I grew up Baptist. Not only did I never observe Lent, I thought anyone who did observe Lent put too much emphasis on a human-made tradition. I thought liturgical-practicing Christians didn’t love the Bible as much as I did. They didn’t experience Jesus as deeply as I did. I also thought their fasts were silly. No chocolate for a month? No social media? Big deal. Did I engage in these fasts? Nope. Just judged ‘em.
I was so arrogant and ignorant.
Ancient, liturgical Church traditions held little meaning for me. What this translated to were brief religious holidays, one to two days long, preceded by a month of Christmas cookie baking and scouring malls for gifts or a week of purchasing chocolate eggs and plastic grass. I failed to see how my consumerism essentially became secularized Lent before Easter and secularized Advent before Christmas. I failed to understand that I had chosen a cultural religion of eat and buy, while I judged the historical and sacred traditions of my actual faith religion.
Easter would arrive with the sudden abruptness of a humanoid bunny leaping across my path. The Sunday before Easter, church was filled with children waving palm branches, and then boom, the next Sunday Jesus rose from the dead and we got solid white chocolate bunnies from Grandma. More candy than sorrow or somber reflection.
Nothing is wrong with palm branches or white chocolate bunnies. But nearly two decades of living in Muslim countries in the Horn of Africa changed the way I think about liturgical religion.
I watched Muslims in Somalia and in Djibouti pray five times a day and fast for an entire month during daylight hours during Ramadan. I attended parties when friends returned from pilgrimage to Mecca and splashed water from the well of Zamzam on my face. I saw homeless women give coins to blind beggars in the name of Allah. And what I discovered in these traditions was the strength of community, the reinforcing power of historical continuity, a global connection, and a meaningful spirituality achieved cultivated through intentional and purposeful action.
Ramadan in particular seemed most enlightening as I reconsidered Lent.
Ramadan is an entire lunar month devoted to fasting and preparation for the Eid holiday when sheep are sacrificed to symbolize forgiveness. The feasting that follows the fasting month is rich with meaning and celebration. The entire community has been through a month of hunger and thirst and the anticipation of Eid is thick, the rejoicing on the morning of Eid filled with relief and a sense of victory.
After living through the month of anticipation and spiritual emphasis, communal rituals, and the celebrations that come at the end of a period of trial, I was better prepared to see the value in Lent. It wasn’t for earning righteousness or to prove anything to God. It was a season of voluntary deprivation to remind us of our need for God and a way to increase the delight of enjoying God’s good gifts when the fasting season ended.
I also saw the season of fasting as a time of corporate brokenness, dependency, and eager anticipation. That communal aspect was something that surprised and intrigued me.
I realized, as Djiboutians fasted and then feasted that I had been wrong to denigrate people who engaged in liturgical rituals. The practice of rituals revealed not the lack of a deep commitment, but the physicality of and a longing for a unique encounter with the divine.
Truth be told, I’m not officially fasting for Lent this year. Ramadan starts in a few weeks. It might happen that I fast a few days during these months, or I might not. I am in a personal season of an unpredictable and unscheduled spiritual practice of fasting. The lessons and values I see in these corporate, global, historical rites are still important to me even as I release a legalistic drive to prove my faith to myself or boast about it to others (ie, readers).
What have you learned from another faith that informed or changed your own?
Read more about how Islam helped me deepen my Christian faith in Pillars: How Muslims Friends Led Me Closer to Jesus
Such a beautiful, wise, informative reflection on Lent, Ramadan, and the potential power and benefit - for communities and the individuals within them - of engaging in liturgical traditions! Many thanks for this writing. In reply to your question, one thing I became acutely aware of during the year I lived in India was how omnipresent religious and spiritual elements were in numerous aspects of everyday life, from religious-based music, decorations, small shrines, and more all over the city to how often people mentioned various aspects of religious and spiritual themes in the course of conversation about many topics. It made me realize how for many in the U.S., religion is often very compartmentalized and has inspired me to try to bring my faith into more of my life, and also to notice and appreciate when others are doing this as well