We’re two weeks into Lent – a time of fasting, abstaining from something in order to refocus, reflect, and rededicate yourself.
Lent is based on the 40 days Jesus spent in the desert wilderness, fasting from food, fasting from interactions with others, fasting from almost all elements of his daily life prior to this isolated season.
His fast was not about the visible elements of the fast.
It was a season of preparation for him.
He had spent time building into his disciples, healing people, challenging traditions and assumptions and teaching and caring for people. Now he faced a period of temptation.
In his desert time, he was challenged to break his fast.
Tempted to abandon what he started.
Tempted to redefine what he knew to be true.
Tempted to self-protect and self-promote.
He was tempted to make it about the visible elements.
I have tried fasting in different ways in the past. Those times can easily become about the elements of the fast. I can become proud of my accomplishments or distracted by the practicalities. The very thing I am using to refocus myself, can become the focus. The abstention becomes the idol.
But when I use fasting as a tool, a season of evaluation and preparation, it can show me where my priorities have shifted.
I began listening to The Minimalist Podcast this week and in episode 276, Ryan Nicodemus talks about picking up an object and experiencing a flush of nervousness about decluttering it. The anxiety can indicate attachment. I find the same thing in my life. If some thing or someone questions my beliefs and I bristle, it often reveals what I have become attached to.
I then get the opportunity to evaluate if I am gripping that belief because it is central to me and my faith or if I am gripping on to a layer because at one point it made me feel safe, comfortable, accepted, important, or self-righteous.
There are things that I have and will declutter from my home that were important and valuable in a season. I recently came across a box of math manipulatives that helped my kids through elementary math. They were important and helpful through their transition in growing up. Now, holding onto them takes up space and detracts. Likewise, there are elements of my faith journey that may have been important for a season but may need to be decluttered.
As children in Sunday School or around the dinner table, many of us were often taught that in order to pray we must fold our hands and close our eyes. This is not biblically directed theology, it’s a helpful way to encourage children to focus. But if I hold onto that practice as central to my faith, I can’t pray while washing dishes. I can’t talk to God as I drive. Holding onto that rule can limit my faith. Refusing to let go can stunt my growth.
Alternatively, I could decide that a life-sustaining medicine on my nightstand does not fit the vibe I’m going for in my bedroom and discard it. Just like I could decide peace and joy and hope and love don’t fit my life and cast them aside. Both would be deadly.
And this is the hard work of reflection.
This is the hard work of the season of Lent.
As I have discovered over the last several weeks, there are many layers to my physical possessions. There are also many layers in my beliefs about God and this world. Layers that I have put on myself, layers other people have applied, layers I sometimes don’t even know exist until something prompts me to question and reflect on them.
May this Lent season be a season of shedding some of those layers that were never meant to be there, shedding the layers that were only meant to be there for a season, and a solidification of the parts that belong.
Uncovering Real 