On Fish, Chocolate and Swearing: coming to grips with Lent.

I grew up eating fish on Fridays in Lent. As a Presbyterian in Pittsburgh, this was less a demonstration of piety and penitence, and more a reflection on the fact that all my friends were Catholic; I also had ashes on my forehead long before it was fashionable in Presbyterian circles, and endured the painful up and down of the Stations of the Cross service each Holy Week.

Peer pressure is a powerful thing.

In those days, Lent was a bad time to be a cod in the Steel City. Friday lunch in Market Square meant lines out the door of the Original Oyster House, while out in the South Hills, places like Doridos and Lackeys Inn served fried fish sandwiches as big as your head. These gigantic sandwiches were so delicious it was hard to imagine you were giving up anything. Which was odd, because giving up seemed to be what Lent was all about.

Young and old, Protestant and Catholic, family and friends would make a solemn vow on that fateful Wednesday, to give up something for Lent. The list rarely changed; almost invariably, women swore off chocolate, or candy in general, or perhaps the liquid equivalent - pop; while the men would swear off, well,  swearing  - or at least one particularly offensive swear word that starts with ‘F’ and rhymes with your mother will beat you with a slotted spoon if she hears you say it.

Occasionally, guys would swear off alcohol, especially if the Mardi Gras celebration had been particularly rough.

This meant for forty days, as winter gave way to spring, we endured meatless Fridays, cranky girls dealing with sugar/cocoa withdrawal, and frustrated guys trying to express themselves with colorless substitutes for George Carlin’s seven words, or counting down the days till their next beer.

[Actually, now that I think about it, caffeine would occasionally make the list as well, which added jittery people with massive headaches to the mix.]

The phrase, I gave it up for Lent seemed to be on everyone’s lips. Sometimes, it was in response to an offer:

Bonbon? Ho, ho, ho, no – I gave up candy for Lent!

Bucket of tequila? Wish I could, but I can’t: gave it up for Lent.

Often though, it would be in the form of a question:

I gave up saying F@*%!  - what did YOU give up for Lent?

I have to tell you, all this giving up bothered me – and not because I had little willpower or discipline in those days. Although I didn’t.

What was the point? I would ask myself. What did God care whether I ate Mars Bars or Haddock this month? What value would God find in forty days of a socially accepted vocabulary, especially since I viewed it as a sort of punishment I was bound to accept in order to somehow earn the chocolate bunnies, jelly beans and ham slices of Easter?

I had a rich and contentious interior life.

Over time, I went off to seminary, where I came to learn about Lent, and I discovered it is more than a season of giving up – much more.

It turns out, the forty days before Easter have long been a special time in the church. Forty is the traditional number for discipline, and preparation, harkening back to the Flood. It was the length of the sojourn of Moses on the mountain (Exodus 24); the length of the spies' mission in the Promised Land (Numbers 13:25); it was how long it took Elijah to reach the cave where he received God’s vision (1 Kings 19); the time allotted for Ninevah’s repentance (Jonah 3); and most significantly, the number of days Jesus prayed and fasted in the wilderness before beginning his earthly ministry.

In the early church, these forty days were used to instruct those who wished to be baptized and join the church. Over time, it evolved into a season when all Christians are called to use the spiritual disciplines of the faith to remind ourselves of the terrible cost of our redemption. During Lent, we focus on the nature of sin and salvation, as we prepare to celebrate the resurrection. 

Take the most common discipline associated with Lent:  fasting. Contrary to our common assumptions, fasting is more than not eating something, or not doing something; it is a conscious decision to use the time and resources usually reserved for one thing for another, higher purpose – a holy use.

We may choose to fast by giving our lunch money to the food pantry and spending our lunch hour in prayer.  Instead of throwing away our chocolate for Lent, or staring at it with frustrated longing throughout the season, we might box it up with a card and share it to with a lonely nursing home resident.  We might choose to turn off the television or computer, and instead dedicate our evenings to learning more about how we might be the family of God.

Far from giving up, Lent is a time for us to enrich our lives by considering the question, what does it mean to have a savior who would willingly die for us? Lent can be a time of enrichment and renewal – if we take advantage of the season.

Have a Holy Lent  - try the fish.