The Discipline of Lent

The XXV Winter Olympic Games have come to a close. For 2 1/2 weeks we were treated to a vision of the world’s greatest athletes doing what they do best. As is the case every four years, I found myself transfixed by curling for no apparent reason except that it’s awesome. I loved watching Team(s) USA battle for the gold in men’s and women’s hockey. (It was especially fun watching Cleveland-area native, Laila Edwards, showcase her talents on the international stage). Twelve-year-old me was mesmerized by the luge and skeleton competitions and thought “that would be awesome to do“ while 58-year-old me finds himself in traction for having even thought such a ridiculous thing.

There is something beautiful in athletics. There is a grace and a seeming effortlessness in well-trained and well-conditioned people doing what they do best. Watching them transports us to a fantasy world where we think that we might actually be able to do what they do. 

The reality is, we can’t achieve the level of skill of the Olympians. (The closest thing to Olympic-level athleticism I demonstrated this year was the verbal gymnastics I performed for my wife as I tried to get out of watching figure skating.) For some of us this arises from our lack of natural ability. For others of us who may enjoy a modicum of athleticism, we may lack experience and proper training. But the thing that separates the elite athletes from the “merely” great is what Angela Duckworth in her 2016 book, “Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance,” calls “grit.”

In her study of high achievers in various walks of life, Duckworth found that grit—not simply talent—is the best predictor of success for those engaged in difficult endeavors. Composed of the characteristics of interest, practice, purpose, and hope, grit allows us to keep focus and continue striving, even in the face of adversity and setbacks.

She describes “interest” as a persistent passion for what one is doing, “practice” as engaging in deliberate acts aimed at self improvement, “purpose” as recognizing that the work one does is beneficial and meaningful, and “hope” as the confidence that one can overcome difficulties as he or she strives toward his or her goal.

What she calls “grit,” the traditionalist philosopher and theologian in me prefers to call “discipline,” but the idea is the same.

In watching elite athletes, in reading a well-written novel, in listening to a well-crafted piece of music, what we enjoy is, for the most part, a finished product. But there is a ton of work behind all that we see. As there is for building lasting relationships, especially with the Lord.

I’ve seen that discipline at work over the years as a coach and team chaplain in the dedication of our boys to their sports. I’ve watched them learn the meaning of purpose, practice, interest, and hope—of sacrifice—as they give up something good (weekend parties with friends, downtime during the week, dinnertime at a reasonable hour) for the sake of something ‘better,’ namely success in their sport.

Nothing worthwhile comes easy. As modern Americans we understand and applaud disciplined effort in the athletic realm and we celebrate those who “put in the work” at the gym as they strive to be successful in competition, or to get or stay fit. 

However, as laudable as those goals are, St. Paul asks “what profits a man to gain the whole world, (or a state championship, or a gold medal, or a second look at Huntington Beach) but lose his soul?” My challenge to my players (and in an analogous way to myself, and now to all of us) is to translate the physical effort they have so impressively demonstrated in athletics into their spiritual lives as well during this holy season. St. Paul gave us the cue to do this as he implicitly referenced the spirit of the Isthmian Games (which took place near Corinth in the years either side of the quadrennial Olympics) in his letter to the Corinthians:

Do you not know that the runners in the stadium all run in the race, but only one wins the prize? Run so as to win. Every athlete exercises discipline in every way. They do it to win a perishable crown, but we an imperishable one. Thus I do not run aimlessly; I do not fight as if I were shadowboxing. No, I drive my body and train it… (1 Cor 9: 24-27).

We have begun Lent, a period of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Like athletics, or music, or theater, or study, these practices require effort on our part—and discipline. It is significant that the Church speaks of the “discipline of Lent.” 

Those practices also, I argue, require the help of others. No athlete or actor or musician has learned his or her craft—let alone perfected it—without the help of a good coach, director, or teacher. Lent is the season designed to bring us closer to Jesus. Streaming “Hallow” (or the like), attending a parish mission or Lenten retreat, joining with members of the parish for Stations of the Cross, meditating with the “Little Black Book” churches have been distributing—not to mention making a good confession this penitential season—are exercises at once readily available and effective in helping us draw near to the Lord.

Even as we come closer to Christ, at the same time Lent challenges us to go beyond ourselves, to overcome our weakness and selfishness. The difficulty of sticking to our Lenten sacrifices underscores our need for God’s grace in our lives: grace that often comes in the form of other people. This is the beauty of a meaningful friendship or a marriage: our partner helps hold us accountable (Among other things this Lent, I have given up reading the articles from the online site, Quora. My wife noticed that while I was not on Quora, I was making up for it by getting sucked into whatever links I found on Facebook [a site I rarely otherwise visit]. She called me on it and she was right.) 

The important things in life come at a cost. We need discipline to achieve them. Recognizing that, we're reminded that the word “discipline” shares the same root (discipulus—“student”) as “disciple”: both have to do with learning. As we strive to master the way of Christ, we can take comfort in knowing that we have a demanding, but not oppressive, Teacher; One Whose “Yoke is easy, and burden light” (Mt 10:30). Lent reminds us that while our Faith makes difficult demands on us, the path is made much easier if we call on the Lord to help us along the way.

Perhaps that is the most important lesson we can take away from the discipline of Lent.

A.M.D.G./B.V.M.H.