I’m a bit behind on things – including posts. It’s half way through Lent and I’ve not much to show for it here on site – sorry about that.

Yesterday was the fifth Sunday of Lent – St. Mary of Egypt, one of my favourite saints because her story is so interesting. She was a linen weaver, who enjoyed sex a bit too much. On one occasion she journeyed to Jerusalem, she joined a throng of pilgrims entering the church of the Resurrection, she found herself prevented by some “invisible force” entering the church itself. At that moment she realised some things had to change, and she had to re-claim her humanity.

The link between Mary’s debauchery and her loss of person-hood is one that is closely tied to asceticism. Athanasius says of humanity’s fall that they became like animals, unreasonable, violent, and greedy. Origen describes how idolatry is shaping one’s being according to an image other than that of the Logos, usually animals – asceticism trains the individual and refines his or her reflection of the Logos, and throught that process empowers the individual to realise the fullness of being.

In the church, St. Mary turns to an icon of the Theotokos and “repents”. She is then allowed into the shrine, and from there made her way to the desert where she spent the rest of her life. Two years before she died Mary encountered Zosimas, a priest who was spending Lent in the desert. She recounted her story to him, and he gave thanks for having finally met a true “God-bearer”. Mary asked him to return the following year and give her communion at the banks of the Jordan. He did, and she walked on the water to meet him on the other side. She asked him to return the following year to the place they had first met. When he did Zosimas found that Mary had died.

Zosimas found that Mary had scrawled in the dirt a request that he bury her there. The problem was that the earth was baked hard, and he could not dig it. A lion passed, and Zosimas ordered the large cat to dig a hole using his powerful claws. He then returned to his monastary to tell everyone about the glorious St. Mary of Egypt.

The year before she died Mary encountered Zosimas, a priest who was spending Lent in the desert.

Huw’s essay on Lenten praxis is well worth the read.

It’s finally here – today is “clean monday”, the fast has begun. So here’s the question: what is “the fast” all about anyway?

Athanasius writing in the fourth century said that a bit of moderate asceticism was useful for everyone – not just ascetics (read – monks, virgins, nuns and vowed widows). But the age of “asceticism” which has played an enormous role in shaping Christian praxis – is ostensibly over (something lamented by fifth and sixth century writers). Does this mean that the Great Fast no longer has purpose?

The fast before Pascha has taken on a life of its own – originating in an act of solidarity with those preparing for baptism it has grown from a one week communal event to a 50 day extravaganza. This is not a bad thing – rather it is simply the natural progression this practice took.

Similarly – in modern practice at least – many of the “mini lents” that preceded the major feast days are no longer observed – instead our communal act of asceticism and solidarity has been collected, sorted, and sunk into “Great Lent”. Are we not perhaps missing out on a valuable opportunity for re-investing in personal and communal praxis?

Stepping away from the mechanics of the when, and how of fasting – lets look at the connection between the act of fasting and the theology of food, and the relationship we as sacramental Christians have with food, and with one another through the symbolism of foods and eating. Without looking in your copy of the Gospels – recall some of the major “it” moments in the Gospels: the wedding at Cana, the feeding of the multitude, dining with Zaccheus, Jesus annointed by the woman with the alabaster jar, the last supper, the revealation on the road to Emmeus . . . Each of these major moments in the unfolding of the Salvation narrative happened in the context of a meal – of sharing food. Food, the act of eating together and alone has theological value in sacramental Christianity. If you missed that, what were you doing when you last went to liturgy?

But “food” and eating is something we in Western Europe often take for granted – it is unconsciously separted from our experience of the sacred. We rush out to grab a sandwich or a take-away during the working day – in order to inhale it at our desk, and continue ploughing through work. We attend lavish balls and parties because it is an expression of the host’s largesse (read – wealth and self importance), and it gives us a notch on the bed-post of our own accumulated status. Food is a means to an end, a means of aquiring status, but it has no overt or intrinsic link with our spirituality in day to day affairs. Periods of “fasting” throughout the liturgical year then can help us re-tune that link, restore awareness of the value and meaning of choosing, preparing, and eating a meal. Cooking and eating as praxis – who would have thought!

Revisiting the idea of solidarity for a moment – many of us are increasingly aware of how our consumer choices are having an impact on the environment, and on others. The recent mad dash for bio-fuel has meant that poor nations seeking to reap the immediate benefits of a cash crop switch from food production that is consumed locally, to crop production which is then taken away in exchange for money. The problem of course is that when you are no longer producing your own food – you have to buy it, possibly from a more expensive, non-local source. Throughout the Great Fast we can take the opportunity to choose differently, and in so doing perhaps make a positive contribution to those who have fewer choices available. This by the way ought not to be taken as a replacement for our duty to give alms during Lent.

For the reasons of solidarity with others, of re-investing in the relationship between food and praxis, I’ve wondered out loud for the past few years if it would not be better to resurrect the older model of multiple mini-fasts throughout the year. This would have the effect (in theory at least) of developing a year round awareness, and praxis rather than the mad dash to cram an enormous amount of meaning and activism into one month.

Today we commemorate the expulsion of Adam & Eve from Paradise – in preparation for the beginning of Lent tomorrow (Monday), and Cyril & Methodius Enlighteners of the Slavs. Notice something missing (ha ha ha)?

The expulsion from Paradise cannot, must not be seen as “history” in the strictest sense of the word. Rather it can only be appreciated as mythology – and there is nothing wrong with that – indeed it is through the imagery of mythology that some of our most nuanced perceptions of the divine-human relationship can be communicated, reflected upon, and even acted upon.

Adam & Eve’s exile is not about a petulant divinity having a bad hair day and giving the first humans a very long time out in the cosmic no no corner. This overly simplistic view of the opening narratives of scripture only leads to some very bad theology – such as the abominable belief that humans are intrinsically evil, naturally bad, or loathsome. To be sure we often act that way towards one another but it is certainly not the natural state of play.

The exile from paradise is about a loss of trust, a breakdown in confidence, and its consequences. Eve was persuaded by the slick presentation style of the Serpent and in a momentary lapse of good judgement, reason, and trust in God – she lost everything. Eve was not evil, nor was she treacherous, or deceitful, rather she heard the argument, and made a choice, thinking that the grass just might be greener on the other side.

What she and Adam soon discovered however, was that there was nothing but dust and rocks on the other side and now they were very much alone.

There is another piece of the puzzle here. When we loose confidence in another, and the intimacy once shared dissipates, or is held in suspension, our sense of who we are shifts, our identity is altered. Adam & Eve were created out of an expression of love. As such the finite nature of created things was intolerable to God, and so he infused them with the image of the Logos. When Adam & Eve instead chose a relationship with Death (through the deception of the Serpent) their identity shifted, and that infusion of divine reason, of Life itself, was lost. Thus, Adam laments his nakedness: “before the gates of Paradise, bewailing his nakedness and crying out – “Woe to me the loser who have listened to wicked deceit and have been driven away from glory!”

Consider for a moment what it is we “do” during Lent. Because of the fast, we consciously consider our diet, we adjust what we eat, we are increasingly aware of the ingredients – are they vegetarian or not. During Lent the discipline of the season shapes our daily life, it informs and refines our choices. But too often our focus is on “following the rules” because this is the tradition – rather than the purpose and effect of practicing “discipline” or asceticism.

The discipline of Lent is not about deprivation and dieting. The discipline of Lent like any ascetic practice, is about refinement and conscious action. Our fasting practice erupts into our daily life and challenges us to integrate spiritual practice into daily life. Too often we divide the two letting one overshadow the other, compartmentalising the “public” and the “private” aspects of our life. So here’s the question – in your experience of our Christian faith which is public, and which is private? Does this paradigm require an adjustment? How can you carry this conscious integration into your post-Lent living?