No More Chocolate

At the beginning of March, usually about half-way through Lent, I get together with colleagues to plan a regional social services conference. While our planning goal is important, I especially look forward to this annual lunch because I know my friend Beth will have a “giving up for Lent” story for me. Her children attend a Catholic school, and as a part of their religious education, they are asked to give something up for Lent, the period of forty days (not counting Sundays) prior to Easter.

This year, her daughter is giving up ketchup and ranch again, a tough combination for a young teen who loves to dip everything in those condiments. Beth’s seven-year-old son, after a rough patch last year with M & M’s (his second favorite candy only to Skittles), chose to give up annoying his sister this year – very good for his sister! And Beth – her annual “giving up” is swearing – not that her normal conversation is peppered with expletives, but there are times . . .

Unlike my Catholic friends, Lenten abstinence has not been a required part of my faith tradition, either in my Presbyterian roots or in my Salvation Army practice. I’ve tried giving up something for Lent a few times, and felt pretty guilty as I bit into a Hershey bar with almonds and suddenly remembered – oops, I gave up chocolate for Lent. After my 40 day fast from chocolate that year, the ears of the chocolate rabbit tasted better on Easter morning, but I’m not sure that’s the point.     

When I first heard Beth talking about this, her daughter was only in first grade, and I wondered whether it was right for a religion (or a religious school or parent) to expect small children to do this. Could a child even begin to understand what it means, this small symbol of self-denial, this remembrance of Christ’s ultimate sacrifice? Should a young child be expected to make that kind of sacrifice, even if he/she chooses what to give up? What does that teach them about faith, about life?

These are good questions. Looking beyond the practice’s spiritual implications, it also raises important questions about the path to maturity. As I observe the lovely Madelyn Simone, age 3, I clearly see the face of human desire unrestrained. If she could articulate her desire, it would be in these words: “If I want it, I need to have it.” As parents (yes, and even as a smitten grandmother), we understand that she cannot have everything she wants. She can’t have candy for lunch. She can’t spend an entire winter day in a sundress (well, maybe a few minutes during our dress-up time). And there’s even a limit on the Nana’s donuts. It is up to us, the adults who love her, to put these limits on Madelyn no matter how persuasive she is.

As children mature, those who successfully navigate the development process begin to understand the need for self-discipline, and as they mature, they are motivated less by the threat of punishment and begin to understand the concept of delayed gratification. Whether in the use of our time, our choice of food, our propensity to annoy our sibling, or our colorful vocabulary, we discover that we can make choices that increase our productivity at work, benefit our health, improve our family relationships, and control our tongues from offensive language. Mature children and adults take responsibility for their choices – they don’t look to the mayor to limit the size of their soft drink. 

Writing for the Huffington Post, Neela Kale comments: “So maybe your mom was on to something when she had you give up Oreos or your favorite TV show as a child. An experience of want, however temporary, can help us to appreciate the true abundance in our lives. And a small positive change can have a big impact that lasts beyond the 40 days of Lent.” She’s right, so while I’m too late to make it the full forty days, it’s never too late for a bit of self-discipline. If I eat the Cadbury chocolate mini eggs today, I could start tomorrow . . .