More and less

Lent approaches and I've been thinking about giving things up, taking things on.

I don't want to let this just become about self-improvement. That does seem to be the gist of a lot of it for some people, and I'm not sure that's right. When I start to think about dietary changes, I can very quickly end up with a list that would have me eating perfectly, but making so many changes that I wouldn't really be contemplating God at all, because I'd be too busy avoiding fried food/sweets/meat/trans fats/processed food/etc. There's fasting, and there's neurotic behaviour.

I also don't really want to get into competitive self-denial, not even in the guise where I end up competing with others to get the self-denial "just right" rather than taking things to extremes.

I have the same trouble taking on spiritual practices. I go from "might like to try praying differently" to "keeping a Rule most monastics would find a bit on the strict side, while living a fully-engaged secular life" in about two blinks.

So I'm going to give one thing up, and I'm going to take one thing on, and I've given them both a lot of thought, trying to make sure this is about a journey toward God, not about perfectionism. I've only really told one or two people about these things and I'm not telling anyone else what they are. Even making this post is probably too far toward smugness. Enough.

However, I am going to devour me some pancakes tomorrow!

So there.

That time of year again.

Been rather busy lately; several creative projects on the go at once, as is usual, plus things are getting busier at Nearest Church in the run-up to Easter.

Margaret said, "Lent is never quiet, never a time for reflection or spiritual house-cleaning. Not if you work for the church." She's right, of course. For those who are called to shepherd others, to provide the time and care and infrastructure for helping people along their various meandering spiritual paths, it can be quite difficult even in ordinary times to carve out the time for one's own needs. It can be well-nigh impossible to attend to discernment and or even just find time to relax into God's presence. Yes, there are spiritual directors, yes, there are retreats, but the system is never perfect, and I know an awful lot of people who go hungry because they're so busy feeding others.

So I pray for all who work for the church, lay or ordained, at this particularly busy time. I pray for all who are struggling to carry their own burdens as well as those of others -- all who are dealing with bereavement, uncertainty of employment, illness or injury in themselves or loved ones. I pray for all who are weary and exhausted, all who are trying to fit their work for the church into secular work in a secular society, all who are feeling academic pressure. I pray for those in obvious leadership roles and for those working quietly behind the scenes. I pray for the hopeful and for the discouraged, for the ones who minister with joyful eagerness and for the ones who are more reluctant.

On balance.

I still agree with what I said yesterday, but it wasn't very complete, made some huge assumptions.

I said if something ceases to be a labour of love, you should stop and re-think. I said self-improvement can be about God, if it means discovering and becoming who we are.

But that doesn't mean we should all just do whatever we feel like all the time.

I may enjoy chocolate and sweets, but I have a body to look after and too much of them won't do me any good. I may love stretching and relaxing but if I don't get up and move around I will become ill. Looking after the body I have been given is somewhat complicated, as it comes with some non-standard variations which in this society are seen as medical problems... but even if I were "healthy", the same would apply. Taking good care of myself means recognising that my instincts may be incorrect, or that I may be so far out of touch with my instincts that I need to base my decisions on some general rules or principles.

I think the same is true of my relationship with God. No, I should not do things that I do not do out of love -- but that doesn't mean that I will always be ecstatically happy about everything I undertake. My short-term will and my long-term goals may be out of sync. My ability to discern God's will for my life may be unreliable, or even absent.

God gives us freedom to ignore God, freedom to refrain from an active relationship with God... in order that we can truly enter that relationship in love, not out of fear.

But that means the relationship can be absent or distant. It means we can go about our merry ways, oblivious. We can become so distracted that we don't listen to God's calling to us, Beloved,, or so wrapped up in our own lives that we don't even think to look at the loving work we could do in the world.

I think that's part of why it's important for many people to spend some time in solitude, away from the clamour of all the things that we allow to make claims on our time and energy, away from the people we serve not because we love them adn they need, but for some other reason. Sometimes in the silence we can hear.

I think that just as surely it is important to be part of human communities, to open our eyes to one another's wounds, to see something of God in the earnest schoolteacher, in the lady who does the church flowers... to see Christ in the people we would classify as "good" or "friends" or "saintly" and in those we might rather avoid: the sick, the distressed, the poor; the ones who have been taught no manners at all; the abusive parent, the alcoholic sibling. Even the people who have hurt us most, the people who are most frightening to us, the people who seem monstrous, are beloved children of God.

We are called to share what we have. That means being honest with ourselves and others about what we have, and about what we don't have.

Learning to look after my body means listening to my instincts, but also observing what happens when I do some things or avoid others. It means consulting people who are experts, at least some of the time, and gathering information from others. I cannot look after my body by ignoring every symptom I have until it becomes crippling; neither can I look after my body by allowing slight aches and pains to send me to bed wailing of my discomfort. There is a continual process of observation, fact-checking, reflection. I have to be willing to find out that I am wrong, that I have been mistaken, if I am to learn well.

So, too, with a relationship with God. I need the reflective solitude and I need the close-knit community and I need the extended fellowship. To discern God's will for me in the world, I need to listen to God and I need to look at the world, and if I neglect either then I run the risk of destroying myself in vain to serve others, or harming others to serve my own short-term whims.

Perhaps Lent is, if anything, a time of examination rather than penitence, a time of exploration rather than contrition. Oh, penitence and contrition will probably come along anyway if we see, in our examination and exploration, how badly we have treated one another. But they aren't the purpose, they aren't the point.

As for the claim that you don't need Lent to do that -- no, but we time-bound humans tend to function well with a certain amount of cyclical routine. I don't need Christmas to learn about Emmanuel, God-with-us, but it helps. I don't need St Valentine's Day to know Sweetie loves me or to tell him how very much I love him, and indeed we often don't do anything special that day, but when we do it is a pleasure. And frankly, I do schedule time to be especially aware of God. I make time for Morning Prayer, why not make time for Lent? I use an alarm clock, why not a calendar?

A fast post.

I don't have much time to write this before I have to leave. God isn't time-bound but I am... and so I am a creature of rehearsals, of attending services at the same time as others, a creature of liturgical seasons even. I think outside of time, the Kingdom of God exists, and this time-bound experience of ours is part of that. So my haste is part of Paradise, and yet there is no hurry. But that's not what I meant to write about today!

There is much ado, as always at this time of year, about fasting, giving things up for Lent or for a day or a week. And there is much ado in response, from people saying, "Hey, this isn't just about self-help, you know, don't forget you're a beloved child of God" and they are, of course, absolutely right.

Margaret said,

So, if you must, do those things that help you know deep inside that you are nothing but dust, then GET OVER IT; know that you are redeemed, get over it, and get on to the true fast of reconciling the world to God. That is our vocation.

+Nick Baines said,

It [Lent] gives us the space to be grasped again by the overwhelming generosity of world as gift, of life as gift, of time as gift, of gifts as gift. Lent should make us more generous in and to the world, gracious for the world and committed in and to the world.

Just because you wanted yet another opinion, yet another piece of advice from an armchair theologian:

I say, to embark on a programme of self-improvement, to attempt to become more yourself, more who you really are? That can be about God. That can be part of "getting over it". That can be exercising the gift of freedom.

So by all means, fast during Lent if you want to. Give something up, take something on. Do it in remembrance and celebration of God's love for you. Do it as an extension of that love to the rest of the world. Do not fast because you think you should, or you want to be seen to do it, or because you're worried about not being holy enough in the eyes of God or think somehow God will love you more if you do the "right" things. There's probably a fancy theological word for that kind of manipulative behaviour.

God already loves you, with a love so large and bright we cannot bear to look straight at it and yet so small and silent it is there even when in all our searching we think we just find darkness. There is nowhere that love cannot go. There is nothing unlawful, nothing you can ever do that will make God love you any less. Love is stronger than any human sin. Love is stronger than death. Love is stronger. That's the point.

So if you're going to take on some positive habit, or give up some perceived vice, do it as a response to that love. I wrote that the other way around first time -- take on some perceived vice, give up some positive habit! Maybe I should have left it! But whether you do something or nothing, do it with a commitment to stop if it ceases to be, literally, a labour of love. If you don't love it, maybe God has other plans for you.

Among many clergy I know, and others involved in church, there is a feeling of overwhelm, of impending exhaustion. We all have these extra things, Lent courses for churched and unchurched, extra services, and most seem to take on some Lenten practice or other as well. And then just when you're getting used to the routine of it but have been doing it long enough to know it really isn't sustainable and you're starting to get the hang of Daylight Saving Time but really could have done with keeping that hour of sleep and found out that the person who usually brings you palms has pruned early this year and there aren't any, there is Holy Week with even more to do and the organist can only be at half the services because their other church pays more and maybe nobody will turn up anyway and someone is sure it was different last year and someone has moved the key to the flower cupboard. You wanted a broken and contrite heart, Lord? What you're getting is a desperately exhausted one!

And breathe.

Do what preparation you have to, but do yourself a favour and remember every day that you are loved now whether the service sheet for Palm Sunday is finished or not. Do yourself a favour and don't worry too much about how you will feel at the very busiest time... you'll get through it. Make a healthy, tasty casserole and freeze it in single-serving portions so you keep yourself fed during the busiest times. Book a retreat, even a half day of quiet somewhere, if you haven't already done so. Outsource as much of the paperwork as you can.

Then take Lent one day at a time, one step at a time, one breath at a time, knowing you will come out the other side of it even if right now you don't know where or how.

Fast slowly.