I was sipping a soda on the eve of Lent when it became clearer. The stars in my head - those specks of truth orbiting inner space - aligned themselves with rare clarity. The ancient rhythms of Lent presented me with a liturgical path leading beyond the consumer fatigue of our era, a gentle path of spiritual de-corporatization.
At that moment I recognized my willingness to not only fill my body with a substance of nutritional detriment, but to actually pay Mr. Coca-Cola for the self-destructive opportunity. It felt in every way like a matter of dignity. I was repulsed by the bottle in my hand. If I was making a donation of $1.39 to Mr. Coca-Cola in exchange for his plastic-packaged froth, he was smarter than I. I felt that change was not only possible, it was inevitable.
The decision to give up something for Lent had been made for me. It happened before guilt or duty had even stated their nagging case. The motivational force was other, and stronger. The forces of my inner universe placed the value of dignity squarely above the value of fizz. I would abstain from big-name soda (i.e., Coke and Pepsi products), and I knew that after Lent there would be little reason to revert to the carbonated ways of old.
What emerged from my experience was the realization of Lent as a liturgical antidote to consumer stress and excess.
I do not imply here that people who drink Mountain Dew or Dr. Pepper are bereft of moral fortitude. We are all indictable on multiple counts of less-than-noble consumption, and likewise all worthy of boundless grace regardless of our shopping habits.