In my Lent letter to the parish I quoted the opening lines from George Herbert's poem “Lent”: “Welcome dear feast of Lent: who love not thee, He loves not Temperance, or Authority, But is compos'd of passion. The Scriptures bid us fast; the Church says now:” Most of my theological education took place in the 60s and my early ministry in the 70s when the traditional authority of the church (let alone of every other institution) was being radically questioned. In the church there was a much agonizing about traditional spiritual practices for instance about the disciplines of Lent. Rather than seeing Lent as a time of “giving up things” we were instructed to see Lent as a positive opportunity to “do something extra” for God and our neighbor. One of the victims of this “positive approach” was of course the age-old tradition of fasting, a spiritual tradition which reaches back into the Hebrew scriptures as well as into other religious traditions. I would have to admit that while I think some good things came out of the questionings and reassessments of many religious practices in the 70s I fear that much was lost. Perhaps only now in a different time we can reevaluate some of the traditional practices away from fashionable ideological pressures.

Fasting was certainly not part of my growing up in the church. Middle of the road suburban Anglicanism in Australia did not have much room for disciplines and austerities: that was far too serious. Yet my grandmother, God bless her, always gave up sugar for Lent. This was treated as a bit of a joke by the family, but made some impression on me. I admired for her keeping to her discipline year after year until she died.

Later on I decided to attempt to give up something I really enjoyed during Lent and to donate the proceeds to the poor. I chose giving up alcohol first about 25 years ago. I well remember the first year I did it. I was out at a dinner party in the first week of Lent where the host was a prominent priest-theologian. I explained beforehand that I was not drinking alcohol during Lent and even brought a non-alcoholic beverage to the dinner. To my horror the host kept on throughout the dinner how he had chosen these wonderful wines and that Andrew was not going to partake of them. Needless to say I was angry and upset by this breach of hospitality but even more so that it came from the mouth of a priest who should have known better.

For me this simple discipline, this small act of self-denial, continues as part of my Lenten fast. I have to admit that it has some positive benefits which I appreciate: it certainly helps save money; I always lose a few pounds as a result; and it reasssures me that I am not dependent on alcohol. But there is more to it than that because I firmly believe that this act of self-discipline has spiritual benefits. Each time I am faced with the issue I am instantly reminded that it is Lent: that we are trying to identify our selves with the Passion of Christ and with his great act of self-denial on our behalf. The power of that reminder is easy to underestimate. Our Lenten disciplines heighten our sense of intentionality.

But more recently I have been thinking about fasting not as a spiritual discipline so much as simply a part of everyday life. The obvious example of that is the diet which we impose on ourselves or have imposed upon us for medical reasons. Usually that fast is to do with food and drink and is linked to weight loss or to the need for a better balance in what we eat and drink. However the imposed fast may be to do with giving up smoking or drinking alcohol or whatever for medical reasons. The outcomes of such fasting is often feeling better about ourselves and our bodies and just feeling healthier. But it is the current recession in particular that has engaged my thinking about fasting of late. No one in their right mind could wish the current recession on this community or any other. Many of us know of the pain that people are feeling or beginning to feel with loss of employment or a sense of jobs being on the line. Many organizations including the Diocese of New York and many of the parishes are feeling the recession and cutting back on staffing and budgets. Even the grand cultural institutions like the Metropolitan Opera and the Metropolitan Museum are announcing cutbacks in future programming or keeping staff vacancies unfilled or whatever.

This of course is not a chosen fast but one imposed by economic circumstances. The severity of the recession has caught our society by surprise even though some had predicted it. The usually confident commentators and politicians are at a loss both to give clear reasons or clear predictions as to its length or severity. I want to do neither except to say that those “old-fashioned” sins like greed and pride and the lack of such virtues as temperance and prudence lurk in the shadows. But as we reflect on the spiritual meaning of fasting can we as people of faith see any positive effect coming out of the current recession? I suspect we can. One of the dangers of long periods of plenty is that we forget basic lessons once learned. Who remembers their parents or grandparents who lived through the Great Depression warning against large levels of debt? Or of the benefit of spreading your investments? Or of doing without until you could afford it? My father, who lived and worked throughout the Great Depression told me with pride that he always paid cash for new acquisitions. I thought this quaint at the time. But he died without owing any man anything.

Without underestimating the pain which many are feeling at this time nevertheless we can also attend to the spiritual dimensions of this imposed fast. If we feel we are taking it hard just pause a moment and think of those who have nothing or a good less than us and how they are faring at this time. Holy Apostle Soup Kitchen down the road serving 1400 meals per day to the poor and needy of this city has had State funding cutbacks as well as a reduction in donations from foundations and from the community. And that goes for most agencies offering food and shelter and other relief. Yet at the same time the demand on their services has increased because of the recession.

And that leads me to the very basis of the criticisms of the traditional Lenten disciplines with which I began. In a generation when social justice concerns were taken to be of more importance than spiritual disciplines it was easy to point to the prophetic tradition for apparent proof texts. Isaiah 58 was a classic example: “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?” What the prophet is saying is not to condemn fasting per se but rather to condemn its abuse. Rather fasting is assumed: it is what we do with it that is important. The issue is not either spiritual disciplines on the one hand or social justice on the other hand. Rather it is “both/and”. The spiritual discipline of fasting when well used can heighten the awareness of the needs of others and increase our sense of social justice. Both can stand together: one can lead to the other.

So as we enter this Lent and think about our own disciplines whatever they may be remember that we are not on some self-improvement trip or to prove how good a Christian we are. Rather we embrace our disciplines of fasting, prayer, and study to draw near to God and to our neighbor.

George Herbert concludes his fine poem, Lent, with these words which say it all:

“Yet Lord instruct us to improve our fast By starving sin and taking such repast As may our faults control: That ev'ry man may revel at his door, Not in his parlor; banqueting the poor, And among those his soul.”