or ancestral home, or at the house of the eldest family member. Preparations for the celebration often begin a week in advance and include cleaning and decorating the house with lanterns, flowers, and red ornaments, as well as shopping for gifts and provisions and preparing festive meals. For many families, this “cleaning” extends beyond physical space to include cutting hair, settling debts, and resolving relational conflicts.⁹ A central event is the family reunion dinner on New Year’s Eve, attended by the entire family, who often wear new clothes and enjoy a wide variety of dishes reflecting family customs and local culinary traditions, accompanied by traditional wines or liquor. The dinner may extend late into the night, and many families set off fireworks or light firecrackers as part of the celebration. Other customs include the giving of hóng bāo (red envelopes containing money), usually from married elders to younger family members.

These practices are shaped by a combination of Taoist cosmology, Confucian reverence for ancestors, and Buddhist concepts of rebirth, expressing the belief that the New Year represents the release of the old and the welcoming of the new.¹⁰ This meaning is also reinforced through local myths, especially the legend of Nian, a monstrous being believed to emerge each New Year to devour crops and livestock. Beyond being a mythical creature, Nian symbolizes the burdens, misfortune, and spiritual stagnation of the past year. According to tradition, villagers discovered that Nian feared red decorations, loud noises, and fire, which explains the use of fireworks, lanterns, and banners as symbolic means of purification. In this way, physical cleaning, ritual noise, and visual symbols together function as spiritual practices that create space for renewal, reconciliation, and new beginnings.

Interestingly, the celebration of Chinese New Year in Indonesia tends to be more closely associated with cultural identity than with religious affiliation. This means that people of Chinese descent, regardless of their religious background, celebrate this festival together. I have experienced this personally within my own extended family. Growing up in a multicultural family—Protestant, Roman Catholic, Muslim, and Buddhist—we rarely shared religious holidays together and were usually occupied with our respective religious activities. However, Chinese New Year has always been our annual moment of gathering. It is a particularly special time, as it allows us to share life updates with one another and even sit together at one table to eat, without being hindered by religious differences.

However, this cultural intimacy has not always been easily sustained. The celebration of Chinese New Year in Indonesia has faced a long-standing struggle. During the early period of the New Order regime, the second president issued Presidential Instruction No. 14 of 1967, which restricted spiritual and cultural practices associated with Chinese ancestry and heritage.¹¹ This policy effectively banned the public celebration of Chinese New Year. It represents only one episode in a long history of sociopolitical discrimination, in which people of Chinese descent were not fully recognized as part of indigenous Indonesian society, even though they were no longer citizens of China. Over time, these restrictions were gradually eased. It was eventually revoked by the fourth president through Presidential Decree No. 6 of 2000, which lifted legal restrictions and paved the way for the eventual recognition of Chinese New Year as a national holiday.¹² In 2026, the Deputy Minister of Creative Economy—who is herself a Chinese-Indonesian Buddhist woman—announced the organization of the first national Chinese New Year celebration.¹³ Nevertheless, the racial wounds and long-standing trauma resulting from years of discrimination have not entirely disappeared. In practice, in some Indonesian regions, Chinese communities still celebrate Chinese New Year with fear, anxiety, and heightened caution, especially out of concern that they may face verbal or physical hostility from surrounding indigenous communities.

The Spirituality of the Shared Sacred Week

The practices associated with these three sacred seasons, described above, reveal a shared longing and common orientation toward inward renewal, deep transformation, and a fresh and authentic start. This renewal is pursued primarily through self-examination, self-restraint, and symbolic acts that bring closure to the past and open space for new beginnings. Lent calls Christians to repentance and conformity to Christ through self-denial and prayer. Ramadan invites Muslims to cultivate discipline, God-consciousness, and solidarity through fasting and devotion. Chūn Jié encourages families to release the burdens of the past and welcome new beginnings through reconciliation, communal rituals, and family gatherings. Together, these traditions highlight that spiritual renewal is a profound human longing that seeks real fulfillment. Such renewal involves not only inward experience, but also embodied practices in the broader communal life.

For me, this search for spiritual renewal is deeply meaningful, revealing that we, as human beings, fundamentally reflect our identity as the image of God, created to worship and to be united with Him. This longing, which is expressed through three different religious and cultural traditions, also indicates that human beings respond to God’s self-revelation—those outside Christianity perhaps through nature, history, reason, and conscience, and Christians most clearly through Scripture and the person of Jesus Christ.

Certainly, as Christians, we believe that Jesus Christ is the ultimate fulfillment of this search. The gospel shows that spiritual renewal, and indeed the renewal of every aspect of life, does not come primarily through human effort—whether individual or communal, spiritual or social, cultural or religious—but only through the saving work of Christ on the cross, which we receive by faith. The question, however, is how this truth can be communicated to our neighbors who differ from us in belief yet share the same sacred week.

Too often, differences in religious practices are emphasized more than their essential similarities and shared spiritual meanings. Not infrequently, Christians criticize or dismiss the religious practices of others—such as Muslim fasting or the traditional beliefs of Buddhist and Confucian communities during Chinese New Year—as the actions of “those outside the faith,” or accusing them of foolishly “worshiping a God they do not know” (cf. Jn. 4:22; Acts 17:23). Such attitudes only build walls, foster interreligious hostility, and close off opportunities for meaningful dialogue and gospel witness.

In my view, however, the reality that these three religious and cultural traditions share a similar spiritual quest can become a meeting point and an effective bridge for Christian witness. Instead of criticizing the spiritual blindness of those who have not yet believed, we can acknowledge that we ourselves are engaged in the same search and then testify to how Christ has become the answer to that search. Rather than condemning their practices as futile, we can respect their religious and cultural expressions and gently point them toward their ultimate fulfillment in Christ.

How (Then) Should Indonesian Christians Celebrate the Shared Sacred Week Together?

I will conclude this article by proposing several theological and pastoral practices that Christians may adopt during this shared sacred week. As Christians, our primary focus certainly remains on the observance of Lent. However, I suggest that we practice Lent not in isolation or in an inward-focused manner, but through concrete expressions of Christian hospitality, especially toward Muslims who are fasting. We can organize a communal dinner (iftar gathering) to break the fast together to honor our shared discipline of self-restraint and to envision together the hope of God’s eternal banquet.¹⁴ By hosting such a meal, we can attend to the presence and stories of each person—their activities, struggles, hopes, fears and dreams. That shared table will also allow us to share our eternal hope of one day participating in God’s royal feast. Moreover, we can also deepen our commitment to solidarity with the poor and those in need, engaging more intentionally with Muslim neighbors as fellow pilgrims in the wilderness of this world.

For Chinese-Indonesian Christians celebrating Chinese New Year, this hospitality can also be practiced by opening our homes more generously. We need not allow fear, racial wounds, or past trauma to become permanent narratives that erode our souls. Instead, as people who have been given new identities and restored in Christ, we can extend hospitality even to indigenous neighbors who do not directly celebrate Chinese New Year. Beyond preparing food only for family members, we can also share food with neighbors in our surrounding community. In addition to giving hóng bāo to children and relatives within our families, we may also consider sharing hóng bāo with those in greater need, such as drivers, domestic workers, orphans, or social service workers in our neighborhoods.

Interestingly, when Chinese New Year coincides with Lent and the period leading up to Ramadan, we are also invited to reflect on whether and how we should fast. This depends on whether our fasting practices will bless or hinder our families and relatives who are celebrating together with us (Rm. 14:15, 19; 1Cor. 8:9-13, 10:23–24, 31–33). If most of our family members and neighbors would be negatively affected by our insistence on fasting during festive gatherings, we may choose not to fast on those days, since fasting is not a salvific obligation for Christians. This approach has been practiced by the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of Malaysia, Singapore, and Brunei (CBCMSB), which for two consecutive years has granted a dispensation allowing the congregations not to fast on Ash Wednesday when it coincides with the Chinese New Year celebrations.¹⁵

Conversely, when we celebrate Chinese New Year with family members who are mostly fasting, we can adjust our practices by postponing communal meals until the evening, after the breaking of the fast. Furthermore, we can consider providing fully halal food options (without pork or lard), or separating utensils and cooking equipment, in order to honor Muslim family members. We may also choose fully vegetarian meals to respect Buddhist or Confucian relatives who refrain from eating meat at the beginning of the lunar month. When practiced with awareness and humility, these disciplines can themselves become forms of active Christian self-restraint, resonating deeply with the spirituality of Lent.

Conclusion: Toward a Contextual and Hospitable Christian Spirituality

I believe that the convergence of Lent, Ramadan, and Chūn Jié within a single week bears significant spiritual weight, more than a rare calendrical coincidence. It constitutes a formative spiritual moment that invites Indonesian Christians to reflect more deeply on how faith is lived, embodied, and witnessed within a multifaith and multicultural society. This season reminds us that authentic spiritual formation cannot be reduced to private piety alone. Rather, authentic repentance, self-restraint, renewal, and hospitality are best practiced in concrete social relationships.

This shared sacred week also challenges us to articulate our faith with both conviction and grace. While affirming that Christ alone is the ultimate fulfillment of humanity’s deepest spiritual longing, we are called to witness this in ways that respect the sincerity and dignity of others’ religious pursuits. Such witness does not begin with criticism or confrontation, but with attentive presence, shared practices, and genuine solidarity. In this way, the gospel is communicated not only through words, but through embodied lives shaped by Christ’s self-giving love.

Finally, the spirituality of this shared sacred week points toward a broader vision of contextual theology in Indonesia. It invites us to move beyond defensive postures and toward a mature, confident, and more hospitable spirituality. By learning to walk faithfully alongside neighbors of different traditions, we are formed into communities that embody the reconciling work of God in Christ. In this way, the cross, the crescent, and Chūn Jié together become signs of God’s ongoing invitation to renewal—calling us to live as humble witnesses, faithful disciples, and agents of grace in the midst of Indonesia’s rich religious and cultural diversity.

Carmia Margaret is a Ph.D. student at the Oxford Centre for Mission Studies (OCMS), UK, researching theological and spiritual interpretation of Scripture in the Chinese-Indonesian context. Supported by Langham Scholarship and ScholarLeaders International, she is based in Bandung, Indonesia, where she serves as an associate pastor at Gereja Kristen Immanuel Jemaat Hosanna and occasionally teaches theology at Bandung Theological Seminary. She is passionate about equipping churches for faithful discipleship by integrating theological reflection with pastoral wisdom. In her spare time, she enjoys reading, watching films, and experimenting with coffee brewing.