The Practice of Giving Up

I first heard of Lent when I was about 10 years old.

My older, wiser, much more mature cousin who was 17 had been on a student exchange with a Catholic girl from Germany who practiced Lent by giving up chocolate. I had never heard of such a thing, but even at that young age, I could see that giving up chocolate for any period of time would be a sacrifice.

This information seeped into my subconscious and I recalled it years later when I was in Bible college. I had dutifully gained my “freshman fifteen,” as those extra pounds were referred to, during months of eating cafeteria food. This was pretty serious for me and I figured perhaps if I threw some religion at the problem, it might be easier for me to rid myself of my extra baggage.

So, during Lent, I gave up all desserts and chocolate. I stuck to my commitment and I did lose some weight and I did gain some insight into sacrifice. However, I also gained a stockpile of goodies for as soon as Lent was over: Easter chocolates my unit mates gave me, white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies and a huge piece of Black forest chocolate cake saved from supper trips to my roommate's house in town, treats from care packages from far-away family members. Good Friday came and I shoveled in chocolate and sweets with relish – until I was sick. And I thought that was about the dumbest way ever to celebrate Good Friday.

In the following years, I continued the practice of giving up something for Lent as a way to purposely consider what Christ had sacrificed in order to spend time on earth, including his ultimate sacrifice of life. I found this a helpful discipline and often a startling wake-up call to realize what a hold minor vices, like chocolate, had on me.

And then came the year when I gave up misery for Lent.

This was a life-changing experience for me. My husband and I had moved to a community in the States to work with Mennonite Central Committee. It was a community far from family, far from familiar, far from “comfortable” for me. It had grocery stores that stocked self-rising flour and cornmeal and grits and hominy, but not one small bag of bran could I find to make plain old bran muffins. The bank in town refused to cash perfectly good Canadian cheques. Community suppers consisted of soupbeans and cornbread instead of chili and buns. I had neighbours I hadn't met; I went to work at a job where it felt like there was nothing to do; and I was terrified of driving around curves where one wrong move would send you careening over the edge of a mountain. I was unhappy. No, I was miserable. I didn't see how I was going to survive the remaining 18 months of our term. I didn't see how I could give up chocolate for Lent under these circumstances.

So I decided to give up misery instead. Each day I purposely let go of my resistance to the reality in front of me. I made a point of not being bothered by the crazy people who tailgated me around curves in the road – they could either pass me or wait. And I prayed hard. And I searched for things to be thankful for. And my eyes were opened to the beauty around me, I learned to drive with ease, I met my neighbour during that time who became my good friend for the next four years, and I learned that I could control my mind – my mind didn't have to control me. It was astonishing and life-giving. I felt like God performed a miracle in my life.

And now – what? I have done the chocolate thing again some years, to greater or lesser effect. This year Lent snuck up on me while I wasn't looking and I had no plan in place. I was rather glad I hadn't decided to give up chocolate since Lent started early this year and includes such chocolatey events like Valentine's Day and two family birthdays! But somehow since my year of “Giving up Misery for Lent,” my Lent sacrifices have felt kind of flat; they haven't been life-changing or eye-opening. But is that the point of Lent? It seems to me that the focus of Lent should be on Christ, not on me. That whether I'm miserable or happy or somewhere in between, that it is Christ's sacrifice that makes my life worth living. That regardless of my feelings or my token sacrifices, it is my obedience to God that matters more.

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:

to loose the chains of injustice

and untie the cords of the yoke,

to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?

Is it not to share your food with the hungry

and provide the poor wanderer with shelter -

when you see the naked, to clothe him,

and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn

and your healing will quickly appear;

then your righteousness will go before you,

and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.

Isaiah 58:6-8

Lent is the season of preparation before Easter. It is a season of prayer, of service, of self-examination, of sacrifice and fasting. And I do think picking one particular thing to give up for a season is a good discipline and a helpful tool in refocusing. But perhaps it is just a small exercise to prepare for the greater “fasting” of daily self-sacrifice, of daily service, of daily commitment to following Christ and his teachings.

So whether I give up chocolate or internet or anxiety during this particular Lenten season or whether I forget until day 8 of Lent that maybe I should “fast” from something, and whether my fasting experience is life-changing or drudgery, it is considerably less important than whether each day I have my eyes open to the moving of God in this world and being moved by that same God to make this world a better place for others.

Maybe I should give up reading books for pleasure....

That would give me more time to pay attention to God's moving and to make this world a better place....

Ouch.