less

I grew up in the Episcopal church, so Lent always meant, first, Shrove Tuesday and eating pancakes (I had no clue as to why pancakes, normally a breakfast item, took on such prominence to be served at church and at night!), getting ashes smeared on my head during the Eucharist the next day, then all the adults talking about how much they missed desserts, Wednesday night programmes at church where the kids played, and all the adults ate potluck meals of meatless foods and listened to "a talk". Eventually it all turned into Holy Week and then Easter and then on and on the liturgical calendar galloped. I wasn't quite sure what Lent was all about in the midst of this strange routine I witnessed every year. In some ways, I continue to try and understand.

This year, I had a growing sense leading up to Lent that was just a single word: less. I hadn't prayed or meditated to come up with a Lenten discipline or theme. This word just started showing up in my gut, in my intuition anytime I stopped to listen, sometimes even when I wasn't trying at all to listen. Less.

Before I moved back to America, the Lord warned me that it would be rough going against the materialistic tide here. I took heed, but I figured I had endured plenty of things, suffered enough privation that all that materialism and consumerism would be easy to resist. Sure enough, when I got back to the land of Starbucks, Best Buy, and dread WalMart, most of it just reeked to me. I shuddered at the sheer number of shops and shopping venues and the endless push for personalisation and customization: "Have it your way!" -- the endless choices. But as overt as some of this is, I have realised over the last year that much of the ideology behind the marketing and promotion is quieter, more insidious, and it preys upon our basic fears, insecurities, and worries. The essential message, whether you're talking cars, money, food, clothes, phones, travel, prescription drugs, relationships, sex, or weapons is: more. You must have more. If something is good, it is better to have more of it. And you are not okay until you have The More.

Thankfully, Jesus does not think or act this way. Thankfully, through Him, we have a way out of this sticky web of deceit. Thankfully, He says things like: less.

So while I am not abstaining from desserts or alcohol or television or whatever during these 40 days, I am considering everything I do from the vantage point of less. This is not ascetic deprivation, it is a more temperate and steady choosing throughout the day that what I have, and more importantly, who I am, is okay. I can be content not having all of what I might want, either materially or otherwise. And wonderfully, I already feel so much the richer.

Jesus, one word from You, rocks me!