Day 38: The Pain of Hunger

If these next two and a half hours are any indicator, the next eight days are going to seem as long as the last thirty-eight days combined.  This hasn't happened much this Lent, but right now I am confronted with a situation where I am a bit more idle than usual.  Brandi is in Kansas City today for her uncle's funeral and I am home with the boys.  It being Friday there are no pressing school matters that need my immediate attention. This would usually be a quiet, relaxing time that I would look forward to, but to be honest, I am bored.  It has rained all day so we are cooped up in the house. So I find myself sitting down here by myself confronting my hunger.

Hunger is an uncomfortable feeling unlike any other.  I don't know if it can really be classified as "pain" per se.  It's not sharp or piercing and there's no blood. It doesn't strike at a nerve or break any bones. It's neither inexplicable nor out of the ordinary.  And unlike most other pains, it is both preventable and easily treatable.  Ibuprofen can be hit or miss for a headache. A trip to the doctor may or may not alleviate pain.  A visit to the hospital may actually cause more  pain before getting to the cause of the ache (assuming it can at all).  But the fix for hunger is simple and quick . . . a glass of water, a few bites of bread or fruit or veggies and, voila!  No more hunger!

So why do we fast?  Why do we willfully inflict this mild discomfort on ourselves?  Are we masochists?  There are many reasons, of course, and I have tried to examine these at least in part throughout this Lent, but right now I am sensing solidarity . . . a solidarity of sadness and compassion for those in our world who suffer from hunger everyday.  What for me is mild discomfort is to many others a way of life.  What I have whined and complained about this Lent is for others not a choice but a situation they neither asked for nor deserved.  What for me can be alleviated by a few short steps to the refrigerator, a trip to the supermarket or a drive to any number of fast-food joints within five minutes, is for too many others a terminal illness with no cure in sight.

I feel guilt.  Guilt for ever complaining about being hungry.  Ever.  Guilt for looking forward to eating as soon as sunset arrives. Guilt for being complicit in a culture which tells us we need more, more, more.  Guilt for participating in a system which fights for tax breaks for those who can have whatever they want when they want it at the expense of eliminating opportunities and necessities for those who struggle for the basics day in and day out.  Guilt. Guilt for having so much when others have so little.