I planned to write a lot about Lent, but finding humor in this topic isn’t easy, so instead, I’m laughing at myself.
When I attended St. Mary’s School in West, the nuns delivered a thunderous Lenten lecture almost every day for those forty days, reminding us that we were sinners and we needed to repent big time. We had to sacrifice something we cherished dearly. Most of us gave up candy, which was relatively easy because the school candy store was closed during Lent. Even though I was a typical candy-loving kid, I don’t remember it being much of a sacrifice. I just accepted the deprivation without much emotional trauma.
Three years ago, I decided to give up alcohol: no wine, no beer, no martinis. It wasn’t as challenging as I imagined, and the benefits weren’t all that magnanimous either.
I thought I’d sleep better. I didn’t.
I thought I’d feel better. I didn’t.
I thought I’d lose a few pounds. I didn’t
I thought I’d be proud of myself. I wasn’t.
So what did I gain from this sacrifice? A message. Even after sixty-something years, my priorities weren’t really priorities; they were a bunch of beliefs thrown into a basket, shaken up, and, when spilled out, landed in a jumbled mess.
So, the following year I tried something different. Instead of sacrificing something, I made a list of all the people who’d pissed me off and meditated on forgiving one each day. Double good news: I had trouble coming up with forty names, but the practice worked, and I let go of a lot of emotional baggage.
Then I started thinking about “fasting.” Don’t ever google “fasting during Lent.” You’ll receive mountains of information: rules, definitions, history, changes, and explanations. I’ve said this before. The Catholic Church has more rules than major league baseball. After skimming for the best tidbits, I came up with the following:
Lenten practices have changed since the 1950s. The Lent we experience today is a kinder, gentler Lent. Nowadays, Catholics are required to fast only on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday and not every weekday. Also, fast no longer means “no food.” It means two small meals and one average meal per day. No problem there; I got that covered. That’s my daily eating plan, anyway. Then, of course, there’s no meat on Friday during Lent. No problem there either; I haven’t eaten meat in 16,200 days.
Lent is halfway over, and I feel guilty that I haven’t suffered much. So this is what I did. I got several large brown grocery bags, and I started cleaning out my closet and drawers, giving away things I no longer wore or hadn’t worn in a long time—including shoes. Big Ouch! What was I thinking? But I kept to the task and actually felt a little freer. Then I tacked my bookcases. And that’s where the real pain and suffering started.