The real Lent is the putting forth of a man's hand to quiet his own passions and to push
them aside, that the higher voices may speak to him and the higher touches may fall upon
him. Anonymous
Lenten self-denial has a double objective: first it drills and disciplines our desires so that
we may become masters of ourselves; and secondly, what we deny to ourselves will be
time, or money, free to give away. Tony Castle
Who fasts but does no other good, saves his bread but goes to Hell. An Italian Proverb
Every year at our house, at the beginning of Lent, we have a debate about the value of
certain Lenten practices. Is it a good thing to give up particular little pleasures for the forty days
before Easter, or not? Is it valuable to God or anyone else that we should deny ourselves
chocolate, salt and cake? Does it do any good to abstain from treacle tart, and its like, if the
same food is returned to with redoubled vigour and enthusiasm after Easter? I have to say that I
have been an advocate of such seasonal self-denial but I recognise that my position is not
without its problems, and my family has been quick to point them out. They have noticed for
instance, that I often say that I am “going without salt” during Lent but that my “going without
salt” is a matter of opinion. I don’t add it to anything myself, but many of the foods that I
continue to eat and enjoy already have a lot of salt in them. Indeed, my love for, and intake of,
salted peanuts has been known to reach peak levels at this time of year. I have poured them
liberally on salads, stir-fries and just about everything so that I can add a little zest to the
flavour of things, without actually touching that sinful shaker of salt. I guess it is not surprizing
that this behaviour has been noticed, and named, as a something akin to hypocrisy.
Some of you may know that the term Lent did not originally have anything to do with
self-denial. In fact, it is Saxon in origin and referred to the month of March which they called
Lecton Monath, because they noticed that the days in March seemed to lecton or lengthen. The
word, “Lent,” then is an abbreviation of lecton, but the association with self-denial goes back a
long way. In the seventh century a fixed forty day fast, corresponding to our Lord’s time in the
wilderness, was established. Indeed, at certain points, and amongst certain groups, this fast was
rigorously imposed. A six century document called the Ecclesiastical Canons of the Holy
Apostles reads as follows: “If any bishop, or presbyter, or deacon, or reader, or singer does not
fast the forty days, they should be deprived. But if anyone of the laity does not observe the fast
they should be suspended.”
After the Reformation, Protestants like ourselves, tended to take a dim view of Lent not
because it was too rigorous about self-denial but because it wasn’t rigorous enough. If
something was to be denied in Lent, said our fore-bearers, we shouldn’t be having it at all, ever.
Temptation was to be overcome not just for forty days but all year round.
Of course, we live in a very different world now in which spending and even greed are
deemed to be somewhat good, but I can’t help but feel that a season of self-denial is a good
thing. Such a season can teach us about self-control and what it is to be a follower of Jesus;
making us more sensitive to the needs of others and putting us in a better position to help those
in need. There is, of course, a lot more to Lenten self-denial than saying no to the salt-shaker
and, if it is real self-denial, it may help to liberate us from a kind of captivity to ourselves,
releasing in us some greater good. “Like love and like death,” said Angelus Silesius, “self-
The real Lent is the putting forth of a man's hand to quiet his own passions and to push
them aside, that the higher voices may speak to him and the higher touches may fall upon
him. Anonymous
Lenten self-denial has a double objective: first it drills and disciplines our desires so that
we may become masters of ourselves; and secondly, what we deny to ourselves will be
time, or money, free to give away. Tony Castle
Who fasts but does no other good, saves his bread but goes to Hell. An Italian Proverb
Every year at our house, at the beginning of Lent, we have a debate about the value of
certain Lenten practices. Is it a good thing to give up particular little pleasures for the forty days
before Easter, or not? Is it valuable to God or anyone else that we should deny ourselves
chocolate, salt and cake? Does it do any good to abstain from treacle tart, and its like, if the
same food is returned to with redoubled vigour and enthusiasm after Easter? I have to say that I
have been an advocate of such seasonal self-denial but I recognise that my position is not
without its problems, and my family has been quick to point them out. They have noticed for
instance, that I often say that I am “going without salt” during Lent but that my “going without
salt” is a matter of opinion. I don’t add it to anything myself, but many of the foods that I
continue to eat and enjoy already have a lot of salt in them. Indeed, my love for, and intake of,
salted peanuts has been known to reach peak levels at this time of year. I have poured them
liberally on salads, stir-fries and just about everything so that I can add a little zest to the
flavour of things, without actually touching that sinful shaker of salt. I guess it is not surprizing
that this behaviour has been noticed, and named, as a something akin to hypocrisy.
Some of you may know that the term Lent did not originally have anything to do with
self-denial. In fact, it is Saxon in origin and referred to the month of March which they called
Lecton Monath, because they noticed that the days in March seemed to lecton or lengthen. The
word, “Lent,” then is an abbreviation of lecton, but the association with self-denial goes back a
long way. In the seventh century a fixed forty day fast, corresponding to our Lord’s time in the
wilderness, was established. Indeed, at certain points, and amongst certain groups, this fast was
rigorously imposed. A six century document called the Ecclesiastical Canons of the Holy
Apostles reads as follows: “If any bishop, or presbyter, or deacon, or reader, or singer does not
fast the forty days, they should be deprived. But if anyone of the laity does not observe the fast
they should be suspended.”
After the Reformation, Protestants like ourselves, tended to take a dim view of Lent not
because it was too rigorous about self-denial but because it wasn’t rigorous enough. If
something was to be denied in Lent, said our fore-bearers, we shouldn’t be having it at all, ever.
Temptation was to be overcome not just for forty days but all year round.
Of course, we live in a very different world now in which spending and even greed are
deemed to be somewhat good, but I can’t help but feel that a season of self-denial is a good
thing. Such a season can teach us about self-control and what it is to be a follower of Jesus;
making us more sensitive to the needs of others and putting us in a better position to help those
in need. There is, of course, a lot more to Lenten self-denial than saying no to the salt-shaker
and, if it is real self-denial, it may help to liberate us from a kind of captivity to ourselves,
releasing in us some greater good. “Like love and like death,” said Angelus Silesius, “self-
