So it’s lent.  The question used to be: What are you giving up for lent?  Now, people are asking: What are you going to do for lent?  Instead of “giving something up,” many suggest we “take something up.”

The thing is that both of these questions can be good ones, and in both cases, our responses can miss the point.

The term “lent” comes from a word meaning “spring” or “springtime.”  In the south, the whole of spring is a beautiful season of warmth, light, and growth.  In the north, it’s often drab and dreary: muddy, cold, and barren trees well into early May.  Many a blizzard has fallen after March 20th.

Regardless of where you live, the idea of spring is the season of rebirth, promise, and hope.  Spring is when we see nature go from death-to-new-life.

Lent is about that death-to-new life transformation of springtime.  Like Jesus’ time in the desert, it is a 40 day spiritual journey.

The idea of lent is to spend 40 days on a spiritual journey of transformation and growth.  It’s about inner-conversion, or metanoia (in Greek), turning away from sin and being faithful to the Gospel.

That principle–spiritual growth–should be at the heart of whatever lenten promise we make.  Here’s a great starting point: Is there some sinful practice that you can (and should) give up?  Do that.  

For many of us, those sinful practices are embedded in our daily lives.  It’s harder to nail down a promise to be less judgmental or distracted, so we choose something concrete like “giving up soda” (or candy, or wine, or Facebook). There is nothing wrong with giving something up for lent. Especially not if we approach it as an opportunity for spiritual growth.  Take “giving up soda,” for example:

•  If you’re a person who is addicted to soda, give up the vice of the addiction through the practice of abstinence, with the hope that you will ultimately be able to better practice the virtue of temperance (moderation, self-control) in the joy of Easter.
• Maybe you’re not addicted, but rather you’re a person who enjoys soda… then anytime you might find yourself wanting a soda, use that “desire” as a reminder to pray.

This approach to lenten sacrifice reflects the ancient Christian practice of asceticism which involves self-denial and abstaining from worldly pleasures.  Asceticism is an opportunity to take something that we may be somewhat attached to (like candy, or soda, or television, or electronic devices, or Facebook) and redirect that obsessive energy towards God.  Ascetic practices serve to open us to new life in God.

One way things go awry is when we focus only on the torture of denial without the promise of hope, joy, and transformation of Easter.  We are a people of the Resurrection, not a people of Good Friday.  It is one thing to remember Jesus’ sacrifice and share in Christ’s suffering.  But “giving something up” misses the point if it doesn’t help us to grow spiritually.

The “taking something up” crowd also needs to keep in mind the purpose of spiritual growth.  Take up a practice of reading Scripture, or praying the rosary, or attending daily mass.  Do something positive in your prayer life, for sure, but do it as a matter of inner-conversion not as a self-improvement project.  Make the attempt to integrate this positive behavior into your daily life permanently.

So maybe the better question to ask is: Whether giving up or taking up: how are you growing in faith and spirituality this lent?

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For the longest time, I really didn’t have a discernable hobby.  I mean I’ve always enjoyed doing lots (and lots and lots) of different things, but I never felt like I had a concentrated focus on any activity or interest to consider it my answer to what I would do for pleasure or relaxation.

Many of my closest friends and family members (especially my husband) would readily agree that the lack of doing something purely for pleasure or relaxation has been kind of a problem for me.  I don’t know if anyone ever bluntly told me to “go find a hobby.” Maybe they should’ve.  Hmm… Actually, I probably would’ve responded with, “I don’t have time,” which is evidently exactly why I needed one.  But I digress.

Several years ago, I discovered paint-your-own-pottery.  I loved the creative process.  I loved that so long as I approached painting like I was a 9 year old coloring a picture, it turned out pretty cool looking.  AND, I loved that I could use it in my daily life.

After a while, however, I found that paint-your-own-pottery was getting pretty expensive.  And really, how many mugs, plates, bowls, and light-switch plates does a girl need?  Well, over the course of 10+ years, it amounts to quite a bit of both: cost and stuff.

While excitedly working on painting a replacement tea mug, I mentioned my creative joy and my stumbling blocks to my friend, Stacey.  I wanted to do “this kind of thing” more often, but didn’t want the excessive cost or stuff.  She suggested: “Try painting on paper, just for the fun of it.  No one even has to see it if you don’t want them to.”

So I did try.  Twice.  Instead of feeling excitement, relaxation, and pleasure, I was filled with anxiety, completely stressed out about what I was supposed to paint and why.  The process itself was tainted by the fact that I genuinely didn’t like what I painted.  Moreover, I really did want to do something with it.  There was something about the overall purpose of the creation that generated joy for me.

Shortly after these failed attempts at making painting itself a hobby, Stacey’s sister Sara offered her own version of “Pinot and Picasso,” where she taught my group of girlfriends how to paint our own copy of a work of art with step-by-step instructions.  In case you missed it in the class title, there was also a promise of wine, so I was in.

Intimidated even further by the thought of painting on canvas, I hesitated at every step.  Then Sara said something that changed my whole approach to painting:

This insight allowed me to experiment without hesitation.  I had infinite do-over’s.  If something didn’t work, I could just try again, and again, and again until I liked it.  Sometimes that meant starting over.  Sometimes it meant painting over the one spot that wasn’t working.  It removed the pressure of feeling like I had to have the whole thing perfectly planned out before I even started.  Or feeling like it was ruined by one little (or big) mistake.

As a proactive person, I don’t ever want to feel stuck in a complaining rut.  I’d much rather feel empowered to do something about it.  With this just paint over it insight, instead of feeling bound by a choice my attitude became one of exploring the possibilities.

What a wonderful approach to all of life!  If you don’t like something, just paint over it.  As I looked around at my house, my relationships, my work, and inward at myself, this insight became one of transformation.  Don’t trash it; don’t brush it under the carpet and ignore it.  If I didn’t like something, I could transform it.

Turning towards God involves

• forgiving oneself and transforming one’s own character
• forgiving others, seeking forgiveness from others, and transforming relationships
• seeking forgiveness from God and becoming transformed.

Put another way, metanoia is about

• becoming more (and more and more) of a good person
• doing what is right
• acting with love
• helping others

• Looking around your own life, what would you like to just paint over and transform?

Drip painting by Justin Green licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

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