The last couple of days I have really been questioning why I embarked on this whole Lenten Ramadan journey. I have kind of felt ridiculous explaining it to people and I have begun to wonder if I am doing this to try and prove something to myself and others or if it really has any merit to it whatsoever in my life. I have seriously considered stopping it and doing something a bit more conventional.
But today I got it.
I didn't have some profound experience in prayer. I did spend a half hour today in prayer but it was nothing particularly memorable. I was distracted and flighty and my mind was all over. I couldn't quiet myself down. Ordinarily this would bother me and I may abandon the prayer altogether, but my spiritual director has told me to get out of my mind the idea that prayer is either a "success" or a "failure." It just is. As he says, prayer is "wasting time with God." Some days certainly will be better than others (and today was nothing to write home about) but the point is, I took the time and made myself available to God.
My profound experience actually came before and after the prayer and I really did not fully appreciate it until I took the time later in the day to reflect upon it, or did what in Ignatian Spirituality is known as an "Examen." It all began thanks a book I began reading today.
First, let me just say that I love food. I love to eat food. I love to cook food. I love to smell food. I love to read cookbooks. I love to talk about food. I love to try new foods and recipes. In contemporary parlance it would be fair to say I am somewhat of a "foodie." The past five years, however, have seen a gradual transformation in how I approach food. It began when I read Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser. Since then, fast food, which had previously been a regular part of my diet, is something I rarely eat. More recently I have read Michael Pollan's books The Omnivore's Dilemma and In Defense of Food which have challenged me to consider what I eat, where that food comes from, what it is doing to my body and what it is doing to the earth that God has blessed us with. While I have not taken what some may call "drastic measures" (for example, I am not a vegetarian, but have considered it) I have undertaken some very intentional changes to the way I eat. We eat more at home. This, of course, means I cook more. With that I have made an effort to cook more with whole foods and have tried to minimize the processed foods in a given recipe. Right now I am champing at the bit in eager anticipation of hitting the Farmers' Market on Saturday mornings starting about a month from now. I have tried to buy more organic fruits and vegetables. With friends, we split a side of beef we purchased from a local farmer. I built a compost bin in the backyard for our table scraps and yard waste. Maybe you are starting to get the picture.
So, as Lent began I picked up a copy of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver (of The Poisonwood Bible fame) and today I was able to read the first two chapters or so. (If you are not familiar with the book, it chronicles a year that she, her husband and their two daughters spent living as independently sustainable as possible . . . in other words, they grew all their own food.) While I am not (currently) entertaining the idea of digging up the back yard to plant a massive garden, it does have me thinking about food. And since, while I am fasting, food is a something that frequently comes to mind (especially around, say 5:30 in the evening) but infrequently enters my mouth, it is, needless to say, a topic of great interest to me. Which brings me to the fast.
One thing I have noticed as I fast is that food tastes better. (The meatball sandwich I made tonight may have been the best thing I have eaten in months. And I enjoyed every bite. I stopped when I was full. I was satisfied but not stuffed.) Water tastes cleaner, colder and more refreshing. On top of that I (obviously) am not eating as much of it, but I'm not just talking about missing out on lunch. At 7:38pm it doesn't take nearly as much as one would think get the job done. A friend asked me the other day, "Don't you just want to pig out at sundown?" The answer is "no." I have yet to pig out. I find myself appreciating every bite and having gratitude for the little food that I am eating. This exercise in reduction is creating a practical and spiritual experience with food that the books mentioned above, despite their profound effect on me, could not replicate.
A second thing I noticed is that the fast has made me more social. I am an introvert by nature and I need my Eric time as much as anything. But there is something about sitting down at a table with five other people and and just watching them eat that really transforms one's outlook at the real value of meal time. For example, in the past six or seven months we have established a tradition with some friends of ours who live in our neighborhood (who happen to also be the folks with whom we split the side of beef) that involves enjoying dinner at each others' homes one night a week. Last night we went to their house where they prepared the meal and tonight they came to our house where I had made spaghetti and meatballs (from, by the way, the most awesomely incredible Italian cookbook ever created). While everyone ate I enjoyed the conversation more than I ever have. It's not so much about what you eat but about whom you eat with (the same rang true in Jesus' time incidentally, which got him into hot water with the Pharisees in such places as Luke 5:30). (Note: The exception to this increased socializing at meal times would be hanging out with my "lunch crew," whom I miss dearly, but that time is earmarked for prayer right now.)
And that is my fast today. And if this is all I learn this Lent, then it will have been an enormously powerful experience.
So today I think I got it . . . until tomorrow when I won't.
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