April is upon us, and that means— before the fragrant May showers— Easter!

Easter is more to us than just the herald of spring. The already-pregnant imagery of life springing forth from the earth brings to the Christian mind a further image of Christ rising to new life from the cavernous depths. Life itself has triumphed over death, and Hades has been robbed of her inheritance! Church feasts in this season, and how could she do otherwise while proclaiming the good news of wealth and riches in this life, and eternal life in the age to come? Each and every year Christ rises anew in each one of us, bringing hope to the desperate, joy to the despondent, consolation to the desolate, and life to the dead. O Triumph of triumphs, O Victory of victories, and blessed the man able to live out Triumph and Victory in his own life!

But not now, and not yet. Where I live the land, though beginning to rouse, is still hushed with the final quiet pangs of winter; the sun, though growing stronger, can’t quite break through the cloudy haze of day: long are the nights, and chilling to the bone. Easter, though coming, remains a stranger to these lands.

Before we can feast, we must fast. This is the logic of winter; this is the logic of Lent. It’s why my body still must die, even after death has been vanquished. But this fasting goes beyond mere deprivation, because in the calculus of Faith it always looks ahead to the coming feast of the Resurrection. It is a formality, a mere nod of the head (“why yes, of course”) to the world before Christ, one that knowingly winks as it moves to take the place of what had been before. Even Church, in her liturgy, can’t help but drop the mask when the flamboyant shades of pink peek through the somber mask of purple that shrouds all of Lent. One must fast, in the same way that one must pay his taxes— but life is not defined by that singular moment, and the mere duty exists only to enable the greater joy to come.

So fast away, friends, knowing that the days are cold and dreary, that the larder is growing thin before the spring harvest brings replenishment. But, I say, do not let the fast go beyond your stomach, lest you be made like the men who wept and mourned in the streets of Jerusalem, who had already received their reward. Rather, fast by sharing your bread with the hungry, by spending extravagantly on the poor, by giving beautiful clothes to the naked, and by showering love and joy on your family and friends. Then, when the warm light of Easter shines upon you, you’ll be able to wake up from your fast to the already-familiar light of the Kingdom “prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”