Choosing What to Give Up for Lent

Every year, as Lent approaches, the question comes: What are you giving up?

It's become almost a cultural reflex, even for people who don't practice the faith. Give up chocolate. Give up coffee. Give up social media. The answers roll off the tongue easily, sometimes too easily.

The danger is that Lenten sacrifice becomes a kind of spiritual New Year's resolution: well-intentioned, vaguely healthy, abandoned by the second week. Or worse, it becomes a performance, something we do to feel virtuous without ever really being changed.

But that's not what the tradition is for.

Why We Sacrifice

Jesus fasted for forty days in the desert before beginning his public ministry. He didn't need to. He chose to. And the Church invites us to enter into that same pattern, not because suffering is good in itself, but because letting go of something creates space for something else.

We are creatures of attachment. We cling to comforts, habits, distractions. Some of these are harmless. Some are not. But all of them can quietly become the center of our lives, displacing God without us even noticing.

Sacrifice is how we loosen the grip. When we voluntarily go without something we enjoy, we're reminded that we don't need it. We're reminded that our deepest hunger is for something the world can't give. And in that space, the space created by absence, God can move.

Choosing Well

So how do you choose what to give up?

The first question to ask is: What has too strong a hold on me? Not what sounds impressive, but what actually competes with God for my attention, my time, my peace.

For some people, it's the phone. The constant scroll, the dopamine hit of notifications, the inability to be still. For others, it's food, not hunger, but the habit of eating for comfort rather than nourishment. For others, it's entertainment, noise, busyness itself.

The goal isn't to find the hardest thing. It's to find the right thing, the sacrifice that, if you kept it for forty days, would genuinely change something in you.

And here's a test: if your Lenten sacrifice doesn't cost you anything, it probably isn't doing much. Fr. Kennell has said that Lent should "stretch" us. Growth doesn't happen without some discomfort. If you breeze through the season without feeling the loss, you might want to ask whether you chose something too safe.

When the Craving Hits

The real work of Lenten sacrifice happens not on Ash Wednesday, when motivation is high, but on the second Tuesday of March, when the novelty has worn off and you just want the thing you gave up.

This is the moment. This is where the sacrifice becomes prayer.

When the craving hits, when you reach for your phone and remember you've given it up, when you want the dessert and can't have it, let that small frustration become an offering. Let it turn your attention to God. The whole point of the sacrifice is to create these moments, these little interruptions in the day that remind you: I am doing this for a reason. I am trying to make room for the Lord.

If you slip, and you might, don't quit. Eating the chocolate you gave up isn't a sin. But if your Lenten sacrifice was a sinful habit you're trying to break, and you fall back into it, bring it to Confession. Either way, get back up. Lent isn't a test you pass or fail. It's a journey. The Lord isn't keeping score. He's walking with you.

Adding, Not Just Subtracting

One more thing: Lenten sacrifice doesn't have to be only about less. You can also take something on.

Commit to ten minutes of prayer every morning. Read one chapter of a Gospel each day. Visit the church for fifteen minutes of silence once a week. These aren't just nice ideas, they're sacrifices of time, which for many of us is the hardest thing to give. We guard our hours more fiercely than our wallets. Offering them to God costs something real.

The question is always the same: Will this draw me closer to God? If the answer is yes, it counts.

Toward Easter

The point of Lenten sacrifice isn't to arrive at Easter exhausted and relieved that it's over. It's to arrive at Easter different. Lighter. Freer. More attuned to the Lord.

The degree to which we enter into the discipline is often the degree to which we experience the joy. Not because God is withholding from us, but because joy lands differently in a heart that has made room for it.

So this Lent, choose something real. Something that will cost you. And when it gets hard, remember: you're not just giving something up. You're making space for Someone to come in.