That's a question, isn't it? It's a question at this time of year, because, well, of course, lent is a season of voluntary deprivation, of sackcloth and ashes, of going without, of being mournful and penitent, and there's nothing saying you have to. There's nothing declaring that you absolutely must go without the things you enjoy, instead people tend to do it on purpose. But why? What's the benefit of being sad and dejected?
Well, the service changes at this time of year. The service changes, and as it changes, it has a different character. We sing fewer songs of joy, we have less rejoicing. We are less enraptured with the sentiments of ebulliant pleasure, and more focused on the cross of Christ and his inevitable death. There are lots of beautiful moments in the scriptures, about love and beauty, moments dealing with delight and joy, and we purposefully purge all these from our worship services, and from our lives, over the course of lent. Why would we do this?
It all has to do with the ol' hedonic treadmill. If you're not familiar with this concept, it's the concept that tells us that we, as human beings, adjust very quickly to new happiness, and internalize it as normal, moving on from it with extreme rapidity. That thing that you thought was going to make you happy forever, you forget it pretty quickly. The new car, the new house, the marriage, the new membership in the church, the new shoes, the cute outfit, all of that sort of slips away, and you move onto a new target. It's one of the saddest things in life, and it breeds perpetual dissatisfaction. This is why, even though you were all on fire for your church when you first joined up, you loved the worship, you loved the atmosphere, you loved the people, but after a while, you grew to not care about any of it anymore. You grew tired and bored with it, and you wanted to move on, to a new church, to a new high. It happens, as I say, with pretty much everything. You get absolutely used to how things are, and you forget about the happiness that the original thing gave you, even if nothing whatsoever has changed in the meantime.
So what to do? Just be resigned to permanent dissatisfaction? Is that the fate of human societies, to continue pushing forward with that outward urge, until there is nothing yet? Are we doomed to continue to gobble until everything is gone, until there is nothing left of our homes and families and relationships, or is there a better way? There is a better way, you know, the way of lent.
In lent, you deprive yourself of something for a while, whether it be giving up chocolate or coffee, or whether it be giving up the praise and adoration that is part of the worship service. Whatever it is, going without something sharpens you. It sharpens your faith. Hopefully, you will give yourself a thorn in the side, all the better to impel you to a sharper faith. When all our needs are met, when we are doing fine, then we have a way of forgetting how good things are. We want to look around, we want to wander, we get dissatisfied. But if we move through a lenten period of deprivation, if we live without something and refocus our attentions elsewhere, if we do that, then we will be surprised at what will happen. What happens is a sharpening of our faith, of our observances. In Lent, you have the chance to ask where you are spending your time, what it is on. What are you consuming, what are you making part of your life that is driving a wedge between you and God, between you and your family, between you and the person that God has told you in his word that he wants you to be? What is that, and can you go without it. If it's something worth giving up, you will be reminded on a daily basis, often in a very visceral way, about the sufferings of Christ. You will be reminded on a daily basis about what it was that Christ had to go through, and the fact that it's a voluntary deprivation means that you will understand the sufferings of Christ all the more. Becuase you could end your suffering, your deprivation at any time, you could walk down to the store and buy all the chocolate there is, that's getting close to understanding the suffering of Christ.
When Jesus walks down off the mount of transfiguration, and towards his death, he knows that he could walk back up that hill at any time, and far beyond it. There is nothing holding him captive in jail that he could not walk away from. If you've read the story of Jesus after his resurrection, you'll know that even doors and barriers are as nothing to him. The only thing stopping him from walking way from the nails, the whips, the crown of thorns, the bloody sweat, the laughter and mocking is his own will. The only thing stopping you from breaking your own lenten vow is that you want to continue it. Your weak and imperfect will, your will that can only give up one thing, if that, your will that, when giving up chocolate for 40 days will be constantly thinking about it, if that's your will, then the sufferings of Christ that he took upon himself for you will begin to mean something. You will grow to have a new appreciation of the sacrifice you take for granted for most of the year.
Secondly, though, lent brings something else. The service, the worship service that you have grown accustomed to for your life, it may seem boring and drab. It may seem everyday, and commonplace. And it may seem as though you don't need it, because it doesn't bring that same high as it used to. In effect, it may appear to you as though the worship of Jesus is just going through the motions. You only get that high at Christmas and Easter, and after a while, you only show up for Christmas and Easter. But if you move through the valley of Lent, you'll realize that the character of the worship service, the prayer and praise of Jesus your Lord, that's Easter, and every Sunday is Easter. The prayer, the praises, the loud shouts of exultation, the glory and amens, all that happens every week, because Sunday is the day that Jesus rose from the dead, and therefore we worship him on that day. We bring him praise and thanksgiving, remembering the crucifixion and the empty tomb, on a weekly basis, and moving through Lent makes you realize that.
It's like the topography of this great province, Saskatchewan. You could live your entire life up on the plains of Regina, and be mournful of the fact that there are no mountains, there are no hills, there's no change in elevation whatsoever. You'll become wistful about the idea of hills, of mountains, of cliffs and towering heights. And that lasts until you go to Fort Qu'Appelle. For there, in the Fort, you go down into the beautiful, picturesque valley. You descend, and experience the majesty of the beautiful valley. But when you go back up, when you ascend, and crest the top of the plains, that's when you realize that there was a massive topography change and you were at the top all the time.. It's not about trying to get higher than an average Sunday morning, it's about realizing that where you were, in a Sunday morning worship service, remember the resurrection of Jesus, was the highest point of all.
How do you discover that fact? By cresting that valley, by getting over the descent, by coming out of Lent, and realizing that normal was, and always has been, spectacular. Hopping off that hedonic treadmill is so powerfully good for you, bringing you to a state where you realize that what God gives to you in a worship service has always been wonderful, and good for you. In a strange sense, then, enjoy Lent. No, that's wrong. Endure Lent, so that you can enjoy common time, the time of the church, and the Easter that is found in every Sunday.
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