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Contents © 2005
by Jim Holman.
All rights reserved.

CONFESSIONS
March 2005

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FASTING SAVED NINEVAH

I wish I'd had a tape recorder running during Mardi Gras dinner, though I'm not sure how much would have come through above the general din. (My wife and I had ten friends over, and besides our grownup ruckus, there was that of our combined broods — 13 kids, ten at the table behind us, three infants on laps.) Still, it would have been worth capturing the details of our conversation about Lent, conducted at a decently elevated volume over mounds of beef and glasses of red wine. ("It ain't Lent yet," said one man, refilling his glass while the talk banged through the air around him.) As it is, the reader will have to bear with my own faulty memory.

The setting gave rise to a little embarrassment — there we were, discussing penance and self-denial while we feasted. And further, it's often a little shy-making to discuss with friends one's attempts to advance in holiness. They see so much that seems to give the lie to your words. So we joked.

"We're all hoping that Jake can kick the crack habit for Lent," began Marcus.

"But then who would buy it from you?" shot back Jake. "You gonna give up dealing for Lent?"

"I'm resolving to put up with Marcus," added Chris, who was helping Marcus with a home-improvement project.

"Then you are making the greatest sacrifice of all," marveled Jake. Sacrifice was on Marcus' mind. "More important than giving things up is the spiritualization of your daily life," he said. "You can give things up automatically. Broderick could give up drinking every year" — which I do — "and not really notice it."

"You obviously don't understand how much I love wine," I retorted.

That was more joking. I think Marcus was suggesting that, by giving up the same thing every year, I might make a habit of it, the sort of habit that deadens the soul and renders null the good effect of my self-denial. As a person whose experience of "offering it up" doesn't go much further than saying the words, "Lord, I offer this up to you," and hoping that some good is being accomplished without my knowing about it, I can see his point.

"The purpose of giving things up is to strengthen the will," said Marcus. "It seems almost a waste of time and energy to spend it giving up something that's morally neutral, like candy. It would be better to give up losing your patience with your spouse." The good, he suggested, would be twofold — you'd be correcting an evil tendency in yourself, and you'd be accepting penances — in this case, a spouse's testing of your patience — not of your own making.

"Those are the penances you know are from God," said Marcus. Make that a threefold good — not getting impatient would be a real step toward "spiritualizing your daily life," giving spiritual significance to an everyday event. One step closer to Paul's praying without ceasing.

I disagreed with Marcus' statement regarding the purpose of giving things up, however. When I give things up, I'm not after a strengthened will — one more capable of resisting temptation and moving the soul toward goodness.

I'm after a more disciplined will, one less inclined to go wandering off on various earthly pursuits, even pursuits that are morally neutral. I'm after detachment from the world. In such a case, giving up something morally neutral is almost an advantage. For detachment to be perfect, it has to include detachment from even good things. God's creation is good. His blessings are good. He is better. The idea is to detach from the blessings of creation and consider their source.

I didn't think of it at the time — it was loud, I was drinking, and all this was getting hammered out amid many interruptions and side notes — but I've got scripture on my side. Giving up licit goods is just a particular form of fasting, and God likes it when we fast. Fasting saved Ninevah.

Fasting from food is perhaps best of all — if you can deny yourself that basic fleshy need, it becomes easier to deny yourself everything else. You are beginning to detach from the flesh, even if, after a while, all you can think about is the empty hole in your midsection. (I'm writing this on Ash Wednesday afternoon. Because my job involves nothing more strenuous than sitting at a desk, I have decided to eat nothing prior to dinner. I am deeply aware of my hunger.) But fasting from alcohol — given to man for the gladdening of his heart — has worth as well. Unless....

Marcus: "Broderick gives up drinking, but then he's grumpy all the time."

I'm hoping he was at least half-joking, but it's a worthwhile warning. As it happens, I'm not giving up alcohol this year. Still, I imagine any self-denial can work against a body this way. Looks like my pursuit of detachment will have to include some of Marcus' spiritualized daily life.

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