Lent, Dammit

I am the youngest child in my family, and for a long time, I was known as the gullible one. Rumor that Mom and Dad were putting us all up for adoption? I believed it. Story about a puppy living under my sister Kaki’s mattress and existing on peanut butter? I think I asked to see that damn puppy every day for a year. To my mind, it wasn’t as much that I was gullible as I was thoroughly clueless, wandering around in a fog, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

So it’s no surprise that I was especially susceptible to the things I learned at Sunday school and church. World created in 6 days? Check. Jonah swallowed by big fish? You betcha. Loaves and fishes? Totally feasible. I have never had an issue with these things, because I learned them the same way I learned that the sky was blue and that anyone could ride a two-wheeled bike with a little balance and bravery. The most compelling stories for me, though, the ones that really kept me up at night, were the ones about Perfect Jesus. Washing lepers’ feet. Expelling sinners at the temple. That damn Sermon on the Mount. Jesus was a hard act to live up to, but it was my understanding that rules were rules, and we’d better give it at least a decent effort.

Which leads me to Lent. In my house, Lent meant two extra days of going to mass: on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday (and maybe Holy Thursday, but that seems excessive, even for my mom). It meant meatless Fridays. But most of all, it meant the Lenten promise: giving something up. Why do Catholics do it? The reason explained to me was that Jesus went up on a mountain to prepare for turning his life over to service to others. He stayed on the mountain, fasting, for forty days and nights, and while there, the Devil tried to tempt him, and Jesus resisted, though the temptation was great. Like, Reese Peanut Butter Egg great. So we try to do the same, both in honor of Jesus and because, as Catholics, we are supposed to strive to be better than we are. It was honed into me again and again that we shouldn’t give up something easy, like, fruitcake. It had to be something significant. Something that would test us during this time, and something we had to genuinely struggle to resist.

I can’t remember what I gave up when I was young. I’m certain that I broke my Lenten promise, but every year as an adult, I have always given up swearing. Now, that may not seem like a big deal to you, but to me, swearing is akin to breathing. Swearing turns ordinary sentences into a mystery garden of surprise and laughter. For example, why would I say, “Your baby is so cute!” when I could say, “Your damn baby is so cute?” Which one is funnier to you? All the same, my mother is no fucking liar when she says, “Swearing is socially unacceptable.” I agree. And it’s immature, too. So every year, right around the time my swearing has gotten out of control, I do what I can to curb it, and the nix is in on the potty mouth.

My friends do not enjoy this, and they try to devise rules where I can swear without technically being in trouble with the Lord. “Say frick,” they suggest. “Try motherfudger.” No motherfudging way. To give up something for Lent means to give it up in mind and in spirit, and no getting around it with technicalities, like rhyming substitute words. And no almost-swear words, either, like “crap” and “brat.” And none of that Goddamn taking the Lord’s name in vain, either. No more shouting, “Jesus Christ!” or even the more formal, “Jesus H. Christ!” Not even, “Jeebus McCriminy!” Apparently, God is equally offended by all of it.

Now, I will confess ahead of time that swearing is my biggest struggle. Come Easter, every year, I tell myself that I will continue my clean language. That is sort of the point of Lent – to give something up and change yourself in the process, so that we can all live better damn lives. I do well in April. May is okay. June is a fucking struggle. July….screw July. And when Lent rolls around the following year, I am back to having the mouth of an angry drill sergeant, and I make my promise again, and vow to do better this time.

So bear with me, friends, as I make my way through Lent. It starts on March 9th and goes until Easter. It’s a long forty days, friends.