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Several years ago I decided to test my dependence on Pepsi and my ability to sacrifice for the sake of personal and spiritual growth by going without the elixir of my well being for the season of Lent, all 46 days of it.
I was raised Baptsit, as in the Baptist church was the only Protestant house in town so that's where my mother dropped us off for Sunday school every week—except in summer because nobody goes to school in summer (I make no claims to the soundness of this theological line of thinking). Lent meant nothing. Ash Wednesday meant nothing. Good Friday meant nothing (though it seemed to me all Fridays possessed an inherent goodness by dent of being the end of the school week).
Long story short, I became an Episcopalean during graduate school. Turns out, my church now had all kinds of fancy days of the week leading up to Easter that I had never heard of: Maundy Thursday, Shrove Tuesday, Holy Saturday, and some others whose names I still forget.
Father Patrick, the priest under whom I was confirmed, very patiently explained Lent to me. I had expressed my concern that it sounded like sacrifice for its own sake. He explained to me that Lent can be different experiences: giving up a pleasure as a way of dying to the self in a small way (the idea being to focus less on your own wants all the time) or the opportunity to start a new discipline for one to grow spiritually, emotionally, and so forth.
After various Lenten sacrifices, and skipping the practice of Lent sometimes, I decided to give up Pepsi for Lent. I had been asked a couple of times before if I would ever do it, usually a jest meant to mock how much I enjoy the bubbly corn syrup drink.
It seemed to me that an emotional attachment to any substance did not sound particularly good and that to temporarily give up a pleasure in the pursuit of reminding myself life is not all about my own gratification could have some positive impact. Thus, I waved Pepsi bye-bye along with all other sodas, because to drink other sparkling beverages would seem like cheating.
Happily the first weeks (there's six and a half of them in Lent) went pretty well. I had no physical reaction, making me happy to know I did not have a caffeine addiction. I missed a fizzy beverage, especially after a meal, but I got used to it. In the mornings I drank cranberry juice. I drank more water during the day, inviting a healthier lifestyle. I felt temped a few times for sure, but I took great pride in holding strong. Yes, I took on a challenge and proved my mettle. I never discussed it with anyone, yet I felt very smug knowing the depth of my self-discipline. Ha!
Then the day came. I cannot tell you what happened, for I do not remember. I recall the day did not go well. Not a I-dropped-my-lunch-on-the-floor day, more like what-the-hell-am-I-doing sort of day, a day when you question life choices, feel incompetent and overwhelmed, and generally find yourself lost at sea.
With a dollar in my hand I stood before the Pepsi machine in my building. "If I do this," I thought, "I will ruin my perfect record." It occurred to me in that moment I had missed the point of Lent. I made a time for self-reflection and development into a feat of strength.
At that, I slipped the dollar into the machine, pressed PEPSI, and cracked open a cool bottle of fizzy nectar. First, let me say, it was good; it provided the small pleasure to really bouey my day. Second, I learned about myself in that moment. I learned that I thought of myself as somehow stronger than you, which clearly needed some correcting. Further, I saw my feet of clay; I had to face the fact that I needed: I needed help, support, comfort, succor, or whatever else you call being human and struggling. As silly as it sounds, I humbled myself by admitting, "I need."
I suppose the story might be brighter if I said in my moment of distress I found comfort in prayer, meditation, or a close friend. Alas, I took strength from a Pepsi. I did, however, have to face a corrupted view of myself and a spiritual practice. Embracing the weakness of my humanity seemed like an important lesson to learn in that moment. I reflected on the point of my weakness a lot in the remaining weeks of Lent and beyond; I think of it now, though perhaps not often enough. I cannot remember all Lenten disciplines I have attempted, but that year sticks. Thankfully, that year, a season of discipline made the most impact in its failure.
After various Lenten sacrifices, and skipping the practice of Lent sometimes, I decided to give up Pepsi for Lent. I had been asked a couple of times before if I would ever do it, usually a jest meant to mock how much I enjoy the bubbly corn syrup drink.
It seemed to me that an emotional attachment to any substance did not sound particularly good and that to temporarily give up a pleasure in the pursuit of reminding myself life is not all about my own gratification could have some positive impact. Thus, I waved Pepsi bye-bye along with all other sodas, because to drink other sparkling beverages would seem like cheating.
Happily the first weeks (there's six and a half of them in Lent) went pretty well. I had no physical reaction, making me happy to know I did not have a caffeine addiction. I missed a fizzy beverage, especially after a meal, but I got used to it. In the mornings I drank cranberry juice. I drank more water during the day, inviting a healthier lifestyle. I felt temped a few times for sure, but I took great pride in holding strong. Yes, I took on a challenge and proved my mettle. I never discussed it with anyone, yet I felt very smug knowing the depth of my self-discipline. Ha!
Then the day came. I cannot tell you what happened, for I do not remember. I recall the day did not go well. Not a I-dropped-my-lunch-on-the-floor day, more like what-the-hell-am-I-doing sort of day, a day when you question life choices, feel incompetent and overwhelmed, and generally find yourself lost at sea.
With a dollar in my hand I stood before the Pepsi machine in my building. "If I do this," I thought, "I will ruin my perfect record." It occurred to me in that moment I had missed the point of Lent. I made a time for self-reflection and development into a feat of strength.
At that, I slipped the dollar into the machine, pressed PEPSI, and cracked open a cool bottle of fizzy nectar. First, let me say, it was good; it provided the small pleasure to really bouey my day. Second, I learned about myself in that moment. I learned that I thought of myself as somehow stronger than you, which clearly needed some correcting. Further, I saw my feet of clay; I had to face the fact that I needed: I needed help, support, comfort, succor, or whatever else you call being human and struggling. As silly as it sounds, I humbled myself by admitting, "I need."
I suppose the story might be brighter if I said in my moment of distress I found comfort in prayer, meditation, or a close friend. Alas, I took strength from a Pepsi. I did, however, have to face a corrupted view of myself and a spiritual practice. Embracing the weakness of my humanity seemed like an important lesson to learn in that moment. I reflected on the point of my weakness a lot in the remaining weeks of Lent and beyond; I think of it now, though perhaps not often enough. I cannot remember all Lenten disciplines I have attempted, but that year sticks. Thankfully, that year, a season of discipline made the most impact in its failure.
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