M. Suzanne Terry

Tomorrow we enter into Lent, which in many traditions is a season of fasting. I’m not sure Lutheran is one of those traditions, but I tend to fast during Lent anyway. I started doing so to support an early college roommate who was Episcopalian, and I’ve done it ever since. I’ve become less communicative about it over the years, not only because it’s become more of a private reflection, but also because I’ve found that fasting is one of those things people are either willing to understand or wanting to argue about.

This post is for the willing crowd. Arguing crowd – save your breath. I’m still going to do it, because I find it beneficial. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. You do you.

First, these are not reasons that I fast:

1. To test my willpower or prove that I can accomplish it. Fasting is an intensely personal experience for me, but that doesn’t mean that it’s just about me and what I can do. In fact, I would go so far as to suggest that if this is the only reason one fasts, then what one is doing is not so much fasting as it is dieting.

2. To rid myself of vices. If I notice something I’m doing is harmful to myself or others, I don’t need to wait until Lent to get rid of it. Nor do I need to use the calendar’s announcement that it’s Easter as an excuse to pick it back up. It just needs to go. What needs to happen there is a full turning away, not a temporary doing without.

Reasons I fast:

1. To induce gratitude. Doing without something for a season that is a regular, enjoyable part of my life, makes me ten times more grateful for life and more aware of a purpose outside myself in general, and that gratitude feeds right into the joy of Easter.

2. To make room. Abstaining from a regular activity frees up that time (and head space) for more contemplation, meditation, and prayer.

3. To lay down privilege. This is humbling and paves the way for that experience to change me into someone who acts more fairly.

The year I went vegan for Lent, I learned a lot. What I expected to get out of it was an immense joy when I could have cheese (if Jesus were a food…) again and a little time for reflection that I saved by preparing and eating simpler meals.

Then, like a fool, I told people what I was doing.

This announcement inspired a lot of opposition. It wasn’t like I was asking anyone to join me, but they were still upset about it. This confused me until I realized that when people rise up against something that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with them, it’s usually a justice issue. They or someone they love or support would lose power – usually over other people – or money, which is just tangible power, if everyone started behaving or believing that way. So they don’t like it.

When I see something as a justice issue, however, whether or not they like it becomes kind of irrelevant. If it is strictly a difference of opinion, I’m pretty live-and-let-live about it. Sure, I will tease you. You think Uggs are pretty? Fine. I might, tongue fully in cheek, tell you that your taste is wrong, but really? Live your life; wear your hideous boots. What do I care?

But.

I will remove that tongue from my cheek and seriously urge you to investigate where and how they’re manufactured. Because it matters. Morally and ethically – it matters. Issues of justice cannot be brushed off with a flippant agreement to disagree.

So the year I went vegan, and people started hurling their statistics and medical studies at me, I didn’t tell them they had a right to their opinion and let it go. I, ever the argumentative academic, read their statistics and studies. Then I read most of the works cited at the bottom of those sources to get a larger picture of their viewpoint. I analyzed the credibility of their sources, and I studied equally credible sources (and in quite a few cases, more credible sources because wow, people will believe really shoddy work from really shady places if it allows them to resist changing their mind) that came to a different conclusion.

[As an aside, if you are looking for a socio-political rabbit hole to fall into, I recommend a compound search of food systems and justice. It’s fascinating.]

Through reading all this research, I came to some conclusions of my own. For the record, I didn’t stay vegan, although if you are, I highly support your decision. There are a lot of good reasons to do so.  There are also good reasons not to, and those reasons are more in line with my values. I did, however, radically change the way I view and buy food. After my experience and the domino effect of education on the subject, I could not in good conscience know what I had learned and remain unchanged.

Fasting is not always such a life-changing experience for me, but it does always manage to find a new way to shift my focus away from myself and onto the needs of others. That’s a lesson that extends far beyond the fasting season.

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I love my church, especially lately.

(My first offering – macaroons for Easter)

I have loved them from the beginning, but there have been difficulties. It has been hard to socialize with them. I shoulder most of the blame for this – I am often a difficult person to get to know. I am a pretty extreme introvert; I’m not a hermit, but I sometimes fantasize about being one. In most situations, I overcome this by adjusting socially with what a friend once called my “politician self” – the part of myself that is vital for working in customer service or teaching public speaking. While this more gregarious version of me is a real part of who I am, I want my church to know my deeper self, too, and that has been a challenge.

It’s also the first liturgical church I’ve attended with any regularity. Even though I’ve been in church my whole life, I feel like I’m brand new at it. I don’t know the creeds by heart, and I don’t recognize most of the hymns. The hymns I do recognize often have different verse than I grew up singing. Most of the time, the changes are sweet to my ears, but I really miss the verse of Oh, For A Thousand Tongues To Sing that ends “…and leap, ye lame, for joy.”

We are also predominantly white (I didn’t know I could belong to a whiter church than I have in the past, yet here I am.). I’m not sure why. But neither are they, and they aren’t afraid to talk about it or question it. I have never been a part of a group that has such civil discussions while at the same time refusing to shy away from hard subjects. I’ve never been in a church before where the prayers are always in touch with what is going on in the world. We pray, we lament, we mourn, and we discuss what our response will be. We don’t hide from uncomfortable truths.

These are not just words whispered in private conversations; they are mentioned from the pulpit. For most of my church life, I have had to practice the art of biting my tongue while clinging desperately to the commonality of Jesus in order not to be asked to leave. As you might imagine, I’m not great at it. When I would get too comfortable and forget to keep a thought to myself, the best I could hope for would be a bless-her-heart, pat-on-the-head tolerance or eyes filled with annoyance. I could expect accusations of stubbornness or assumptions of ignorance or looks of pity, for clearly, they thought, I was being deceived.

This church is the first place where the results of my prayers and my convictions are often the norm or are at least similar to those of other members, even the ones who have been to seminary. This is probably arrogant, but after decades of being told or having it implied that I am wrong or sinful for hearing from God the way that I do, it is IMMENSELY gratifying to say, “This is what I think…” and have someone who has studied the Bible with the intensity of preparing to teach it to others reply, “I agree.”

This is not to say that we always agree. And that’s really how they won me over. As satisfying as agreement on most things has been, it is even sweeter to hear, “I don’t agree, but tell me more. What brought you to that conclusion?” To not be dismissed or merely tolerated is heaven.

I love the observance of the seasons and their involvement with my Denton that I love. But it’s their sweetness and acceptance that have captured my heart.

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