day thirty-nine: empty

Twenty-four hours without food. 

My last meal was Jesus' last supper, the bread from last night's Maundy Thursday communion service at our church. I wouldn't eat again until after the Good Friday service tonight. Following in ancient Christian tradition, I was fasting on this holy day, allowing myself only water and coffee (and only two cups of coffee at that!).

I'd like to be able to say that when I felt the pangs of hunger, I would pray or read scripture. "Give us this day our daily bread..." or "Man does not live on bread alone..."

I'd like to be able to say that... But I can't. Because truth be told, I spent a large part of the day either pissed off, or thinking about a cheeseburger, or both, wondering why I had decided to do this. I LOVE food. That's one of the reasons I started this blog. So it seemed ridiculous that I would abstain from eating.

To make it even worse, today would be the day that I notice the new Bojangles near our house has opened; the day that I walk into my office to find that a church member has left me chocolate; and the day that I spend the entire afternoon at my in-laws while Suzy's mom makes homemade pizzas for dinner.

My gift from a secret parishioner.
The instrument of Jesus' suffering never tasted so sweet!

Here's what Richard Foster has to say about all this, though: "Anger, bitterness, jealousy, strife, fear - if they are within us, they will surface during fasting" (Celebration of Discipline, 66).

In a sense, that's the purpose of fasting - to expose that which fills us and to empty ourselves of it. I've heard someone say, "The problem with most of us is not that we are empty and need to be filled, but that we are filled and need to be emptied."

If nothing else, I realized today that I can indeed survive a day without automatically reaching for food. Usually when I get hungry, I just go to the vending machine or pantry or fridge or (horrors!) all the way to the grocery store. I'm not used to being empty.

But what about people that can't just get a quick fix? My grandfather used to tell stories about being in college, working two jobs, and sometimes only eating an apple for the entire day. He at least had the option to eat, though. He was just cheap. He wanted to skrimp and save every penny, still wanting to be filled up, just with something other than food. But what about the person who works a day's hard labor and goes to bed hungry, only to do the same the next day? What about the person who can't just open the fridge or stop by the store?

I'm not sure what any of this has to do with culinary care. I didn't really care for anyone today. My fasting did not help someone who was in need or hungry...it just made me hungry. 

But maybe I will now understand more fully and be able to identify better with people who are hungry, because I too have been hungry, because I have shared that experience. It's like the lesson that Gloria Clemente (Rosie Perez) tries to teach her boyfriend, Billy Hoyle (Woody Harrelson) in the 1992 cinema classic, White Men Can't Jump.

Gloria: Honey? My mouth is dry. I'm thirsty.

Billy: (Gets a glass of water) There you go, honey.

Gloria: When I said I was thirsty, it doesn't mean I want a glass of water. 

Billy: It doesn't?

Gloria: You're missing the whole point of me saying I'm thirsty...

...See, if I'm thirsty, I don't want a glass of water. I want you to sympathize. I want you to say, "Gloria, I too know what it feels like to be thirsty. I too have had a dry mouth." I want you to connect with me through sharing and understanding the concept of dry mouthedness.

If I'm going to begin to learn this lesson, it seems appropriate for me to do so on Good Friday, the day when God understands (and can be understood by) people who are suffering, because God shares that experience with us, suffering in Christ crucified...

"...who, though (because?) he was in the form of God...emptied himself...and became obedient to the point of death - even death on a cross." (Phil 2:6-8)