February 23, 2007
Friday 

Our lives are to be . . . lived as fully as possible, and truly it seems that we are never so alive as when we concern ourselves with other people.
                    — Harry Chapin, 1942-1981
                        American singer, storyteller, hunger activist

When I was growing up Catholic in the 1950s, Lent was a time when the faithful were encouraged to focus on penance through self-denial and the restriction of food. Adults had complicated modified fast regulations. Only one full meal was to be taken per day. The other two meals had to be “partial meals,” and nothing was to be consumed between meals. These rules applied to persons between the ages of twenty-one and fifty-nine. We children did not have to fast, but we were urged to “give something up” for Lent, and the something was usually chocolate or some other candy. No one ever gave up Brussels sprouts or succotash.

By the time I was twenty-one, not only had the Lenten eating guidelines been dramatically relaxed as a result of the reforms of Vatican II, I wasn’t paying attention to them anyway, since I did not count myself among the faithful of any organized group. Through the 1970s I bought fastnachts on Mardi Gras from whatever student group was selling them because I do my part to support student groups and because, well, they’re fastnachts.

In the 1980s, when I finally said yes to the call of the divine and sought more formal spiritual development, I found myself in a tradition that emphasized increased positive focus on how one lives the gospel rather than a pious but temporary giving up of something that served only to make you think about the suspended practice and long for the day when you could take it up again.

And now here I am, moving through what I’ve called the Best Year of My Life, in an intense period of creative energy, and facing Lent. And doing so while once again belonging formally to the community of believers known as Weight Watchers, where the focus is on making food restriction fun and seeking creative ways to eat less.

Tension much? According to Bread for the World, 11% of the U.S. population (this would be 35 million people, including more than 12 million children) experience hunger or the risk of hunger. And when I say “hunger,” I know you know I don’t mean the rumbly feeling you get if it’s been four hours since lunch. I’m talking about people who have an inadequate or uncertain supply of food, and the food they do have is of low quality.

I went to my Weight Watchers meeting today. A lot of the chatter was about regrets over having consumed too many fastnachts on Fat Tuesday. The lesson included strategies for avoiding the last bit of food that remains from a serving after you have eaten to comfortable fullness. Shake salt and pepper onto apple pie. Douse a bagel with dishwashing liquid. Pour ketchup over brownies.

I’m having more success at weight loss this time around than ever before. This is no doubt related to the intense and productive focus I am experiencing in other areas of my life. I’ve lost six and a half pounds in a month. I’m becoming aware of the ways I use food as a transition, as a distraction, as a comfort. Mindful of the abundance I have, I’m trying to make connections with the hungry of my community. I’ve put my food collection basket back in a prominent spot in my kitchen, and I took its contents accumulated over a month to church last week. I’m using my morning C&C (coffee and contemplation) to pray for the hungry and to study the problem. I’m reading Ending Hunger Now: A Challenge to Persons of Faith, and I’m back to clicking the Hunger Site’s donation button every day (see the link on the sidebar).

That’s not enough, I told myself today. In my notes for January I wrote “seek volunteer opportunities at downtown soup kitchen.” I didn’t do it. I don’t know why.

Shame on me if I don’t do it on Monday.