Lent Is Life

Reflections on my first Lenten season

Photo by Gadiel Lazcano on Unsplash

This weekend was Easter Sunday on the Western church calendar. Catholics and Protestants all over the world said “Christ is Risen!” They wore their Easter outfits and hunted eggs and ate Easter dinner with friends and family, and in the past I would have done this as well. Easter was by far the most meaningful of the holidays for me. In our previous tradition, the Anglican church, no “alleluia” is said for the 40 days of Lent so that the communicants experience the sober nature of the season. Along with attending church services it has been our family tradition to have grilled salmon on Easter. Why? Merely because I am enthralled with the story of the risen Christ cooking breakfast on the beach, when He says to his disciples, “come and have breakfast.” Fish seemed a fitting meal.

Lent would be over, but what had I fasted from? Usually nothing. Or maybe I would have given up wine or tried to be more disciplined with my prayers and Bible reading. Let’s be honest—I did not really have a concept of what it meant to fast well, or at all. We were encouraged to give up distractions or to add something of value to our lives during Lent, or to take time to be more reflective or reverent. It started with a pancake dinner and ashes, and ended with a rousing Easter service, but during those forty days, I can honestly say I was never truly put to the test by myself or the Church.

I was longing for meaningful traditions—things that had tangible significance—things that would connect me to Christ and his Church. I was largely making things up as I went along, minus the traditional liturgy that we were saying at Church each week. In spite of the Anglican claim to have tradition as one of its supporting pillars, the “squishiness” of the requirements always meant that I did the least difficult thing, because I’m lazy like that.

This year, a year after our baptism on Holy Saturday of 2022, we have taken on the struggle of the Lenten season. In the Orthodox tradition, it is the strictest fast and there are only two days when fish is permitted. The Lenten fast is a vegan fast, and the strictest observers abstain from all meat, fish, dairy, olive oil, and wine, except on designated days. Monastics typically are required to observe the strictest fast. For laymen there is more leniency, but the average healthy person will strive to maintain a vegan diet during the 7 weeks of Lent.

The question that my former Protestant self would ask is “why do you need to starve yourself to prove your faith?” The Protestant mindset recoils against the ascetic life, equating it to wearing hair shirts and self-flagellation which to their mind is Catholic, and therefore to be rejected, being antithetical to their notion of experiencing “freedom in Christ.” Indeed, the Orthodox ascetic struggle is one of self-denial, but that is exactly what Christ asks of us: that we “deny ourselves, take up our cross and follow him (Matt. 16:24).” He owned nothing, he fasted, he prayed, he served, and we are called to the same. The Lenten fast is one in which we are called to reject self-indulgence, give extra attention to caring for the poor through the giving of alms, and to fast from food. The one who fasts is not posturing or trying to prove anything. It is not living under the weight of guilt for which we are punishing ourselves. It is a call to continual repentance and a focus on the hope of the coming resurrection. It is a call to reject sinful attitudes, words, and actions, and to unite ourselves to the work that Christ did when he took up the cross of suffering. It is a season of purification of the soul, and since we believe that humans have souls that belong to bodies of flesh, the discipline of the flesh is also the discipline of the soul. We are not inhabited bodies. We are complete, souled creatures whose ascetic struggle impacts every part of who we are. If I am lazy and indulgent in my flesh then my spirits are, as well. If my flesh is moving toward holiness, then my spirit likewise, is elevated.

Certainly, being only one year illumined, I cannot speak to a lifetime of Lenten fasts. I don’t know what it feels like to have different struggles arise year to year as so many of my experienced Orthodox friends describe, but I can reflect on my first season, as it is coming to a close.

I have refrained from writing about it until now because fasting, while done in community, is something of a private issue. We are supposed to fast before God alone, and to be humble. Therefore, with all meekness, I share here what I have gained from this fasting season for you the inquirer, the newly illumined, or the cradle Orthodox who wonders what all these converts are doing here.

Lent is a snapshot of the spiritual journey.

It is a slow motion clip of my life in which I can see everything from spiritual highs, long, low doldrums, and spectacular failings, in which I am struck by the depravity of my soul and the sin that is so keen to pounce at any moment.

Weeks before the fast began I began clearing our house of tempting foods. We used up or froze the meats we would not be consuming for the next 7 weeks. I resembled an over-confident amateur athlete about to step into a professional competition, rolling up my sleeves, giving myself pep talks about how this is going to be great, we’ve got this (with God’s help, of course), and blah, blah, blah. Looking back, it seems pathetic, but what did I know? Nevertheless, I am glad I spent the time preparing as I did, looking up good vegan recipes to break the tedium of lentils and beans, clearing out the pantry, and prayerfully considering what lies ahead. The first week was “easy”—fasting went well, and I stuck to my resolve and didn’t complain. I attended the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts and remembered with startling clarity that I am getting older, and prostrations are even more of a sacrifice than they would have been had I discovered Orthodoxy at a younger age. The second week I was settling into a routine and was feeling a bit cocky, and I quickly learned that every day of Lent has to be managed as the first—with prayer and repentance. It is extremely easy to begin to operate in one’s own strength and forget that we are in a struggle in our flesh, whose operating system runs on the sinful passions, must be deprived of its sustenance, and given an upgraded system—that of life in Christ in which my passions are subjected to His authority and discipline.

Lent brings things to the surface.

I’ll be honest—the fasting and the additional church services that are held during Lent along with the many prayers and prostrations have the effect of keeping me on my toes, or more literally, on my knees. I am less inclined to indulge my passions in a deliberate way. On the other hand, my daughter informed us that we have been “testy” since the beginning of Lent, and I have no doubt that she is correct. It has not been easy. Fasting is not fun. It is much more interesting to complain about what I can’t eat, or to focus on my cravings. (Like deviled eggs—Why deviled eggs? There are far more interesting foods in the world, but that is what I am looking forward to eating!)

And when you fast, do not look gloomy like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by others but by your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you. (Matthew 6:16-18)

But what about when I am at home? Shouldn’t I be honest about how I’m feeling with my family? It is far easier to overlook my physical feelings and complaints when I am at my job, dealing with people whose opinion of me can be more easily manipulated. If I can put my hunger and grumpiness aside there with people who are tangential to my life, then why can I not put on patience, love, and service to the ones who are in my inner circle and matter the most to me. This is the greatest test, and I expect that I have largely failed. This Lent I have learned to hold this as a constant reminder -“anoint your head and wash your face…and stop complaining.” It is not easy, and it certainly goes against the values of the world in which we live, in which humans are governed by their whims, desires, and feelings.

During Lent I am a fish swimming upstream that must not eat the other fish. When the other fish (including certain members of my family) are going about regular life and I am observing a strict fast for no good reason in their eyes, it is easy to become judgmental and resentful. This leads to self-pity, short-temperedness, and excessive frustration. To my shame, it has not been constant rejoicing that I am participating (in a minuscule way) in the sufferings of Christ, who not only faced Satan himself in the weakness of hunger but gave of himself to the limits of his human strength, and willingly laid down his life for those he came to serve.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Lent is a season of submission.

To the world, submission is weakness. Women attempt to excise the verses about submission to husbands from the scriptures. Both men and women resist authority and leadership in favor of personal rights. From the outside looking in at American Christianity, the church is a place where I can choose to go if I like the music and the message, and if I don’t feel comfortable or the pastor preaches a message that does not align with my views of scripture I can shop for a different church. The notion that we submit only to the Word of God and not to human institutions governs the American Christian’s attitudes toward authority and even his voting habits. Despite his best efforts to the contrary, the world simply does not operate that way, and we are not our own Popes, Presidents, or parents.

I am learning, however that submission is a beautiful thing. When we come into the ark of the Church, we are submitting to the authority of the Body of Christ, whose care is entrusted to shepherds who are ordained to guide the flock of the faithful and uphold all of its traditions and dogmas. Christ himself promises that the “Gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” When I entered the church, I did not enter with the intention of participating only as much as my preferences allow. I became part of and took on the whole Church: its traditions, its worship, its members, its history, its foibles, and its future.

And this Church ordains a fast for its members. It has done so over and over and over since 323 A.D., with fasts of varying lengths being observed by the pious prior to the council of Nicaea’s fixing the days to fast at 40.¹

And now, I am one of its members. It is not a choice to make whether or not I am going to fast because I don’t like to, or because I don’t feel “called” to, or because I am crabby when I am hungry. In a physical sense, if I am hungry, my whole body is hungry. If I am full, my whole body is full. My knee or my ear or my stomach does not get to choose for itself whether it is participating in the physiological functioning of my body. Likewise, I as a member of the Body of Christ am either participating well or I am participating poorly. If I refuse to fast or am careless and insincere concerning the fast, I am causing friction, and become a weak spot in the Body. If I rejoice in the fast at whatever level I am able to share in it, I am participating as a healthy and life-giving member. Everyone who submits to the church in this manner is working harmoniously to draw closer to Christ and each other. We struggle together. We are strengthened together. We are saved together. We do not judge each other for our weaknesses and failings, any more than my ear gets angry when my knee is in pain, but if both are working well, then my whole body is content.

Submission is not only to the Church and its fellow members, but also to my spiritual father. Before Lent, he helped us to determine an appropriate level of fasting for us, since it is not for all to undertake the strictest fast and he takes any medical or extenuating circumstances into account when planning. If during the fast such an issue comes up, we request a blessing to eat according to the circumstances. To my former Protestant mind, it seems crazy that I would bother my priest about something so trivial like what I would be having for dinner, but to my Orthodox mind, it makes perfect sense. In this way he understands our struggle and can pray for us when we come to him with our confession.

With submission comes great reward, and the analogy comes full circle.

Last year as a catechumen I did not observe the fast strictly, but with all that I was learning, tried only to incorporate the typical Wednesday and Friday fasting days. Then during Holy Week, I fasted more strictly. This year, having observed the full seven weeks, I could not have predicted how eagerly I am anticipating the Paschal liturgy, the shouts of Christos Anesti! (Christ is risen!), the blazing candles, the Paschal Homily of St. John Chrysostom, and finally, the breaking of the fast and the ensuing week of feasting. It is a snapshot of our Christian lives, lived anticipation of that great feast that is to come: the return of Christ, the end of suffering, and the eternal rest that will be ours in His presence.

O Lord, let us be found ready when the bridegroom arrives (Matthew 25:1-13).

O Lord and Master of my life, take from me the spirit of sloth, meddling, lust of power and idle talk. (prostration)
But give rather the spirit of Chastity, humility, patience and love to thy servant. (prostration)
Yea, O Lord and King, grant me to see my own sins and not to judge my brother for thou art blessed unto ages of ages. Amen. (prostration)

Prayer of St. Ephraim the Syrian, a Prayer of Repentance

1. Nicholas Russo, The Early History of Lent, The Center for Christian Ethics at Baylor University, 2013. /https://www.baylor.edu/content/services/document.php/193181.pdf