A young seeker approached an elderly monk asking: "What do you do in the monastery?" The old monk replied: "Oh, well, we fall down and we get up. We fall back down again and we get back up. And then we fall down and get up again."
Lent is going as well as Lent does. I've given up Facebook, which involved asking Laura to change my password, and then deactivate my account. I could reactivate and re-access my account through a three or four-step process, but those steps also given me the room to think about what I'm doing, and choose not to do it. So far I haven't. And the deactivation has kept me from receiving any email notifications which would send me back to Facebook. That being said, I'm finding that I occasionally hit the Facebook icon and am confronted with Laura's profile or the log-in page...and there is a moment of recognition that I clicked the icon out of sheer habit. It may not be too much of an exaggeration to say that I am detoxing from an internet addiction or unseating an idol.
It is important to me that I do not log into Facebook as a matter of keeping my Lenten discipline, but it is also the case that out of habit I click the button which will take me to the website. I've just set up measures that confront me with my habit without rewarding me for logging-on. It's a gentle reminder of my promise.
Now, I could feel guilty about the habitual aspect of my clicking the Facebook icon. But, the habit is fading away as time goes on. Still, what would happen if I felt guilt over just clicking the link? And the intention behind giving up Facebook has not been compromised, I've made more time to write and think and pray.
How many people take up a Lenten discipline, fail at it in one moment or day, and then drop the discipline? I think this sometimes happens. We sometimes treat Lent as "New Year's Resolution, Take 2." The problem with this approach is that, while we understand God to be forgiving of our weakness every other day of the year, Lent comes with a traditional seriousness and somberness that may overshadow our memory of God's commitment to us. A broken promise to God or the Church or to others feels more serious in Lent than other seasons. Logging onto Facebook, having the second cup of coffee, eating meat, and so on, may demoralize a person more than it should.
"I failed this Lent. I will try again next year."
But I'm not sure failure is the appropriate frame of reference for Lent or life, in which God works to the Good and redeems us.
There is a lesson to learn from the elderly monk--a lesson that applies not just to Lent, but the rest of the Christian life. We should recognize our falls as such (being honest with oneself about oneself without either exaggeration or excuse), but we should also 'get up' with the recognition that God is still present to us, and is ready to help and forgive us.
A monk once told me that there are two ways to write a rule of life, and it applies to Lenten disciplines as well. You can write a rule that can tell you where you fail, or you could write one that tells you where you succeed. The difference is subtle, but here is how the frame of the rule impacts how I see my own Lenten discipline.
Rule which measures failure: No Facebook, logging in is bad and equals failure.
Rule which measures success: I like to write and I feel the need to do it, because I want to re-evaluate my spiritual autobiography and relationship to God. But I'm busy. So, giving up Facebook will give me that time [about an hour every day].A rule which measures success begins with imagining the Good and suggests how to get there. I'll still know when I could do more, but I'm hallowing something I already do as opposed to setting a demand, benchmark, or measurement couched simply in terms of self-deprivation.
What did you decide to do to mark Lent?
Did you set yourself up to know when you fail or when you succeed?
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