You might be aware that I took a large part of last week off.
Several of you have asked me since then where I went and if I had fun. The answer is my kitchen, and no.
The time was spent conquering the last big renovation project in our new-ish home, which was to paint our kitchen cabinets.
If you’ve ever endeavored such a project, you know that spray painting a bunch of cabinets is an undertaking.
Done properly, after sealing off the room from other rooms, one painstakingly covers every square inch of surface that doesn’t get painted, meticulously placing masking tape along the edges of what does and does not get painted.
And that’s only the masking part (which took two days). Then there’s the removal of the doors and the doors’ hardware and hinges, with care given to labeling every door and hinge so that they can be returned to their precise location.
The real fun is sanding and wiping every surface to be painted before beginning the six-step process of priming and twice painting each door side (with sanding and wiping between coats).
Suffice it to say, it was decidedly not a week of strolling through the streets of a quaint town or laying on the beach of an exotic resort.
I swapped fun for fortitude and from that choice now have the satisfaction, indeed, the fulfillment of my commitment to beautify our home.
You’ve heard the adage ‘No Pain, No Gain’? It was definitely worth the pain.
There was a moment midway in the painting part of the process when Lisa made a comment about me ‘half-assing the work’ when she discovered with dismay that some primer had got on the underside of the drawers that I had failed to devote my meticulous masking to.
“You’ll never see it!” I said in defense. “It’s a completely unseen part.”
“I’ll know it’s there,” she said. (This is what I get for partnering with a Methodist).
That day, as she proceeded to fully mask those drawers for the remaining coats, I found myself pondering how this concept of half-assing things might apply to how one may observe the holy season of Lent.
I remembered one year of Lent during my high school years (during my Catholic era) when I decided to give up all forms of sweets.
It might sound trivial to you, but it was an undertaking for me, and I white-knuckled it through those 40 long days. I remember to this day the sense of grounding that I had upon completing this observance.
It meant something to choose it, to see it through, and the celebration on the back end at Easter time was like none other I had had to that point in my life.
It wasn’t about feasting on four pounds of chocolate Easter bunnies afterward, but was more of a spiritual sort.
And then, as my affiliation with Catholicism waned, so did my Lenten practices.
I’ve returned to them since then, appreciating the diamond in the rough that these spiritual practices of denial and self-sacrifice can be.
It’s interesting…our choosing of how we’ll allow ourselves to be stretched in these ways.
When we workout, for instance, we choose to exert ourselves beyond our comfort zone. Doing physical therapy to improve or rehab a problem is rarely questioned.
But stretching ourselves physically to enhance our spiritual selves is for most of us a different ballgame.
Jesus understood all of this.
We observe the season of Lent to emulate the 40 days Jesus spent in the desert.
Listen closely to these words from the gospel of Matthew because we’ll apply them to you in a moment.
Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted[a] by the devil. 2 After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. 3 The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.” Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.
How does this fit into the individual lives of each of us here today? This isn’t rhetorical, it’s a very personal question.
Jesus went to the wilderness to empty himself to make more room for God. During Lent, we’re called to do the same, with our ‘wilderness’ being personal sacrifice.
He fasted and was hungry and was tempted to break his fast.
If you’ve ever fasted as a spiritual practice, it is very likely that at some point before or during a fast you’ve asked yourself,
“Why am I doing this? How does depriving myself of food have any correlation with grace or God or anything good?”
I think that the ‘devil’ of our temptation is second-guessing the spiritual efficacy of fasting, convincing ourselves that it’s meaningless discomfort to no end.
Here are comments that others have made about the spiritual practice of fasting:
Father Thomas Merton said, “The goal of fasting is inner unity. This means hearing, but not with the ear; hearing, but not with understanding; it is hearing with the spirit, with your whole being.”
One might say that this a part of our life of faith that isn’t entirely rational. Often the messages of Jesus weren’t. Like, “An eye for eye makes sense, right?” Not for Jesus, and thus not for us.
I like Matt Fradd’s comment, which was, “You could say that prayer without fasting is like boxing with one hand tied behind your back, and [here’s the part I especially like] that fasting without prayer is, well, dieting.”
You might be wondering what kind of a prayer accompanies fasting?
Perhaps something like…My Beloved, I want connection with you, I want your grace more than anything, because you make every part of me and my life better. And so, I mindfully empty myself physically to embody my deepest yearning, which is experiencing the spiritual fullness of being close to you.
I have another commentary on fasting, this one from St. Augustine.
“Fasting cleanses the soul, raises the mind, subjects one’s flesh to the spirit, renders the heart contrite and humble.” Yes, yes.
Then he gets more specific. “Fasting also scatters the clouds of concupiscence, quenches the fire of lust, kindles the true light of chastity.”
Augustine wrestled a lot with remaining chaste, but it’s an example of strengthening in ways unique to each person.
Fasting can take many forms, as there is a myriad of non-necessary-for-our-well-being consumptive things that can be considered – sugar, coffee, alcohol, etc…
Amanda Jobs made a good point when she said, “It is not just about giving up our favorite food or drink but it’s about going further and giving up things like hatred and unforgiveness.”
I like to think that an embodied practice such as fasting is fertilizer in our garden of grace, growing antidotes for hatred and unforgiveness.
All of this brings to mind a provider I had many years ago. As a younger adult I was receiving the services of a health advisor. At that time, as spiritual practice I would fast a couple of times a week, and she couldn’t for the life of her understand why I was doing it. Rationally it made no sense to her, because she was operating on a purely physical plane.
But we’re not only physical beings, are we? The non-physical (i.e., spiritual) part profoundly impacts everything else!
I want to pause here to make a distinction.
When we talk about spiritual practices such as fasting of some sort, we’re not talking about religious observances. I suspect, though, that some view these practices as existing within the confines of religion.
I can hear some folks saying, “Fasting? Don’t Catholics do that, kind of like no meat on Fridays and ashes on that first Wednesday?”
The distinction between religious and spiritual reminds me of when I had my community ministry, running a house painting business in which I employed newcomer immigrants, teaching them new skills that would assist them in making a living in their new lives in Canada.
The crew members came from around the world… Ousman from Gambia, Botros from Sudan, Seena from Iran, and Sharif from Afghanistan. All were Muslim except Botros.
It was interesting how each of them approached Ramadan, a month-long period in Islam where the faithful fast from sun-up to sun-down in order to foster spiritual growth, self-discipline and empathy for those in need.
Ousman and Sharif fasted every day. Seena didn’t, claiming he wasn’t religious didn’t care about any of it. And Botros was just glad not to be Muslim, and thus wasn’t tasked with even considering it.
I had a great deal of respect for the two young men who took their faith, not so much their religion, but their faith seriously.
It is a spiritual thing, not confined to the bounds of this or that religion.
I like Pope Francis’ take on it. He says that Lenten practices such as fasting gives us concrete ways to overcome our indifference. He says Lent comes providentially to awaken us, to shake us from our lethargy.
We all, regardless of being churched in some direction or being unchurched, dance with indifference at times.
In addition to indifference, these days, with all that is happening in the world and in this country, in order for our faith (and our general sense of well-being) to remain intact, it’s imperative that we fortify ourselves spiritually, emotionally, intellectually.
But mostly spiritually, because it is from that well that peace flows, and we are desperate for it now, my friends.
Internally in the intimacy of our personal lives, externally out in the chaotic world, we long for peace, do we not?
I think sometimes in our angst about what’s happening out there, we seek to console ourselves with pleasure. It’s an understandable response.
But pleasure doesn’t pave the path to peace.
Fulton Sheen spoke to this when he said, “Lenten practices of giving up pleasures are a good reminder that the purpose of life is not pleasure. The purpose of life is to attain truth and undying love—which is the definition of God. In pursuing that happiness, we find happiness.”
That resonates with me. This season of sacrifice that we in Christian circles call Lent isn’t at its core so much about just about setting things aside.
It is more about fostering good things… space for deepened kindness, peace, generosity, empathy.
If you’re just giving things up and not simultaneously fostering something, these observances are meaningless. That’s what my health advisor never understood.
I think a lot of us misunderstand, or perhaps have never had the occasion to really consider, the meaning and blessing that can come from observances like fasting.
As we explore the theme of trust this month, I ask you this: Do you trust that there is wisdom and truth in this rhetoric about a practice such as fasting?
Do you trust that there is the diamond of grace and blessing in the rough of sacrifice?
Put simply, do you trust that it’s worth it?
This Lent I aspire for myself to not half-ass this opportunity.
I aspire to be as meticulous about creating the beauty of my inner dwelling – the unseen parts – as I have been about my exterior abode across town.
My hope is that each of us come to embrace the wisdom that what at first may seem solely (and sucky) sacrifice can be the foundation for the most beautifully painted residence your soul could ever know.
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