Soul, Body Can Reap Benefits
From
Lenten Abstinence

No meat. No alcohol. No sweets. No caffeine.

Sound like an old-fashioned lent? No, actually, it's my lent. That's the way I go through the season each year.

By now most of my friends know. They'll invite me for dinner before lent begins, or after Easter, but they've learned their lesson the hard way. I'm not much fun over a meal for six weeks every year.

To be precise, this is not a fast. It's abstinence. If I fasted I'd cut the quantity of my food for six weeks. I'm not that virtuous. I never go hungry during lent. This is abstinence. I quit certain foods and drinks cold turkey.

It's hard to explain why I do this. I just know that it feels right. I get much more in tune with my body, and I feel at one with the season.

Abstinence uncovers my cravings. It reminds me how weak my will can be. In an affluent society, I can make a lot of choices about what I eat and drink. At least, they seem like choices. But pretty soon those choices become addictions -- some mild, some severe. I have not always managed my choices well. I wouldn't be as aware of these cravings if it weren't for my annual season of abstinence.

Abstinence requires dedication, but it also builds discipline. Even when I return to my normal diet at Easter I go back to it with a different attitude. The choices start to feel like choices again. And I'm less likely to binge on what isn't good for me in large quantities.

I admit this behavior sounds like a throwback. Growing up in the 1950s and 1960s I realized that adults had to fast and abstain every day during lent, but kids got a break. Still, we were expected at some level to "mortify" ourselves. "Mortification" meant giving up stuff just for the sake of doing without. My Catholic grade school teachers urged us to mortify ourselves every lent, as if inconveniencing yourself gained extra credit for salvation. The rules for adults changed before I was much affected by them. By the late 1960s people started giving different advice: We shouldn't just give something up; we should do something extra during lent.

Mortification has fallen on hard times. Many people still do it, but others think it's weird. The American dream promotes anything but mortification. Consumerism is exactly its opposite. When you mortify yourself you do without; when you consume you do with, even with things you cannot afford. You just put it on your credit card. That brings its own type of mortification, as we spend ourselves into debt, anxiety, and fear. Your typical American wants to earn and spend, and save if absolutely necessary. But delaying gratification or doing less for self -- those ideals just don't fit the culture. We buy shoes at 15% off because of how much we save; of course, we'd save more if we didn't buy the shoes at all. But that would be un-American. Not buying is a hard sell.

Mortification is demeaned for another reason too. It worsens matters for people who have low self esteem. Some have let others walk all over them, then defend their behavior for religious reasons. They permit the aggression of people they love, then justify it as an act of charity. So they don't challenge the alcoholic because it's not charitable to start a fight. Or they don't resist verbal abuse because they already feel sinful and unworthy in God's eyes. This attitude is just wrong-headed. You may turn the other cheek as a witness to peace, but not to accept, invite, or tolerate violence.

So for these reasons -- consumerism and low self esteem -- mortification has taken a back seat in spirituality.

Of course there is a value to doing something extra instead of giving something up. After all, lent is not just for penance; it's for baptism. It's the time when catechumens make their final intensive preparation for baptism, and when the faithful recall the baptism we've received. The catechumens inspire us to a period of renewal. Our lent aims toward the renewal of baptismal promises at the Easter vigil. We set aside this season so we can renew our commitment to Christ with enthusiasm at Easter.

Still, here I am, a lone apostle for giving up stuff for lent. My choice to abstain from food and drink has benefits even outside the Christian context. I lose a few pounds. My body seems happier and healthier. I explore anew some stupendous vegetables and cheeses that may otherwise go unnoticed.

But a Lenten abstinence has a specifically Christian context. It reminds me almost every hour of every day that this season is special. It allows me to evangelize others about the season in a subtle but deliberate way. It affirms my belief that the pleasures of this world pale before those of the next, because abstinence elevates my spirit to a new plane. Abstinence helps me enter the prayers at mass with more authenticity, since they presume we have accepted a fast. It also gives me freedom to be more charitable to others (although I often fail), because I'm less focused on feeding myself. A Lenten abstinence unites me with the catechumens who make a rigorous spiritual preparation for baptism during the same season. And it puts me in communion with other Christians who embrace some form of spiritual observance for six weeks.

That communion was easier to spot in the church before the relaxation of the laws of fast and abstinence. Back in the old days when Catholics abstained from meat on every Friday of the year and fasted from quantities of food every day during lent, we had a spiritual bond among ourselves. We supported our faith by our commonly accepted penitential practices. We sacrificed, but our sacrifice was lightened by the camaraderie it built.

Today we abstain from meat on all the Fridays of lent and also on Ash Wednesday, and we fast only on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. The church encourages us to prolong that fast through Holy Saturday. But a lot of people forget, don't know, or make excuses, and the power of the communal fast has all but evaporated. That loss places the responsibility for fasting on the shoulders of individuals, each one deciding what she or he should do, each one depending on his or her own sense of discipline -- a virtue for which we Americans are not well known.

Lent ends on Holy Thursday. So late that afternoon I end my abstinence. I invite a friend over for an early dinner. We feast on lamb, a rich red wine, espresso, and dessert. Then, "when supper is ended," I go to church and "take the cup" of thanksgiving. I fast on Friday and Saturday -- the Passover fast, not the Lenten fast -- in anticipation of the holiest of all nights. During the Easter vigil I renew my baptismal promises and refresh my faith in baptismal water. I pray that those who are baptized that night will continue to inspire my commitment to Christ. After Eucharist I join the newly baptized and other members of our community in a glass of champagne and a decadently rich piece of cake to rejoice in the blessings of God.

I'm not asking you to take on exactly my lent. But I am inviting you to consider abstinence from something this season. In my opinion our culture is bloated on food, drink, television, spending, photocopying, net surfing, gambling, smoking, gossiping, eroticism, fashion, speed, drugs, anger, and violence. Abstinence from any of those for six weeks would build character, invite dialogue, promote charity, clear the mind for prayer, and lift our thoughts to God. Try it for six weeks and see.