Lent has always been a peculiar time for me. I have often resisted its call to self-denial. Perhaps that’s because I’ve tried to live a disciplined life for so long that I resent being told to increase the discipline. Perhaps it’s because I’m acutely aware of the times when I do not think of God first, and don’t want any more reminders. Perhaps it’s just plain human orneriness at being told what to do. For whatever reason, I often wished we could skip Lent entirely.
When I was younger and more determined to do things the “right” way, I discovered fasting as a Lenten discipline – literal fasting from food, not giving up TV or Facebook. It reliably gave me a pounding headache (I never drank enough water to avoid getting dehydrated) and meant that my family had to scrounge their own meals without the cook’s help. Sometimes fasting was spiritually rewarding, but usually I just got crabby. Then one year I had a prolonged enforced fast after major surgery – ice chips and IVs don’t count as food – and ever since, my body has objected to my earlier practice. I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing!
On Ash Wednesday, the prophet Isaiah told us what kind of fast God chooses: “to loose the bonds of injustice…to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin.” It’s a long list that makes refraining from food almost look easy. Isaiah was angry at the leaders who put on a show of fasting but then cheated others in their daily lives. The alternative he presents is a social agenda, if not a political platform.
Jesus uses even stronger language about how we should act. “If anyone wishes to follow after me,” he says, “let him disown himself and let him take up his cross and follow me.” As R. T France puts it, “such ‘self-denial’ is on a different level altogether than giving up chocolates for Lent.” Similarly, France says, “The metaphor of taking up one’s own cross is not to be domesticated into an exhortation merely to endure hardship patiently.” The context out of which Jesus speaks shows that he is referring to the possibility of actual death.
That is not the context in our country, thank God, but it does put Lenten practices into perspective. They are not private practices, done for our own edification and spiritual welfare, but rather aimed at increasing our love of God and neighbor. It’s not just about fasting; it’s about eating less and then giving away the money that would have been spent on food. It’s about taking on additional disciplines that help others, such as working in a food pantry or changing how we treat people. Putting God and others first is part of the path of self-denial.
Curiously, since I’ve become a priest I don’t find Lent so burdensome. I’m more a part of Lenten liturgies, over which I can exercise some control. (I still think The Great Litany is way too long, but I do what I can to mitigate that.) Holy Week is now energizing rather than enervating – by Easter Monday I’m not exhausted but joyous. I am also more tolerant of my failings, realizing that God does not ask for perfection. It is wholeness to which God calls us, the wholeness of a life lived through Jesus Christ, lived for the sake of the gospel. Yes, it does require a certain amount of discipline to live such a life. Yet I see Lent’s trajectory more clearly now, building through the betrayal and death of Jesus to the resurrection on Easter Day. With that joy as the ultimate goal, any burden of Lent becomes remarkably light. How could I not wish to take this journey once again?
[Lent 2: Mark 8:31-38. The translation of verse 34 is my own, retaining the masculine pronouns. The NRSV uses a plural number, removing gender, but I think there is more impact if the singular number is retained, an individual invitation from Jesus rather than a corporate one. The Ash Wednesday reading is from Isaiah 58:6-7, and the N. T. France quotes are from The Gospel of Mark, p. 340. I should also say that the language of self-denial can be destructive, especially for women, who historically have been taught to serve men rather than care for themselves.]
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
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2 comments:
Someone else on the Net wrote about the washing of feet, noting that many churches do this on Maundy Thursday, but the people go forth from there without any intention of doing the equivalent deeds in their daily interactions -- the little (or not so little) and often unpleasant tasks that make others' lives easier, the sort of thing that used to be left for the "servants" to take care of. Or, as my uncle and my father would say, the "women's work."
If our Lord and Master makes himself a servant, who are we to consider ourselves too good for such tasks?
The other day, I tackled the little kitchen area in our church undercroft, a youth area. I threw out almost everything in the refrigerator, cleaned the expensive Gevalia coffeepot (wherein the coffee grounds had grown a nice crop of mold and the pot full of coffee was unspeakable), washed a large stack of dishes and cups that had been on the counter for a couple of weeks, and did what I could to tidy things up. Your wife does much of this in the "upstairs" kitchen at the church.
It seems to me that it is this sort of self-denial and Lenten discipline that is most useful, and to do such as this unseen and unacknowledged -- and with a more cheerful spirit than I was able to manage.
It is especially good in our society for men to undertake these things a lot more than we do.
One of my favorite stories from New Melleray Abbey comes from a visit some years ago. I was assigned to clean the tiles in the professed monks' shower stalls, which had not been touched in about 40 years. Using steel wool, I painstakingly rubbed each square tile to remove the accumulated scale. After several hours I had finished two walls in one stall, and felt good about how much better they looked.
A monk came to tell me it was time to go to the church for prayers. As soon as I started to leave he picked up the steel wool and started working on a wall I thought I had done. Clearly it did not meet his expectations! For me, it was a wonderful lesson in humility.
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