DID YOU KNOW you can win Lent?
I’ve been working on winning Lent since my upper-elementary days in Catholic Confraternity of Christian Doctrine classes at St. Andrew by the Bay. Since then, I have made annual declarations on or around Ash Wednesday about what I am giving up for Lent. As a young person, I would summon as much gravitas as I could muster in my preteen voice and proclaim, with a Dr Pepper in hand, “This year, I’m giving up sugar!” or “This year, I’m giving up MTV.”
My mom and my friends’ moms taught my CCD classes, and I’m sure they were wowed by my restraint. What an act of sacrifice to give up sugar or fraternal teasing for an entire 40 days.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve announced my annual Lenten solidarity with Jesus’ 40 days in the desert through posts on Myspace, Facebook, and Instagram to show how serious I am about it. “This year, I’m giving up coffee.” “I’m giving up swearing.” “I’m giving up salty snacks after dinner.” Let’s not forget the grandly ironic announcement, “I’m giving up social media.” I’d say I was giving up MTV for Lent, but I gave it up years ago after overdosing on Ridiculousness. I’m a winner at announcing my sacrifices.
My 758 Instagram followers are surely amazed at the lengths I will go to attune myself to the Holy Spirit in the days leading up to Easter. I bet Jesus himself has even given me an appreciative nod from his heavenly throne.
“Oh %#&@!, Aaron is eating sugar!”
I keep an eye on the competition, too. I’ve been known to lurk on social media like it’s a fantasy football app, Dr Pepper or coffee in hand, to see how I’m comparing to everyone else in Lenten fasting. With quiet “tsks” to myself and a bag of kettle-cooked salt and vinegar chips within reach, I’ll see a friend eating birthday cake at their 1-year-old niece’s party and say, “Oh %#&@!, Aaron is eating sugar, and we’re still four days from Palm Sunday.”
The difference between Aaron and me is that I’m putting in the time to create the theological foundation for the exceptions I make. I’m not just grabbing whatever cake is handed to me. I know I said I’d give up alcohol, but Jesus turned water to wine during a wedding in Cana. Surely, he’d understand if I have a beer at an engagement party in Baltimore. That’s almost a wedding. Salt and vinegar chips are fine too, because they are communion-wafer adjacent.
Even as a child, my flexible way of living out my Lenten fast was rooted in God’s call to care for others: Jumping out at my brother when he rounded corners wasn’t meant to annoy him. I wasn’t teasing him. I was training him to be more alert. He should have thanked me.
I keep God up to date on the exceptions. Before dunking a tortilla chip in some warm cheese sauce, I pray, “Dear God, I’d like to clarify that I did not actually say I’d be giving up snacks. I said I’m giving up slacks, and I think my calves are looking pretty great in these cargo shorts.”
Maybe next year, I’ll give up fasting for Lent.
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