I take both sides of the annual Lenten argument about whether it is better to give things up or take things on. The point of Lenten discipline, I believe, is to invite God’s love, guidance, and compassion into your soul. That doesn’t happen the same way for every person, and for that matter, it doesn’t happen the same way for any one person at different times in their life. I’ve ruefully observed that when I’ve tried to repeat successful Lenten disciplines in later years, I haven’t been able to keep them. Familiarity may not breed contempt, but for me, novelty holds my attention better.

I still wish I could repeat the year I gave up anxiety for Lent. I’d like to give up anxiety for good.

Each year I choose two things. One is something to give up for the Lenten season. That has included different foods and beverages, activities, and yes, one year I gave up anxiety. The second is something to take on for the Lenten season. I’ve taken photos, written poetry, composed songs, exercised. With the two disciplines to either side, I’ve looked within each and between them both for the presence of God. Sometimes I just find myself – which isn’t a bad achievement, mind you. Sometimes I get a glimpse of eternity.

Another element of the practice is what I say about them. The “take on” projects tend to be visible (or audible, the year I wrote songs). I often acknowledge them and reflect on them during the season. In contrast, I say as little as I can manage about the “give up” disciplines. I’m trying to avoid public piety for public piety’s sake. It’s so easy to “look good” by spotlighting Lenten practice. Some people can do that and do that well. I prefer to keep a windy distance between my private devotion and public reputation.

That brings me (finally; what a long introduction this has been) to this year’s discipline. I’ve thought about things I could give up this year. I’ve thought about things I could take on. As I lingered over some delicious mashed potatoes with mushroom sauce, I considered giving up potatoes. That would have been quite a challenge for me, and definitely a challenging discipline. I may take it on in some other year.

Another challenge has presented itself recently, and I found myself lingering over that even more than over the mashed potatoes. Judgmentalism. It’s not a new struggle, and it’s not a new temptation for me. The first time I ever heard what I identified as the voice of God, it challenged a judgment I’d made. God told me I was wrong.

Given my inclinations, I’m not sure I can give up judgmentalism without great effort, even for forty-six days. I’m quite confident that the effort is worth it (is that judgmental?). I also think I need to struggle with it “out loud,” as it were, because I rapidly realized that it’s a complicated project.

Human beings can’t live without making judgments – quite literally. We have to make choices between options of food, drink, thoughts, approaches to tasks, even relationships. If I gave up making decisions for Lent, people would rightly accuse me of irresponsibility.

So what do I need to do to make an appropriate judgment that isn’t judgmental?

That is my Lenten project. I will write a series of essays on discernment, judgment, and judgmentalism with the goal of reducing the last and strengthening the first. I have no outline for the project other than to somewhat aimlessly predict that there will be six essays, one written during each week in the season. It’s possible there may be more, as one way of considering these questions is to work through actual issues I’m considering rather than consider the issues in the abstract.

So that’s my Lenten discipline, spread out before you. I pray God’s blessings upon you in your own practices through this time and all time.

Oh, one other thing. I decided that each essay would be accompanied by a new original photo. As I learned during last year’s sabbatical, photography has been good for my soul, so I need it in this project.

Photo by Eric Anderson