Holy Week: A Lenten Fast

As readers of this blog will know, I have recently been exploring the Catholic faith and practice. I grew up an evangelical Protestant but I've found myself drawn to the Roman Catholic Church.

Parallel to these theological explorations, I have been immersing myself in Catholic practice and discipline. One aspect of this has been my participation in Lent, from Ash Wednesday to Holy Week.

When I was growing up, I knew a number of people who did Lent-related activities -- some of my friends even organized 'prayer fasts' for several days at a time. I never participated, and never really understood the appeal of fasting. My faith has always been more rational than experiential, so it was almost like speaking a different language. However, many of them talked about the benefits and insights they gained, so over time my curiosity grew. This year, with the added incentive of immersing myself in Catholicism, I jumped in headfirst.

I organized my Lenten fast around the "Official Lenten Regulations for the Archdiocese of Seattle" (published here by St. Michael's Parish in Olympia). To briefly encapsulate: I would limit myself to a single meal each weekday, though I could add two smaller 'supplemental meals' if I needed to "maintain strength." I would also abstain from meats on each Friday of Lent. These restrictions would not carry over to the weekends.

This is what I learned:

1) Fasting sucks.

The first week of my fast, I felt terrible. Fortunately there were no restrictions on liquids, so I consumed a lot of those over the past few weeks. I also added multivitamins to my routine, mostly to ensure I wouldn't die of scurvy. It did get easier over time, but not by much.

2) Fasting recalls us to humility.

Before I fasted, I used to imagine that I could be pretty self-sacrificial if called upon. I loved God and I loved my neighbor, so the idea of casting my health, wealth, or personal security aside for the sake of another was not out of the question. After several weeks of fasting, all I can say is: yikes. There's a life lesson here: never imagine that you are more virtuous than you actually are. God might tell you to act like it.  Fasting was an excellent way to remind me that I'm still fallible, still weak, and still desperately in need of His strength and support.

3) Fasting moves us to solidarity.

For most of human history, there was always a question of whether you would have food on the table today, tomorrow, or for the next season. Even today, in many parts of the world, there is still starvation and malnutrition. By voluntarily depriving yourself of food, you suffer alongside others. Is there a more central command in the Christian faith, than to take up your cross daily? "Greater love has no one than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:13).

4) Fasting encourages self-control.

This is sometimes described as "mortification of the flesh." That sounds fairly barbaric, like an Inquisitorial rack, but the word pretty accurately conveys the Christian discipline. After all, we as Christians are constantly reminded of the need to die to ourselves and therefore live in Christ. The ascetics disciplined their flesh in more visceral ways as a reminder to suffer with Christ. Even the lesser degrees of mortification, such as fasting, help remind us to suffer with Christ and die with Him.

5) Fasting points us to prayer.

The first week of fasting was just awful. Prayer seemed to help quite a bit. It didn't make me less hungry -- certainly the rumblings of my stomach didn't decrease in volume or frequency -- but it helped me shift my attention to God. As I grow mature in my faith, I imagine I will identify considerable more meaning and importance in this aspect of fasting.

6) Fasting teaches us a 'vital rhythm' of Christian life.

The liturgical calendar tends to vary between fasts and feasts. During the weekdays we limit our meals, but over weekends we can enjoy three square meals, or even more. There are even a few Holy Days of Obligation (that is, feast days) during the Lenten season, such as the Solemnity of the Annunciation. This variance helps us realize that we are not called to enjoy a perpetual emotional "high" from our faith, nor should fasts continue without end. There are seasons for everything.  For many years I felt keenly the absence of God and the lack of an experiential component of my faith. When I was older, I realized that this was deliberate: I was supposed to yearn for that sort of experience, so that it would be more powerful and more preserving when I actually experienced it.

7) Fasting reminds us of the Passion of our Lord.

Christ lived so that He could die. We preach a resurrected Christ, but we preach a Christ who was first crucified. Fasting reminds us that Christ conquered death, and redeemed suffering. Indeed, by fasting, we can participate in and recapitulate the willing self-sacrifice of our Lord. Because of the Cross, suffering is tremendously redemptive, not only for ourselves, but also for others.

The Christian Case for Mardi Gras

I honestly can't believe I'm going to write this.

The season of Lent is a time of fasting -- abstaining from food for a time, abstaining from meat, sacrificing some of the comforts of life to reflect on the suffering and sacrifice made by God. The beginning of Lent, Ash Wednesday, is one of the highest moments in the church calendar. It is also preceded by one of the lowest.

I've never attended a Mardi Gras celebration, but it is generally regarded as a time for general debauchery and mischief. It began as a single day -- "Fat Tuesday" is the French translation -- but in some places it is now celebrated as a multi-day celebration of venial sins, wherever they may be conveniently had.  In other places, it is a much more muted occasion, but the principle remains: before you're stuck fasting and devoting yourself to holiness, live a little!  Indulge your wilder side!

I consider myself a pretty straight-laced person, so the idea of 'Fat Tuesday' doesn't particularly appeal to me.  However, there is a moral principle at work, that I think bears closer inspection.


God created nature, and made it good.  Its current fallen estate does not and cannot override its original and intended nature: to be a vessel of God's love and care.  Our Creator is good, and the Creation bears His signature. We should not fall prey to Manichean dichotomies of God fighting against an evil material universe -- the image itself testifies to its absurdity.

Moreover, we live in a place and a time with unparalleled prosperity. In contrast with every other era of history, it is nearly impossible for an individual in the modern West to die of starvation.  In contrast with many other places in the world, a beggar in the modern West still carries more wealth than most of the population of the Third World. It is almost impossible to fathom the degree to which we are removed in material resources from most other peoples and places.  Likewise, it's almost impossible to fathom the degree to which we fail to appreciate it.

The meaning of a sacrifice depends on the value of the thing given up.  This is the foundation of all sacrifices -- from the ritual offerings at the Temple of Solomon, to the Passion of the Christ, to the modern practice of tithing. This is why Abel's sacrifice was accepted and Cain's was not.  This is why Israel was command to sacrifice the firstborn of their flocks, and why no lamb with spot of blemish would be acceptable. This is why monastics and ascetics are considered holy -- not because they renounced the evil things of this world, but because they gave up the good comforts of life to help them meditate on the mercy and humility of God.  This is why Catholic priests are called to a life of celibacy -- not because marriage is a bad thing, but at least partly because the voluntary sacrifice of one of life's great Joys testifies to their devotion and exclusive service to God.

If we wish to honor God with our sacrifices, we should realize the value of what we are giving up. When we fast -- when we abstain from food or any good thing either in quantity or in quality -- we should remember that we are sacrificing something that God created for our enjoyment.

If we reflect and realize that what we're giving up is in fact bad for us -- if it's an addiction, or an idol, or a sin -- then it shouldn't be the object of a "fast" but the object of a confession.  We wouldn't dump the contents of our garbage bags into the collection plate if we were honestly seeking to honor God.  If we did, there was probably something a bit off with our relationship with Him.  The principle remains the same.

When we first surrendered our lives to God, it was in consideration of God's grace and mercy and love, borne out of the realization that He first loved us and valued us, enough to send His own only begotten Son to live among us and suffer for us and die at our hands. I believe the Calvinist doctrine of total depravity makes nonsense of God's love -- for it we were totally depraved and utterly unlovable, how could God come to value us?  Rather, we are marked by His image and made in His likeness.  We were made for His Presence, but fell from glory, and God stooped down to raise us back up.

The Christian case for Mardi Gras is simple.  Before we fast, we should take a moment to remember just how good the things we're giving up actually are.  I do not say we should indulge in such things: for good things in excess make the best idols, and gluttony is a deadly sin.  But we can and we ought to find time to revel in the glory of God, revealed and imparted in His blessings and His bounty. Only then, in the full knowledge of the majesty and glory of God, and the beauty and goodness of His Creation, can we sacrifice the first-fruits of our lives with the knowledge that it is a worthy offering to the Lord.