Now, I have no reason -- no religious reason -- whatsoever to observe Lent. I was not brought up in a Christian tradition and even if I am somewhat of a follower of Jesus, I am neither a Bible reader nor a believer in doing anything absolutely by the book. But Lent has had an unusual hold on me, ever since I learned that people "give up" things -- meat, chocolate, soft drinks, etc -- for the six week period leading up to Easter. It always seemed like an interesting practice in self-sacrifice. And as a woman who has long been conscious of her physical appearance, her figure, and weight, it always seemed -- truth be told -- Lent like a good way to burn some calories and shed some pounds since so often the things being given up were food.
I began observing Lent more formally around 2006 when I was both newly married and had newly joined a Presbyterian Church. I was intrigued by sermons about service to Jesus, which my skeptical, academic mind was rapidly reinterpreting as service in the name of fighting racial injustices, gender and religious oppressions, and economic disparities in the United States and throughout the world. Observing Lent seemed like it could be a symbolic step toward social justice through a sustained practice of self-denial of a personal indulgence for a brief, six-week period each year. And, of course, if the personal indulgence were caloric in nature, there might be the added benefit of a loss of a few pounds.
For Lents past, I have given up (or more appropriately tried to give up since my resolutions always failed) drinking wine, eating red meat, and such high calorie items as cheese and chocolate. I have pretty much stopped going to church, and I am more of a critic of the normativity that Christianity imposes on people's lives than an advocate these days. Still, however, I have continued to try and practice Lent and last year I found success. I gave up playing computer games. The success was a revelation for a couple of reasons: First, it made me aware that my past failures were due to the fact that there was no real lesson attached to a brief sacrifice of "vices" unless the sacrifice was made permanent. And second, it made me aware of what was both beneficial and detrimental of a vice worth sacrificing, even if it was for just a temporary stint.
My computer game habit was two decades deep. It began with the arrival of personal computers, which were pre-installed, of course, with a range of addictive games: Spider Solitaire, to name one among many. It deepened with the advent of vast use of the Internet, which of course made access to a range of "free games" easier than ever. With the games came reasons to escape, to shut down the mind, to not think. This I continue to believe is beneficial for those of us who work at jobs that require juggling multiple "thinking tasks" all the time. The brain quickly goes into overload and shuts down. The games offer a rest, and a way to come back.
But the games also offer a reason for the brain to simply check out altogether. As a result, what I began to see during my six-week fast from games were all the stressors going on in my life that were causing me to play games in the first place. Because I was resolute last year (and because I was learning so much about myself), I refused to give myself permission to fail at the self-sacrifice. I did return to games after Easter had passed, and I would like to believe at least that when I play them now I do so in a way that is much more mindful of how I am negotiating my habit against my responsibilities. I no longer yearn to eliminate games from my life. I simply want to enjoy them without getting obsessive.
Which brings me to this year's Lent: Because it snuck up on me, I was puzzled as to what to give up. So I turned to Facebook and asked friends for suggestions. Many were amused by my seemingly warped need to give up something for Lent. Others offered a range of suggestions: meat or red meat, negative thoughts, sex, reading, and even Facebook itself. Others proposed adding a positive to life. One friend from my Muncie childhood years suggested I meditate on it, which I did, and another friend from those same years sent me a church devotional on twenty sacrifices one might consider for Lent. After some reflection on what it meant to self-sacrifice, why I felt it was meaningful as a learning experience, and how self-sacrifice might enable me to live more fully with the world without getting into the religious strings attached to it, I settled on a self-sacrifice that might be closer to self-care. I would give up my dry skin, a problem that plagues me particularly terribly in the winter when I feel like I'm too busy, too cold, or too broke to take the time and the few extra pennies to drink some more water, sip a hydrating tea, or rub in some lotion, lip balm, or even olive oil into my skin to take care of myself. It seemed like a good way to find out why busy-ness, cold feelings, and scarcity consciousness might get in the way of such a simple daily cosmetic step.
With such a resolution in mind and a bottle of skin lotion sitting in my rather cold bathroom, I began the ritual tonight. I took a hot shower, and then proceeded to nurture my skin with lotion. It added all of about 90 seconds to my schedule and even if I was momentarily chilled, the massaging motions of my fingers rubbing my skin did warm me up. So perhaps this will be an exercise in self-sacrificing worth keeping, even after the six weeks are up.
(Image credit: http://www.openbible.info/blog/2009/02/top-100-things-twitterers-are-giving-up-for-lent/)
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