Cheryl Dickow explores why Facebook is a true Lenten sacrifice and one she had to make.
For several years I gave up chocolate for Lent; like my many parochial middle school students, the idea of going without chocolate candy for 40 days seemed like a fairly good way to “suffer” as I was called to contemplate Jesus’ suffering; it seemed to be a perfect way to give up something that I could sincerely offer up during my prayers and as I spent time in reflection.
That was until our pastor cautioned us about choosing to give up something we knew we ought to give up because it would “benefit” us; when, instead, what we should be doing is giving up something that would not be a “benefit” to us. Gee, I remember thinking, chocolate really has fallen into the “this is good for me to give up category” because I began to consider the “benefits” of losing a couple of pounds and being a bit healthier for the effort.
Now what? I wondered.
In the middle of all this I also tried some things from the It-isn’t-about-giving-up-as-much-as-it-is-about-making-changes category. That included the year where I committed to daily Rosary and the year that I wanted to make sure I said “one good and positive thing” each day to my family members.
None of these Lenten experiences stand out as ways that made the value of sacrifice something that is real, tangible and personal.
So each year, as Lent approaches, I seek to know more deeply what it is that I should be doing, or not doing, for Lent—for God. This year was no different; Ash Wednesday loomed on the calendar and I began asking, What will it be this year, Lord? Let me know, please, and I will obey.
At this point let me interject that I have been attending an Ignatian Spiritual Retreat which meets a couple of times a month and the fruit—the graces—from the exercises has been abundant, to say the least.
So off to a dinner party I go, with Ash Wednesday less than a week away, and my request to know what Lent sacrifice the Lord has in store for me being freshly made and asked of Him. I shouldn’t be surprised, then, that the first conversation I have upon entering our guest’s home is with a woman I greatly admire—a Facebook friend and a real-life friend—who says that she is giving up Facebook for Lent! My heart immediately responds with recognition that THIS is my answer.
Facebook, unlike chocolate, won’t be good for me to give up; it won’t benefit me one bit. Frankly, just the opposite is true—it may be detrimental to my business of publishing books and sharing news of author happenings and various events.
Indeed, this true sacrifice is made known to me in the last days of the contest in which one of our titles—Stories for the Homeschool Heart—is in the running for “Best Catholic Book of 2010!” If it wins, not being on Facebook and LinkedIn and writing articles means I can’t take advantage of the social network to use this win in a very significant promotional way. A win would be something that just begs for tons of Internet attention and fanfare.
And the good Lord is asking me to walk away.
That, I say to myself, is the ultimate sacrifice!
You see, I’ve easily worked 60 and 70 hour weeks for the past 4 or 5 years and am now seeing that it is paying off. But in the recesses of my heart, I know I am being called to leave the Internet Super Highway behind during Lent and spend that time with God—in reading His word, in Adoration, in Mass, in the Gospels by way of the Rosary. I have previously tried to tell myself that being a witness meant embracing this new social media and that I was doing His will; but I was only giving myself an excuse to stay connected to the Internet.
So with this contest, it became crystal clear to me what my sacrifice was to be this Lent; and I also know that is isn’t just about me removing myself from Facebook. I won’t be writing any new articles during Lent either; I’m removing myself from some key Internet activities so that my time with God becomes more abundant, and definitely more personal.
God is calling me and I can’t ignore Him.
What will this mean for Bezalel Books?
I have no idea; but I’m not worried. It all belongs to God anyhow.
Each of us can be replaced in a heartbeat on the Internet—no matter how popular and followed we may appear—but each of us is completely irreplaceable to God so that’s where I want to spend my Lenten time: in His care, in His arms, in His presence, in His word.