The Fast I Choose: Lent, and What Consumes Us

Years past, I have rejected the notion of giving things up for Lent. I adhere more to the practice of adding a discipline TO my life, rather than the discipline of taking something away. The act of self-denial has always felt a little pious and inauthentic to me. Fine for other folks, if that works for them; but for me, nothing has ever felt meaningful enough to purge. I mean, in the grand scheme of the suffering of the world, what does it matter if I give up chocolate or t.v.?

But I find myself in a different posture this year. My hunch is, it has a lot to do with the social and political climate in which we find ourselves. Mercy, I need to shake off the dust. I need a fast that will leave me feeling lighter. An unwinding of the spirit, and unloading of the baggage.

Many friends are taking a social media fast for the season, to take a break from all the anxiety and rage. I hear that. But for a blogger and a pastor, that kind of feels like giving up a pulpit. So, here I am.

What I’m giving up instead? Meat. And shopping.

These may sound like arbitrary things, but both are intentional. To the first point–my daughter (now 8) has been a vegetarian since age 4. Pretty much the minute she figured out what it was, she started saying I DON’T EAT MEAT, and commenced subsisting mostly on fruit, bread and cheese. Thing is, while I find it personally difficult to give up cheeseburgers–I dearly love cheeseburgers, not to mention a good steak–I very much admire her conviction. It is a deeply held part of her faith and being, and one that came from her own little self and not the adults in the house.

I’m learning more and more that, of all the imminent threats to our environment, the carnivorous habits of Americans may be the most destructive. Basically, if the whole planet ate as much meat as we did, we’d all be screwed. Not just because of diminishing supply, but because of the negative impact of production, packaging, and transportation. While the earth can provide more than enough, it does not hold unlimited stores of everything.

To the second thing–let’s just be clear right off that I’ve never been a person who goes shopping for fun. Shopping is not a recreational thing for me. It is a tedious journey of sensory overload through crowds of people that make me an anxious hot mess. Close to the holidays, I nest in and refuse to venture near a mall or big box store. What I buy, I buy mostly online, with maybe a once-a-year trek to the outlet mall. On like a Monday morning in the dead of winter when NOBODY else will be there.

That being said–my husband recently went back to work full-time after 5 years as a stay-home dad. And suddenly–we’ve got like, cash-flow. Not a lot, but noticeably more than we’re used to. So we’ve been buying all the things. Things we’ve put off buying for years on a single paycheck. From new shoes to new appliances to living room furniture (y’all–our couch was so awful we literally couldn’t give it away). All things considered, it feels like we’ve been on a binge. At least, relative to our usually minimalist relationship with stuff. These are all things we can mostly justify “needing,” but still. It feels not only like the credit card could use a rest… It feels like I could use a rest–from the time and mental energy spent thinking about, and looking for, replacements for our old falling apart stuff.

So for the next 40 days, I’m not buying anything except for groceries. Vegetarian groceries at that. (Wine doesn’t have meat in it, right? So I’ll survive). If my kids have another growth spurt, we will dig through the closet for whatever hand-me-downs we have in the next size up. If I accidentally wander into a great book store, too bad, my money is no good there. And if Patagonia has a great web sale? Just don’t tell me about it.

In abstaining from meat, and stuff, I repent. I repent of the mindless consumption that ignores the source from which our things derive–and the path by which those things reach us. And I repent of the time and energy spent on things that do not have a heartbeat; time better spent on people. I repent and recognize that if I am not mindful about what I consume, then it will consume me.

Maybe you can relate.

While I, and I alone, am accountable for the sins inherent in my consumptive habits, there is also a direct correlation between our consumer culture and the larger societal crisis in which we find ourselves right now. We just elected a reality tv star as President, which tells you something pretty profound about what we value. I may not have voted for him personally, but I am certainly complicit in the world that made him. His only mark of success is in the things he owns–and we elevated him to the highest office in the land. In spite of his glaring character flaws and lack of experience, the appealing thing about him, for many, was the tax cut that he promised to the middle class. No matter what services that may diminish for the poor; no matter that his racist rhetoric is already yielding real life consequences; if he can save us $1200 a year and some change, then hey, we’ll have more money to buy stuff. That’s a lot of cheese burgers. That’s a lot of made in China shoes.

May God have mercy on us.

So, there you have it. My sack cloth and ashes. It may not be much, in the grand scheme of the suffering world. But for right now, for just this time in my life and the world, this is the fast I choose. To consume less. To require less. To reset some of my rhythms to be more in sync with God’s time; to change my relationship with stuff. And most of all, to resist the siren song of “more, more, more;” which is the greatest threat to our economy, our national security, and in fact, our very souls.