Every possession and every happiness is but lent by chance
for an uncertain time,
and therefore may be demanded back the next hour.
- Arthur Schopenhauer
This Lent, in an attempt to jumpstart an effort to regain control of my life and address long-delayed opportunities to move beyond bad habits and replace them with good ones, I decided to give up three symbolically important things: caffeine, added salt and added sugar (from soda). It's day two and the ramifications of this choice - and some of the initial costs - are clear: I've bitten off quite a bit and the real question is can I chew it....
It wasn't always this way. Long ago, I was younger and none of these substances posed nearly the threat to me that they do now. And yet time passed and I didn't reform ... which is a really nice and (too) exculpatory way of saying that I chose not to change. And now I'm older, fatter, more tired and have less leeway in terms of my health ... and I'm still addicted to these substances.
Actually, in the case of caffeine, I'm addicted again. When my son Maxwell was born, I gave up caffeine cold turkey and kept this discipline - with one notable exception - for more than ten years. I started again when a dear friend and I began to share conversation and comfort over a cup of coffee or two. And then I reintroduced coffee as a complement to my sacred reading time. And then I took a glass or two of Coke at dinner with my sons (and, boy, did that familiar gurgle feel wonderful!). And then ... I was hooked again. So, at least with respect to caffeine, I have some hopeful history.
But things have changed with respect to caffeine, too: I'm now up in the middle of the night working on this blog because the withdrawal headache about which I was warned by supportive friends has indeed announced itself intensely. I was fortunate that I had no such withdrawal symptoms fifteen years ago, but that was a different time and I was a different (and much younger) man.
This headache follows a day when I felt the absence of caffeine profoundly: yesterday I felt like I was in a fog most of the day, unable to move at full speed and awake but tired and not alert. When I didn't add salt to my mid-day meal of low-salt New England clam chowder, it was on: the challenge of what I was undertaking was as clear as the lunch was unappetizing. It's good chowder - I've had it many times before and enjoyed it - but without that "pinch" (read = numerous shakes) of added salt, it seemed far less appealing this time.
And my stepdaughter left the ginger ales - both regular and cranberry - out on the table where I was working so that temptation was just a foot away all day. In other words, yesterday I began to grasp what I was undertaking ... and today I'm still but more committed, not just intellectually as I was when I made this Lenten pact with myself, but emotionally and physically now that the costs of doing so are abundantly clear and painful....
Yet, for Christians, isn't that what Lent's about, suffering ourselves in tribute to our Lord's ultimate suffering and sacrifice? Well, that's what I was taught as a child ... but just like my bad eating/drinking habits, I have to overcome this bad spiritual one, too. At mid-life, I appreciate the symbolism but now question the motivation.
Seems to me there is indeed great benefit in testing oneself as chosen Lenten prohibitions inevitably do. Particularly for those of us fortunate to lead relatively comfortable lives, discomfort, as estranged as we typically have become from it, can be a great teacher. Among the lessons is one of perspective: I am often reminded of my good fortune when I'm suffering the inconvenience of chosen lack because I become more aware that there are many for whom such an experience is normal. To put it simply, what are chosen inconveniences for me are often real problems for others.
Accordingly, now I see Lent and its modestly painful commitments differently: I'm not suffering to emulate my Lord as a prelude to the commemoration of His death, I'm suffering to bring myself into greater awareness of the broader human condition - to which He was so attuned during His life - so that I can emulate His life. Lent for me now isn't about preparing for Jesus's death and resurrection as much as it is about walking a mile in His sandals and being attuned and fully connected to the lives of others as He was, which is inevitably painful.
So, I choose to suffer not because it reminds me of how Jesus died - and, conceptually, transcended death via his Resurrection (which I no longer consider to be a bodily one, but, in the interest of not digressing further, I'll save that for another time and another blog post) - but to remind me of how He lived, fully attuned to and engaged with humanity, living simply and focused on helping others to experience love and joy in the here and now (in what were far more challenging and uncomfortable circumstances in that day and time).
Thus, Lent has become about living more simply but more authentically and powerfully. Jesus had nothing in a material sense and yet His was a life that we remember, revere and, supposedly, emulate two millennia later. In giving up some of my creature comforts, I remind myself that there are far more important things on which I could and should focus, especially being present/in the moment and loving with those around me, a way of life that I now believe to be Jesus's greatest legacy. I can't get to the miracles and much of the other Christian dogma with which we've adorned Him in our practice of religion, but I can get to and be powerfully and profoundly swayed by His example of a fully loving, sacrificial life.
To borrow from the inimitable Bishop John Shelby Spong, Jesus lived fully, loved wastefully - that is, without discrimination as to the receiver or concern for reciprocation, etc. - and was all that He could be, fully human and, in so being, the incarnation of the Divine which I have come to believe is within all of us. The reason that I consider myself a Christian is not because I believe in the Church and its teachings as much as it is that I'm amazed by, called to be ultimately respectful of and humbled to emulate (some extremely modest portion of) Jesus's earthly example, a life so fully human and loving that it evidenced that God is ever-present and that His Kingdom can be experienced and lived on earth if we so choose. I don't think that there's a heaven up above (as I was taught to believe as a child) - and, if there is, I don't know if I'll get there - but I do know that we can live in an eternal way in this life, as Jesus did, and that's what I'm seeking and struggling to do more consistently ... and that's why challenging myself during Lent in small but significant ways is so meaningful, because it reminds me of the far greater challenge of Jesus's example to which I can strive every day.
Let's face it, few of us who are Christians really emulate our Patron particularly well. First off, we're far more self-centered and selfish than He: He lived his life for others, completely committed to being loving and enabling in the lives of others, which is not how we in the modern West approach life. We're far more committed to living as well as we can - which, typically, means more materially comfortably over time - while adding in a little Jesus/religion - or, at least, claiming to - as we do. Not only don't we go to church that much any more, but our collective behavior seems to appear less aligned with His example over time. I will simply note the irony that so many of self-described born again and fervent Christians advocate policies that seem in direct contradiction to Jesus's example - including/especially their self-aggrandizing demonization of the poor and the Other - and move on....
Returning to my primary point, I ask these questions unrhetorically, especially of those of us who profess to be Christians: Who among us is willing to emulate Jesus's example fully? Who among us is willing to live immaterially and focus solely on being a loving presence in the world? Who among us could be a modern-day Follower of the Way, as the early Jesus-emulators were?
Truth be told, few if any of us can commit so fully to practicing what our Lord preached and practiced. Instead, we focus on living as we choose and then fitting Him and His example into our lives to varying degrees (but most often modestly at best). But the 'giving up' of Lent is a reminder of what our practice of our faith could be: absent some of our creature comforts, can we still choose to live abundantly, lovingly and impactfully? I believe so, which is why I'm trying to "be good" for Lent by committing to living better/more healthfully.
And, in addition to the discipline of forbearance (i.e., 'giving up'), I'm also practicing giving more. I'm committing to being more present, to living more fully and lovingly and to being a blessing to all with whom I interact. This, to me, is the more challenging goal: can I really summon the will to emulate Jesus more and more consistently in the mundane conduct of my daily life? That's the real challenge of Lent, to give as Jesus gave - to be my higher self, more present, more loving, and indeed more alive - than I am normally. And, even more importantly, to remain like this when Lent ends, being practically re-born/resurrected as a better, more loving person every day and in every season.
So, much like Lent is now about learning to be more conscious of the opportunity to live like Jesus - not just in the giving up but, more importantly, in the giving - Easter is now about evolving to a permanently more transcendent way of life. In effect, I'm practicing in Lent to be the person I hope to be forever after Easter ... which means that in ways small but significant - and hopefully in increasingly profound and meaningful ways over time - I'm seeking to be like my Patron, to live fully, to love wastefully and to be all that the Good Lord has created me to be.
But first I have to survive without caffeine, added salt and added sugar while being more selfless and loving. Hmmm. Pray for me, please....
My mission as a Christian is ... to assist in the task of helping all people "to live fully, to love wastefully and to be all that they are capable of being." This is Christianity grounded in a radical understanding of humanity.
The reason I call it Christian and the reason I claim my identity as a Christian is that when I look at Jesus, I see in him a life fully lived, a love wastefully given and the courage to be himself in all circumstances. ... So Jesus is the human life through whom the meaning and the presence of God is mediated to me. I can then join with St. Paul in the assertion that God was in Christ.
- Bishop John Shelby Spong
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