Ramadan is 30 days long. Lent for Catholics is 40 days long. Lent for Eastern Orthodox Christians is 48 days long. Not making any judgments towards other religions but I want to say that it’s those extra eight (or eighteen days) of my fast that’ll really make it “worth it.” That’s what I’m telling myself. In case you haven’t heard—mostly because I haven’t said anything about it because to do so would go against the spirit of fasting—I gave up Twitter/X for lent, which started one week and three days ago. (I also gave up what I affectionately refer to as “being a bitch,” but that’s for another post.)
For those unacquainted, lent for Eastern Orthodox Christians is defined as a time of “bright sadness.” It is marked by ascetic observances and a penitent attitude. It is a time that is meant to prepare us for Holy Week, for Christ’s death, and ultimately, His resurrection. We have services almost daily that we can attend if we wish, as well as some strict dietary rules and a few others. (Hard liquor and sex are no-no’s, and we should strive to be meditatively prayerful throughout the day.) This is my third Orthodox lent, and will probably be my “weirdest” one for the foreseeable future. Because of current life circumstances, I’m not expected to adhere to most of the practices. Still, I had a little lenten FOMO and wanted to give something up. I just couldn’t think of what. That was, until I was brutally (and unintentionally) called out by my boyfriend for being terminally online. It happened when I was reading a “scholarly article about data from a shadowy online figure’s birthday party” on my phone a couple of weeks ago and Tyler walked into the room to ask if I was “shitposting again.” I got defensive and responded, “I don’t just shitpost all the time!” I kind of knew that was a lie though, so I covertly opened my screen time app to face the truth, which is that I spend an embarrassing percentage of my day consuming and participating in “the discourse” on Twitter. Alright then. It became pretty obvious in that moment that for me to get my spiritual affairs in order, I had to log off and touch grass.
There is, of course, a spiritual basis for this as well. The Lenten Prayer of Saint Ephraim the Syrian says:
O Lord and Master of my life!
Take from me the spirit of sloth,
faint-heartedness, lust of power, and idle talk.But give rather the spirit of chastity,
humility, patience, and love to Thy servant.Yea, Lord and King! Grant me to see my own errors
and not to judge my brother,
for Thou art blessed unto ages of ages. Amen.
For this lent, I’ve decided to really focus on that whole “idle talk” part.
Day one through three were easy enough—I believe I only opened the app by accident once or twice each day. I noticed that, especially in those pointless camera-off meetings (the kind that make you want to send the organizer a passive aggressive note reminding them that they can/should mark you as “optional” in the Google Calendar event), my finger would instinctively wander to that silly little X icon. The first week actually wasn’t too bad—I took a peek once or twice and rationalized it as, “well, as long as I’m not posting…” but decided that if I’m going to be in, I need to be all-in. It wasn’t until Tuesday morning that I realized that I have a serious problem. (The terminally online part of my brain is requiring me to say, “we hebben een serieus probleem.”)
When my father sent a text about the Baltimore boat crash and bridge collapse to the family group chat, it took everything in me to not immediately run to Twitter and peruse “the takes.” How was the deep state involved? Does Mayor Pete hold the smoking gun? Where was mothman? Something about that app has altered my brain chemistry, I must now only consume current events and cultural criticism through the filter of sincere yet schizophrenic anons. I want to say that this is because I have real media literacy. (I did, after all, work in broadcast news for some time.) Really though, I think that my woman brain is compelled by the TMZ-esque appeal of gratuitous gossip disguised as news. More idle talk. It all started to make sense. I’m not a man, so I can’t really imagine what “post-nut clarity” feels like, but I will say that my “post-posting” clarity is probably in a similar spirit. I’d chosen to fill my life with all sorts of careless talk, when words are meant to be beautiful things—gifts from God. For me, I learned that posting is not about the love of posting, but the act of posting is used to fill space. I throw words and sentiments to the ether as if they are stones or pebbles. If I don’t value my words, what do I value? (Apparently, not posting on Twitter for eleven days has given me galaxy brain.)
Asceticism is really not easy. The first time I fasted, I thought about how I’m usually not the kind of person who has a difficult time doing something (anything), even just for “discipline’s” sake. I thought it would be a piece of (oil-free, dairy-free, egg-free, bland) cake. What I didn’t take into consideration is how difficult it is to not do something (anything) for any reason—especially when the thing you’re trying to not do is something that’s become a part of your daily routine. It’s a good thing, because you’re suddenly faced with all this time you hadn’t had before. It’s an adjustment, but what makes the process difficult is what makes it worthwhile. “For us who believe in theosis, asceticism’s very purpose is the retraining of the will, not for the sake of mere self-discipline, but rather because the will has to become receptive to divine grace in order to receive it (SOURCE).”
I struggle with the passions—my struggle is no worse or no better than anyone else’s—and 48 days or so is not going to heal my sin nature. If nothing else, it’s sort of like a “reset.” It’s uncovering the base of the tree, recognizing how deep the roots go, and starving them. The next step is planting new seeds. I will likely return to Twitter after lent. I will probably be more intentional with my posting for a while, then go back to my same idle talk. I will try not to. Maybe I’ll feel convicted about it and stop on that basis. Maybe I’ll choose my words more wisely. Maybe I’ll quit the internet all together. Anything can happen, right?