Give It Up

In recent years, I feel it’s become fashionable to declare that one is adding something to their Lenten observances in lieu of the traditional giving up. I understand the instinct. Adding in acts of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving is indeed imperative. And giving up KitKats or procrastination seems silly. After all, shouldn’t I already be avoiding these things to be healthier and achieve more? I probably wouldn't last 40 days on those give-ups anyway.

To better understand the tradition of giving up for Lent, we need to remember what Lent is. It is, in short, a mini-death. It is the deliberate act of entering into death as we prepare for the Resurrection and the life to come. In death, we give up everything. Not just the sweets and booze, and the suffering and pain, but also the children, the golf, the birthday cake, and the first daffodil of spring. It all stays behind.

When we sacrifice penitentially during Lent, the intent is to purposefully sacrifice a little bit of life. To voluntarily take a taste of the final and inevitable letting go. To lose a little of life's goodness now, to be prepared for what is to come. It is hard to let go but let go we must. And in the letting go we open space for something more.

This Lent, I’ll be giving up coffee. The giant mug is part of my routine but for forty days I’ll swap in a tiny tea, a morning reminder that this is no ordinary time. Throughout the day I’ll see Mr. Coffee sitting idly on my counter. “Jesus, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” As I drive through town, I’ll see a Starbucks or two or thirty. “Lord God, let your light guide my day.” In dying to my simple pleasure, I’ll have opened room for true life.

In this way, I am adding in by leaving out. I’m not adding of my own volition. Not adding in something I know I’m good for or that I really like. Rather, I’m adding in the space for God to enter.

Which sounds lovely… and terrifying.

When God enters that space, He’ll not only bring mercy and love but also a mirror. In this mirror, I’ll see the ash stain of sin on my forehead. I’ll feel the burning fire of His purity and judgment. Dare I look? How many times have I busied myself? How many times have I forgotten Him? How many times have I turned away knowing He was gazing upon me? Knowing I was wrong.

He is already entering that space and for forty days, in the collection of little moments, He’ll fill and expand that space. I know I cannot help but look. I will feel the burning fire of purgation. Releasing me not only from the desire for a morning coffee but from my attachment to all things of this world.

Let go! Let go! Sell all you have, and you will have treasure in heaven!

I fear I may yet walk away sad, for I have many possessions.

I am no saint.

But I’ll begin with a cup of tea.