Lent is upon us. Forty days set aside to examine our hearts, clean out the junk, and renew our commitment to God and the mission of Christ. For many, lent becomes a time of fasting and sacrifice – restraining oneself from the vices of life that silently grip us. I am in said category by eliminating certain foods and beverages, some out of traditional sacrifices (e.g. not consuming meat or alcohol), and some to combat an addiction to sugary sweets.
Fasting opens our eyes to the role food plays in our lives. Being a middle class American, I have come to expect large portions of food at the ready. Without much conscious thought I have assumed that food and remaining hunger free is my right. I casually proceed through my day, filling my stomach with protein-filled meats not noticing my neighbor who is hungry and protein-starved. I grow blind to the millions who die daily from starvation and disease-ridden water. Fasting reminds me that food is a privilege, and gluttony hardens my heart.
Fasting also opens my eyes to my growing dependence on food (especially that afternoon sugar fix) to comfort my weary soul. Rather than giving honor to my spiritual and emotional fatigue, I smother it with a cookie. Rather than turning my eyes to the Bread of Life, to cry out in my time of need, to pray and seek peace and comfort from the Creator, I use food as a temporary fix. Food validates my independence and ability to care for myself, even if only for a few hours. I shun the part of me that needs true comfort and grace and pacify it with a lousy piece of chocolate.
In addition to fasting, many add a spiritual practice to their routine. This year I have chosen to pray the hours. In other words, in addition to my regular time of morning prayer and spiritual reading, I am setting aside time during the day, evening, and at night to still my heart, examine my soul, and listen for the quiet whispers of God. I have begun with Thomas Merton’s Book of Hours.
Merton has suggested that perfect love has no needs attached. I have ruminating this thought for a couple of days. Initially I thought, “yes, that is how I love my children.” Being preschool/toddler age, they are still in a phase where they need much and can give little in return. For a brief moment I believed that in this area of my life I loved perfectly. And then I examined further. While yes, there are parts of me that give and sacrifice expecting nothing in return, I do not love my children without hoping to fulfill some need. For me, the need was absolution of guilt. Guilt from a number of sources – society telling me I should be a stay-at-home mom; guilt from my inability to always respond with empathy, compassion, and emotional presence; guilt because sometimes I am less patient because I bring outside stress and worry into the home; guilt because I want to be in control and have an unhealthy obsession with perfection. I love and sacrifice for my children in an irrational attempt to make amends for my failures. Perhaps as a mother, to love perfectly is to love with grace and patience for both myself and my children.
Pure love does not manipulate others. It does not use a neighbor to meet one’s own selfish desires. It is not motivated by self-righteousness. It is not a vain attempt to make one feel better. Pure love sacrifices one’s self for the betterment of another. Pure love relinquishes control – it allows the love to be rejected. And though rejected and misunderstood, pure love mourns and waits for the lost to come home.
Fasting opens our eyes to the role food plays in our lives. Being a middle class American, I have come to expect large portions of food at the ready. Without much conscious thought I have assumed that food and remaining hunger free is my right. I casually proceed through my day, filling my stomach with protein-filled meats not noticing my neighbor who is hungry and protein-starved. I grow blind to the millions who die daily from starvation and disease-ridden water. Fasting reminds me that food is a privilege, and gluttony hardens my heart.
Fasting also opens my eyes to my growing dependence on food (especially that afternoon sugar fix) to comfort my weary soul. Rather than giving honor to my spiritual and emotional fatigue, I smother it with a cookie. Rather than turning my eyes to the Bread of Life, to cry out in my time of need, to pray and seek peace and comfort from the Creator, I use food as a temporary fix. Food validates my independence and ability to care for myself, even if only for a few hours. I shun the part of me that needs true comfort and grace and pacify it with a lousy piece of chocolate.
In addition to fasting, many add a spiritual practice to their routine. This year I have chosen to pray the hours. In other words, in addition to my regular time of morning prayer and spiritual reading, I am setting aside time during the day, evening, and at night to still my heart, examine my soul, and listen for the quiet whispers of God. I have begun with Thomas Merton’s Book of Hours.
Merton has suggested that perfect love has no needs attached. I have ruminating this thought for a couple of days. Initially I thought, “yes, that is how I love my children.” Being preschool/toddler age, they are still in a phase where they need much and can give little in return. For a brief moment I believed that in this area of my life I loved perfectly. And then I examined further. While yes, there are parts of me that give and sacrifice expecting nothing in return, I do not love my children without hoping to fulfill some need. For me, the need was absolution of guilt. Guilt from a number of sources – society telling me I should be a stay-at-home mom; guilt from my inability to always respond with empathy, compassion, and emotional presence; guilt because sometimes I am less patient because I bring outside stress and worry into the home; guilt because I want to be in control and have an unhealthy obsession with perfection. I love and sacrifice for my children in an irrational attempt to make amends for my failures. Perhaps as a mother, to love perfectly is to love with grace and patience for both myself and my children.
Pure love does not manipulate others. It does not use a neighbor to meet one’s own selfish desires. It is not motivated by self-righteousness. It is not a vain attempt to make one feel better. Pure love sacrifices one’s self for the betterment of another. Pure love relinquishes control – it allows the love to be rejected. And though rejected and misunderstood, pure love mourns and waits for the lost to come home.
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