Easter Day is all the more special for Christians who fail in self-denial during Lent
May I acquaint you with my right leg? More specifically, a couple of niggly little muscles in my knee that twinge as I walk. Then there's the achilles tendon, which stiffens up at night. It's not a bad leg, in the normal run of things, but that's just it. The normal run doesn't involve any actual running.
So, two days before Lent, 6am, new pair of running shoes, round the circuit. Now, the circuit is a flexible concept. It should be past the cathedral, down to the park, round the lake, back up past another park, and home. That's what my wife thinks I'm doing. In fact, there's a road before the park which cuts off about a third of the distance; and an alleyway halfway along that road that cuts off some more; and I've even contemplated crashing through a neighbour's garden to bring it right down.
One reason I started before Lent was to get a couple of days in the bag, in case I missed some later on. Thanks to that knee, though, and that tendon, it's been more than a couple of days. Also, on the days I do get out, I don't travel any further or faster than when I started. It's dispiriting.
Yesterday was Good Friday. A common practice is to contemplate the crucified Christ, confronting the sufferings that were inflicted upon him. Certain places at certain times have taken this more seriously than others. Counter-Reformation Spain, for example, produced many gory artworks to enable the pious to focus on Christ's wounds.
Lenten deprivations are supposed to help you associate more closely with the sufferings of Christ, appreciating the sacrifice he made for the world in general and you in particular. But my thoughts around the circuit are on my wounds, not Christ's. The running hasn't brought me any closer to God; neither does fasting, speaking from experience. You get to know yourself more, of course: the craving for certain foods, the right knee. There is always going to be a weakness that turns any attempt at spiritual self-improvement into a failure, and confronting that failure has spiritual benefits (I haven't found physical ones, yet).
The life of faith is no different from ordinary day-to-day living, except that you do it with an awareness of another dimension, one that has been shaped by earlier generations who have left a legacy of ritual and story. It is a fitness programme, if you like, in that you hope to become fit for heaven. Like a physical programme, there is no moment at which you can stop and say: "I'm fit now." You have to go on living, using the same body, until you die. The real reason that I began the running before Lent was because I knew deep down that this was for the long haul. I can't finish tomorrow with whatever is the equivalent of a chocolate binge (though a lie-in does sound attractive).
And the running isn't all bad. The first draft of this piece was pretty gloomy; but I went out again this morning for a laughably short time (well, my wife laughed) and realised that, like the spiritual life, it isn't all uphill. For every Good Friday there is an Easter Day. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, the trees were in their first flush of leaf. My thoughts lifted above this panting, middle-aged body stumbling through it all. And even when the thoughts descended again, they brought a little optimism with them. May I acquaint you with my left leg? What a leg that is ...