For many of us, giving up something for Lent assumes that the something we’re giving up is inherently bad and shouldn’t really be delighted in the rest of the year. Or, at least, that the amount of delight we receive from this something is bad. In other words, even though the world was made for human pleasure, we feel quite ambivalent about enjoying it. However, giving up something for Lent doesn’t have to mean this. For many people, it’s not the thing per se that is at issue—it’s their relationship to the thing. The act of giving that thing up merely serves to expose what otherwise has remained hidden.

Lent assumes not only a tension between good and evil, but a healthy tension between good and good; it assumes that there is a right ordering of good things.  Beyond critiquing the dissonance of a broken world, Lent looks toward the harmonies possible when things fill their proper place amongst virtues.  In giving up a good thing for a time, we develop a healthy longing for it, which in turn provides us the space to place it where it belongs in the hierarchy of our desires. 

Lent also assumes that there is a proper cycle to desire: that it is right to long for a Savior, that it is right to enjoy in His presence on Earth, that it is right to mourn for His death, and that it is right to rejoice in His resurrection.  All good desires are this way; Lent gives us the room to appreciate this.

There are things that are not bad or evil in themselves, but nevertheless may, because of our own weaknesses, enslave us.  To steel ourselves to leave these things behind, or put them aside, is liberating, and we were made to freely live for God.

That the biggest obstacles to desiring God are His blessings to us (CS Lewis, I think).

We should be living in anticipation of something much more grand and glorious, and looking forward to a no-holds-barred feast that will get progressively better as it goes on. Why bemoan (or worse, try to hoarde) the comparatively meager victuals we have now? You’ve got an invite to the Mother of all Parties. 

There’s nothing quite so sweet or satisfying, so celebratory as that first taste of wine (or chocolate, or whatever you gave up) after the Easter vigil. It makes the difficulty of maintaining your Lenten discipline (BTW: nothing compared to 40 days in a desert) worthwhile. When I contemplate how sweet life will be when we’re ‘further up and farther in’ it puts a different filter on how I view my immediate context: I didn’t do anything to deserve the invite I’ve been given, others want to be invited too, and we may as well get busy now helping recreate the world as it will one day be in all its fullness.

Freedom.  By giving up such a tight attachment to something, whatever it is, we stop being like the monkey unable to pull its hand from a jar because it won’t let go of the banana inside.  In the process, we become better able to receive from the Holy Spirit and live with integrity.

Living an unexamined life.

Believing God is central to your life, but subconsciously placing other things above Him. (Same as Kristy’s response, actually)

A culture that it neither hedonistic nor ascetic, but one of joy upon joy, where each desire produces joy in its own right and within its proper constraints. Joy cascading down from the Creator into all of His good and perfect gifts in their proper sequence. 

A re-imagining of the law, where the law becomes a mechanism for managing the harmonies between good things.  A world where laws free us to enjoy desire, and foremost amongst them our desire for God.

A culture where good things are enjoyed in moderation, and are made all the sweeter because of it.