I have the self-discipline of a sloth. I’d like to have focus and determination of a leaf-cutter ant or some other creature of control and tenacity, but in much of my life, I simply don’t.
This is especially true when it comes to Lenten practices. I’m impressed by people who can abstain from coffee for 40 days and still be gracious at the workplace, or folks who sacrifice a particularly addicting pleasure (chocolate, movies, Facebook) and never complain. I really admire those who add significant extras to their Lenten journey (daily Mass, for instance, or what Brian Harper’s doing over at Busted Halo) and still exude peacefulness in a world where there is never enough time.
While I’ve not been a total Lent loser, I’ve rarely made it to the Easter finish line without the sad side-effect of replacing the sin I was trying to conquer (i.e. gluttony) with another (i.e. grumpiness). Not exactly the reason for the season.
But this year may be the non-loser one for me. The #LentChallenge of reading the New Testament in 40 days is proving quite doable, perhaps because this particular discipline fits my personality: I like to read, I like to learn, and I like to be able to check off boxes or cross things off lists.
Additionally, it fits my bus-riding habit. I’m on the Route #6 for about 40 minutes each day, and the readings take about 35. I just hop on and read for the ride, which is what I would normally do but with the daily paper, not the Bible. (Lo, she went into the desert for 40 days with only the Word of God and became woefully uninformed about the world. Journo 5:18)
This change of habit – Bible not newspaper – has led to some interesting encounters with other members of the Public Transit Tribe. One man asks questions every day about what text I’m reading and then tries to engage in a verbal battle about why the Bible is “crazy.” Another woman asks me which Church I attend and raises her eyebrows when she hears the name. “Oh, you’re Catholic?” she asks. “That’s interesting.”
These experiences and others have made me realize how uncomfortable I am reading a religious text in the public square, and that has made me think a bit on why that discomfort exists. I wasn’t always this way, but then again, I didn’t always ride a public bus or work at a public university.
It’s safe to say the majority of people where I work are non-religious and many have no qualms about expressing their disdain of all things faith. They are especially intolerant of Islam and Catholicism, although they would never call it intolerance. For instance, someone will say the Catholic Church is “categorically wrong” to fight abortion because “a woman has the right to her own body.” If a Catholic were to point out that yes, a woman does have the right to her own body and by the same token, so does the female fetus, that person would be dismissed as being blinded by religion, even though groups like Secular Pro-Life make the same argument and are atheist.
Or someone will say that they don’t understand how a Muslim woman – a graduate student, for goodness sake! – could choose to wear a hijab, and when that woman tries to explain her feminist rationale for doing so, the non-religious person will announce that the Muslim woman is misinformed about true feminism because she is “constrained by her religious heritage.”
I’ve had a professor describe the parents of potential university recruits as “holy rollers” and had colleagues make offensive jokes about every religion possible because I used to be a religion reporter and it is assumed I’ll find the jokes funny. I’ve stood in line for coffee behind women in abayas and overheard whispered criticism of them as “religious nuts,” and had Christian professors in the sciences confide that they are in a “religious closet” because they don’t want to be labeled zealots or have their research questioned.
Considering this, it is probably not surprising that I’m uncomfortable reading a Bible in public. But because I really don’t want to be a Lent Loser this year, I’ll keep it up. Maybe if I make it all the way through, my husband will buy me a pony. Or, at least a chocolate bunny.