Let It Go

Did you give up something for Lent this year? Maybe that’s not such a big thing anymore. Maybe Lent isn’t, either. But back in the day, it was always the “go to” thing to do.

The old traditional three practices of Lent are abstinence, prayer and almsgiving. Yeah, it’s that old that some churches still say “almsgiving.” It means giving money or food - or doing charitable acts - for the poor. Abstinence is the giving up part and prayer is, well, prayer. Maybe it’s because prayer and care for the poor are meant to be things we do all the time, but abstinence tended to be the one that got very specific attention.

Usually that attention was directed at things we saw as tempting pleasures. People often gave up smoking, coffee, chocolate - things that could tie into the “temptation” theme of the Jesus-in-the-wilderness story that inspired the season. Historically, it was things like fatty foods and fun things. That’s what gives us the tradition of pancake suppers on the last day before Lent begins. Fat Tuesday or Mardi Gras was the final opportunity to use up all that stuff you couldn’t use in Lent and have a good time doing it.

The point of that abstinence, though, is that it’s meant to be something that inspires your attention and focus on the purpose of Lent, that it’s a time of self-reflection, a time of discovery about your self, your relationship with God, and with the world. You let go a physical, earthly pleasure in order that you can focus on the spiritual.

I think - and you can call it semantics, if you like - “let go” is probably a better route to spiritual practice than abstinence or giving something up.

What if, instead of giving up something pleasurable or even something we see as physical sustenance (if we fasted, for instance) for a short period of time, we could let go of something weightier? Maybe even as a step to letting it go beyond the forty days of Lent.

Say, instead of giving up that coffee or chocolate, we let go of some anger. Or hate. Or ignorance. Maybe we could let go of some of that fear or that shame for feeling imperfect. Maybe we could couple that with taking some things on, like patience or love or learning or confidence or self awareness of how singularly meaningful we are just as we are.

Maybe we could let go of some of those things we’ve cast in stone and wonder and ask questions about them instead.

The author of the gospel of John tells a story about Jesus meeting Nicodemus, a pharisee, someone whose job was strictly keeping the law and traditions. He literally kept the things cast in stone cast in stone. But this pharisee has questions. Not doubts, questions. He’s wondering about Jesus and what he’s teaching.

The story even has him come to Jesus at night. Sure that could be because he was afraid to be seen talking to Jesus, but it could just as easily be because he had a busy day. Or it could have been a simple metaphor about coming from the darkness to see the Light. 

I think Nicodemus represents all of us who need to let go of some things in order that we might learn and grow. Jesus describes that to him as being born “anew” by the spirit, a new beginning, a new way of life. I think Nicodemus begins to experience that here. He begins to let go of the letter of those laws and see what’s written on the heart, what’s the true meaning of how we should be, with ourselves, with God, and with each other.

Whatever might be weighing you down, perhaps Lent’s a good time to let it go and be inspired by the spirit to wonder, to learn and to grow.