Recalling Lent

I just read a piece in the Wall Street Journal about this year's new spiritual under-taking: adults who are "giving up" Facebook for Lent.

The article took me back to my youth in the steel-mill suburbs of Pittsburgh. I grew up in a Christian Orthodox family, with a Ukranian Orthodox mother and a Russian Orthodox father. Our faith (or, in my case, lack of faith) was built on a foundation of confession, holy communion, incense, a love of the Virgin Mary and deep-seeded guilt. We were, essentially, like Roman Catholics except, as my mother would say, "we don't report to the Pope."

Lent was a very big deal in our family as it was a prelude to the Super Bowl of religious holidays, Easter. There would be no Christianity without the story of those three days when Jesus suffered on the cross, was buried and rose from the dead. My mother focused most of her energy on the suffering part of the story as commemorated through the tradition of Lent. To the unaware, Lent recalls the biblical tale of Jesus going out into the wilderness for 40 days and 40 nights (to do what, I am not sure). To pay homage to this story, many Christians sacrifice something of importance during the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter.

In our family, the week leading up to the start of Lent was rife with tension. We had numerous and lengthy, Camp David-like negotiating sessions during which my sister and I would submit our proposed Lenton observations for my mother's approval. Being a savvy negotiator, I'd start the proceedings by putting a long-shot on the table in the hopes that I would catch mom in a weak and/or (rarely) generous moment. "We'll give up liver and onions," I would proudly proclaim. Mom was wise to my liver gambit ever since the day she forced me (I think at gunpoint, but can't be 100% sure) to eat liver and onions for dinner only to have me heave it back up on the dinner table (it was the last time I've ever eaten liver and onions).

With liver off the table (pun intended), we would negotiate into the night, working our way through the major food groups. But mom was simply too good and her resolve, resolute. Without fail, the Lenton negotiations came down to my having to sacrifice the one thing that sustained me during my youth: Charles Potato Chips. Charles Chips came in a large aluminum can and were delivered fresh to our door every Wednesday afternoon. Mom knew that 40 days without Charles Chips represented the ultimate sacrifice and would put me in good stead with God.

As a last gasp maneuver, I would enlist the aid of my father to undermine my mother's position. Unfortunately, in our home, dad was Switzerland. As a neurtral observer, he had little interest in upsetting the delicate socio-political balance of our family unit. In other words, he didn't want to piss off my mother. He responded to my entreaties for intervention with a simple: "Do what your mother says." Dad knew then what I've come to learn through years of personal experience: "If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."

This post was prompted both by the WSJ article and my recent decision to observe Lent again, after a 30+ year hiatus. As a child, Lent, and to a larger degree, the Easter holiday, was about suffering. I had no choice but to make a sacrifice, even though its significance was never fully explained to me. As a non-practicing adult, I have come to see Lent from a different perspective: as a period of cleansing, contemplation and meditation. It's about taking a small portion of your life to be mindful, not necessarily sacrificial. It's about looking within, not doing without.

Having moved beyond my Charles Chip addiction, I will refrain from the consumption of caffeine during the Lenton season which begins Wednesday.

Any other observers out there?