Why Denzel Washington’s message matters this Lent

One thing about social media that is really useful is that old news crops back up again just when you need it most. This was just the case when a famous interview re-emerged between journalist Jillian Hardeman-Webb and Denzel Washington, in which the pair discussed cancel culture and the idea of losing public support. The veteran actor offered a response that was both simple and striking.

When questioned about the impact of the cancel culture and losing followers, the devout Christian stated fervently:

The father of four went on to say:

The exchange took place during a conversation with Hardeman-Webb that touched on reputation, influence, and how public figures navigate shifting public opinion. As The Hollywood Reporter noted, Washington made it clear that the very idea of being “cancelled” only has weight if you have allowed public approval to define you in the first place.

There is something oddly refreshing about his reaction — not defensive, not cagey, but rooted in a clear sense of direction.

In a culture where “followers” are literally counted in numbers, Washington’s refusal to anchor himself in the applause feels quietly subversive. He didn’t say he’s better than anyone else. He simply stated, without hesitation, that his ultimate affiliation is not with trends, accolades, or online sentiment, but with what matters most to him: his faith and his purpose. And this perspective feels surprisingly fitting as Lent unfolds.

This season has long asked Christians to consider questions of orientation: whom do we let shape our decisions, our values, our rhythms? When Catholics talk about “following Christ,” they often mean a commitment that isn’t contingent on approval, popularity, or convenience. Washington’s words don’t sound like a manifesto, but they echo that very idea: when your direction comes from something steadier than public opinion, the shifts and swings of social acclaim carry less weight.

The season of Lent isn’t a time to withdraw from the world, but a time to re-examine where we place our attention. Washington’s focus on God rather than crowd approval feels less like a sermon and more like a reminder — one delivered in his own voice, with his own blend of conviction and humility.

There is an unexpected clarity in his statement, and much of it comes from something deeply human: a refusal to let fear of judgment determine one’s steps. To say “I have faith in God, I have hope in Man” is not to ignore human connection, but to place it within a bigger frame.

In the end perhaps the most freeing part of Washington’s message is the simplicity of his choice: to follow what he truly believes in, without hesitation. And this is a message we could share with our children, too.

Teenagers today grow up in a world where “followers” are not metaphorical. They are counted, compared, displayed. Popularity is visible in real time. Approval can rise or fall in a single afternoon. It is not difficult to see how that environment shapes identity.

Washington’s clarity about whom he follows offers a counterpoint that feels surprisingly useful. Not because it condemns ambition or connection, but because it reframes the hierarchy. If the most important voice in your life is not the crowd, then the crowd loses some of its power.

For young people especially, that shift can be liberating. The question moves from “How many people follow me?” to “Who am I following?” and, perhaps more importantly, “Why?”

Lent invites that same question quietly for all of us. Who is shaping our sense of worth? Whose approval steadies us, and whose disapproval unsettles us? In a culture that measures influence numerically, the choice to follow Christ first feels less like a pious slogan and more like a form of interior freedom.