“And when you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”
Matthew 6:16-18
Last week the Bishop of the Diocese of Metuchen issued a dispensation for Roman Catholics in churches under his care freeing them from restrictions on eating meat and other forms of fasting during Lent. While encouraging Catholic to fast as they were able, Bishop James Checchio freed them from the obligation to do so for two reasons.
First, as a practical matter, many people are much more limited in the selection of food available to them these days. Some may be relying on pre-packaged meals, or food provided to them through relief services, and if their Friday meal includes meat, then that’s what they get.
Second, as a spiritual matter, the practice of foregoing meat and sacrificing other luxuries during Lent is symbolic suffering, which is important to observe during times of normalcy. However, these are not normal times, and there is little purpose to enforce symbolic suffering when our entire world is going through very real and very drastic real suffering.
I am not a Catholic and in the Reformed tradition, Lenten sacrifices are voluntary anyway. There is no mandatory rule for fasting. In fact, a large piece of our historical separation from the Roman church was that some of the earlier Reformers flaunted the Roman fast, openly eating meat during Lent, because that was a papal rule, not a scriptural one. But in recent years, some Reformed churches and many individual congregants have re-adopted the Catholic practices of Lenten fasting.
I don’t take any issue with those churches or the people who find meaning in the symbolic sacrifice.
Our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters in the Diocese of Metuchen (and a growing number of others) have it correct, though, when they say that because we are in a time of real sacrifice, that we should not be obligated to observe a symbolic sacrifice on top of that.
We are in a time of real sacrifice.
For most of us, that sacrifice can look pretty cushy. We’re being encouraged to stay home, watch tv, hunker down, and avoid crowds. Our technology allows us to do things in physical isolation that we wouldn’t have been able to do 20 years ago. We can sign in to church services online, attend virtual coffee hours, have online game nights with our friends, have Skype family dinners, and keep connected in dozens of different ways. So on one level it seems that our sacrifice is just a temporary change in the way we live our normal lives.
Yet the social, material, and spiritual effects of these times run much, much deeper than simply sitting on the couch and watching Netflix all day.
Humans have a deep, deep need to touch and be touched. We have a deep need to gather together and be social – not through the ones and zeroes of a computer connection, but through hugs and handshakes. We need to work and be productive – some of us can work from home, but many of us cannot and either have to brave a dangerous world with an invisible foe, or stay home, often involuntarily, and wrestle with a suddenly unstable financial situation. All of these things take a tremendous toll on our mental and spiritual health.
And then there are the people who are sick. And their family members. And the numbers of the sick grow higher every day. And by now most of us know the statistics – 80% of the sick will make it through this just fine without any need for hospitalization, and that’s what we hope for. But we know that 20% will need greater care, and some of those will need intensive care, and we know that some of those will not make it through. And that is a stress for all of us - to not know whether the next person in the ICU might be a member of our own families, or possibly ourselves.
We are in a time of very real and very legitimate lament. Our anxieties are high, our nerves are on edge, and some of us may want to take up the words of King David and curse to the heavens, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And if that is the place you find yourself in, by all means – cry out to God. Bring your pain to him. God can take it.
The practice of Lent as we know it is, at its core, a spiritual discipline. It’s a reminder of what it’s like to be in a low place and to need God. In these times, we don’t need reminders of what it’s like to be in a low place. Many of us are trapped in the same four walls day after day. Our social interactions take place by computer screen. Every trip to the grocery store is fraught with worry. We are very much living our own version of Lent, day in and day out.
Yet for all of us these are the days when we need God the most. Even if we’re angry or scared and just want to vent at God and shout out our frustrations. To be angry with God is still to have faith in God.
God knows our pain. God is in it with us. I’ve seen it these past weeks as the love that God has for our church has shown itself in the ways that people are reaching out to each other, supporting each other, and caring for one another.
And this virus will eventually run its course, the pain will ease, and the world will be made whole again. And God will be with us then too, in every joyous hug, every embrace, every handshake. God will bring us through to a new day of resurrection. Because we know that in good times and in bad, God is always with us.
Matthew 6:16-18
Last week the Bishop of the Diocese of Metuchen issued a dispensation for Roman Catholics in churches under his care freeing them from restrictions on eating meat and other forms of fasting during Lent. While encouraging Catholic to fast as they were able, Bishop James Checchio freed them from the obligation to do so for two reasons.
First, as a practical matter, many people are much more limited in the selection of food available to them these days. Some may be relying on pre-packaged meals, or food provided to them through relief services, and if their Friday meal includes meat, then that’s what they get.
Second, as a spiritual matter, the practice of foregoing meat and sacrificing other luxuries during Lent is symbolic suffering, which is important to observe during times of normalcy. However, these are not normal times, and there is little purpose to enforce symbolic suffering when our entire world is going through very real and very drastic real suffering.
I am not a Catholic and in the Reformed tradition, Lenten sacrifices are voluntary anyway. There is no mandatory rule for fasting. In fact, a large piece of our historical separation from the Roman church was that some of the earlier Reformers flaunted the Roman fast, openly eating meat during Lent, because that was a papal rule, not a scriptural one. But in recent years, some Reformed churches and many individual congregants have re-adopted the Catholic practices of Lenten fasting.
I don’t take any issue with those churches or the people who find meaning in the symbolic sacrifice.
Our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters in the Diocese of Metuchen (and a growing number of others) have it correct, though, when they say that because we are in a time of real sacrifice, that we should not be obligated to observe a symbolic sacrifice on top of that.
We are in a time of real sacrifice.
For most of us, that sacrifice can look pretty cushy. We’re being encouraged to stay home, watch tv, hunker down, and avoid crowds. Our technology allows us to do things in physical isolation that we wouldn’t have been able to do 20 years ago. We can sign in to church services online, attend virtual coffee hours, have online game nights with our friends, have Skype family dinners, and keep connected in dozens of different ways. So on one level it seems that our sacrifice is just a temporary change in the way we live our normal lives.
Yet the social, material, and spiritual effects of these times run much, much deeper than simply sitting on the couch and watching Netflix all day.
Humans have a deep, deep need to touch and be touched. We have a deep need to gather together and be social – not through the ones and zeroes of a computer connection, but through hugs and handshakes. We need to work and be productive – some of us can work from home, but many of us cannot and either have to brave a dangerous world with an invisible foe, or stay home, often involuntarily, and wrestle with a suddenly unstable financial situation. All of these things take a tremendous toll on our mental and spiritual health.
And then there are the people who are sick. And their family members. And the numbers of the sick grow higher every day. And by now most of us know the statistics – 80% of the sick will make it through this just fine without any need for hospitalization, and that’s what we hope for. But we know that 20% will need greater care, and some of those will need intensive care, and we know that some of those will not make it through. And that is a stress for all of us - to not know whether the next person in the ICU might be a member of our own families, or possibly ourselves.
We are in a time of very real and very legitimate lament. Our anxieties are high, our nerves are on edge, and some of us may want to take up the words of King David and curse to the heavens, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And if that is the place you find yourself in, by all means – cry out to God. Bring your pain to him. God can take it.
The practice of Lent as we know it is, at its core, a spiritual discipline. It’s a reminder of what it’s like to be in a low place and to need God. In these times, we don’t need reminders of what it’s like to be in a low place. Many of us are trapped in the same four walls day after day. Our social interactions take place by computer screen. Every trip to the grocery store is fraught with worry. We are very much living our own version of Lent, day in and day out.
Yet for all of us these are the days when we need God the most. Even if we’re angry or scared and just want to vent at God and shout out our frustrations. To be angry with God is still to have faith in God.
God knows our pain. God is in it with us. I’ve seen it these past weeks as the love that God has for our church has shown itself in the ways that people are reaching out to each other, supporting each other, and caring for one another.
And this virus will eventually run its course, the pain will ease, and the world will be made whole again. And God will be with us then too, in every joyous hug, every embrace, every handshake. God will bring us through to a new day of resurrection. Because we know that in good times and in bad, God is always with us.
