We are fortunate to have many wise Asian women in our parish. They remind us of what we already know, and recover what we seem to have lost.

There are days, and there will be days, when I can’t see how “it” will work. My own frailties, and the overwhelming firepower of the world, knock the wind out of me. I related this state of affairs to a wise and dear Vietnamese friend the other day. You must understand how much the last few generations in Vietnam have suffered, which has endowed their faith with a rare purity and beauty. “Father,” she said, “God is with you. He is with all of us. You have to believe this.” I have to believe that everything God allows will bring about something beautiful. Every single catastrophe is a grace-filled moment of sanctification. “God cannot love you unless he humbles you,” she said. “Only humility can feel God’s touch.”

And so I thought about the humility that comes only through fasting, the kind that strips one to the bone. If I summon the courage, I fast on Friday until after nighttime Stations. And it is when I am empty, hardly strong enough to stand, that I feel God’s touch. To know Him who was stripped, I need to be stripped. Praying the Stations after a satisfying meal is a waste of time. And the most perfect fasting is to take what God gives, and give what he takes, with a big smile. Why the smile? Because I know that in giving what I would never have given, I am finally letting him love me, feeling his love. So, dear children, do not fear the cross. Love the cross, and learn to know God through surrender to it.

The Church portrays Lent with images of armed conflict. We enter into a campaign of “service,” of military service; we prepare for battle armed with weapons of self-restraint. The enemy opposing us is the enemy we face every morning in the mirror: our own disordered passions and insecurities. Only self-restraint and discipline, at times harshly administered, can gain victory in these contests. 

It is just this kind of desert warfare that Christ enters into on the First Sunday of Lent. The Spirit drives him into the desert, like the great St. Anthony of Egypt, to meet the enemy at close quarters. Christ does not wait for the enemy to engage him; rather, Christ quickly moves into Satan’s own territory to make the first strike. He takes with him only the weapons of self-restraint; He talks to no one, he sleeps on the ground, and most importantly, he refuses food and drink. On the fortieth day the Bible tells us, with typical Semitic understatement, Jesus was “hungry.” 

The Purity that comes only through Fasting

Satan moves in to test Jesus’ mettle. He dares Jesus to deal with his hunger by turning a heap of stones into savory loaves. Jesus replies with perfect self-restraint. “My food is to do the will of my Father,” as he will say later in the Gospel. He replies not only to Satan, but to our own base hungers for food, drink, and sex. Don’t settle for food that fails to satisfy.

Christ’s fast points to our idolization of food. There is hardly a moment when we are not thinking about our next meal. Where can I get a snack? A cup of sugary coffee? Where is the nearest Starbucks? Quick, let me Google it. There’s got to be an In-N-Out in this town somewhere. But it isn’t only food. Christ’s fast inspires us to break dependence on any and all sensual pleasures. A friend of mine, who has seven children, gave up relations with his wife one Lent. Larissa, their 7 year-old daughter, asked her mother what she was giving up for Lent. Mom replied, after some hesitation, “well, dear, I’m giving up your father.” To which Larissa replied, “Mommy, you’re supposed to give up something you like!” 

Only by restraining our appetites for God’s gifts do we discover how we have come to depend on the consolations of God rather than the God of consolations. To be effective, our fasting must be constant and methodical warfare. I may have managed to deny myself desert at lunch, but I will have another firefight at dinner. Meal by meal, we gain ground, breaking our dependence on earthly satisfactions. Fasting trains us to depend on the Will and the Word of God above all. Some saints have subsisted many years only on the Blessed Eucharist, the Word made flesh. With Christ in the desert, they show us that “Man lives not on bread alone but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”

Take Heart

Fasting terrifies most of us. We can’t imagine life without the consolations food, and drink, spousal intimacy, and all the sensual comforts God provides. Lent is a time for warfare, desert warfare, not so much with the devil as with ourselves. Soldiers must exercise discipline and self-denial to reach their objectives. Let us take heart from Holy Mother Mary, who trained her will from the moment she made her Fiat to the angel Gabriel, to enter this campaign of Christian service joyfully, armed with the weapons of self-restraint.

It’s Ash Wednesday. I sit at my computer with ashes on my head between Masses. I got up this morning a bit earlier than usual to pray before Mass, but thought I’d just rev up my computer to see if there was any further news on the Pope’s resignation. The computer was a little slow (eg, it took an entire 90 seconds to log on) and I looked at my breviary sitting forlornly on the table. I turned the computer off, and picked up the breviary.

Then I realized what I needed to add to my Lenten program: fasting from the internet. How many times a day do I check my email? Ten times? Fifteen times? How many times a day do I check news sites—all good, Catholic ones, mind you—and blogs? Five times? Seven times? I compared time on the internet with time spent on things that really matter, such as calling Mom, spiritual reading, preparing homilies, etc. The “Really Matter” categories came up pretty spotty. Solution? Fast from internet, and spend more time on Things That Really Matter. I think I can do it…. I’ll log on only once a day, to read and answer emails, and taste the news rather than gorge on them. I won’t post this blog until my once-a-day log on, I give you, dear reader, permission to read this blog less often, at least during this most holy season of Lent.