By Xanthe de Wesselow
Expanding from its roots in ancient Pagan rituals, Lent has evolved into a sacred period within the Christian tradition. Manifesting itself as a 40 day period, it now serves as an engagement in special spiritual preparation of prayer, penance and abstinence in anticipation of Easter. Although modern interpretations are often associated with restrictive trends and fad dieting, such as the removal of any form of refined sugar (otherwise known as joy) from our lives, the Lenten season was traditionally a more rigorous religious observance characterised by a strict fast, broken only with a simple meal devoid of meat, eggs, dairy, and alcohol after sunset, accompanied by deep introspection and prayer.
Historically, it was therefore a necessary custom to deplete all existing supplies of rich, fatty products such as butter, milk, sugar, and eggs the day prior to Lent, hence Shrove Tuesday’s worldwide nickname ‘Pancake Day’. Ash Wednesday then arrives after sufficient ‘shriving’, or presenting oneself to a priest for confession, marking a significant tradition in preparation for the Lenten season. However, in today’s money, Shrove Tuesday has been overshadowed by commercial interests, as supermarkets and societal pressures now lead us to believe it should be a profitable day of excessive spending and materialistic home decorations that can be religiously documented on social media. The once meaningful observance has transformed into a commercialised phenomenon, where the true essence of the tradition, such as the allegories behind each ingredient, is often lost amidst the consumerism.
The irony reaches new heights as your local Tesco will fool you into stocking up on three different types of cookie-based spread one day, only to be bombarded by endorsements from a plethora of wellness influencers and Instagram gut health gurus the next, promoting kimchi and kombucha as essential Lenten ‘healthy habits’. Paradoxically, lest us forget the Easter eggs that have dominated the shelves since as early as January 2nd, blurring the lines between seasonal observances and consumerist indulgence. It’s no wonder any form of New Year’s Resolution crumbles by the time Blue Monday arrives, yet another marketing ploy to capitalise on the wellness industry (but have you tried meditation?). Such is the absurdity of our commercialised culture, where tradition and spirituality often take a backseat to profit-driven agendas.
Lent, in its contemporary guise, appears like a slap in the face and a mocking reminder following as if to say, ‘your will power didn’t last very long then… fancy another go?’. This time, however, we are taunted by the tiny glimpse of promised bait dangling 39 days away, symbolised by mini-egg-infused delicacies and gold foil-wrapped bunnies. There is no denying it is bizarre. How, in two thousand years, has society transformed a period of quiet reflection into a trendy, competitive game of social media one-upmanship; a strategic rivalry of who’s giving up what? Even better if you are taking up something and actually sticking to it. I mean who does that?
So, in our body image, diet obsessed culture, we have come to see Lent as a period perfect for purging ourselves of something we think we can’t live without for just long enough. Then, when we’ve counted down the days and proved our virtuosity and self-will, we can reason with our inner voice to return to our pre-Lent addictions and maybe even binge them. The chocolate bars, coffee, alcohol, scroll holes and internet shopping can return once more, and even better, we feel justified to do it all in abundance because ‘you deserve it, you’ve abstained the whole of Lent!’. First, of course, there’s the chance to baske in the glory of virtual applause, as your Lenten sacrifice repeatedly merits itself under meticulously curated hashtags. It’s a vicious cycle of self-deprivation followed by indulgence, all punctuated by the invisible reward of a distant validation, a far cry from the 40 days Lent was intended to be. Nothing says spiritual enlightenment nor religious observance like an Instagram diary of temporary abstinence…
In our digital age, it has become increasingly fashionable to not only give up something for the Lenten season but also to take up new practices, many of which feed into the continually booming health and wellness industry. From committing to ‘40 sea swims’ or ‘40 days of yoga’, these endeavours are extensions to the popular New Year’s Resolutions that saturate social media each January. Whether we find ourselves embracing ice baths or daily stretching routines, we unwittingly become swept up in the Lenten frenzy, as it seems the most important aspect of these trends is to tell everyone you’re doing it (otherwise what’s the point?). Ultimately, the essence of Lent has been overshadowed by the need to showcase any such endeavour. Our younger selves might have often joked about giving up Lent for Lent. Now, I think we need to give up talking and digitally broadcasting about Lent. Perhaps then, the season would be one of growth and reflection should we want to participate, rather than a form of superficial self-validation.
Are we missing the point altogether? The Christian Church offers us almsgiving, prayer and fasting as the three pillars to focus on during Lent. In layman’s terms, we’re advised to give charity, thanks and abstain from food and drink for the 40 days that Jesus spent fasting in the desert and enduring temptation by Satan. Yet, here we are in 2024 taking a more self-absorbed approach than ever. We’ve moved so far away from personal reflection and spiritual growth that Lent is now more a spectacle of performative piety. Forget the sacrificial chocolate bar or glass of wine, it seems the public declarations and digital validation are what has become of this annual Christian practice.
