If you have been “on the wagon” for the month of January, well, the long ordeal is almost over. February 1 is Saturday. Not familiar with Dry January? It refers to the practice of abstaining from alcohol during the first month of the year. It is said to have been started by a British marathon runner in 2011, who did not drink for the month of January to get in shape for a Marathon. The practice was propagated on social media and spread around the world, so that this January an estimated 19% of Americans planned to participate. Since plans do not always equal practice, a more significant figure is that 77% of those who abstained the previous January planned to go dry again this year. Most participants say they want to give their body and their budget a break after the holiday season and reexamine their relationship with alcohol. Experts cite a number of health benefits to a dry January: better sleep, better complexion, lower blood pressure, liver recovery, and weight loss. Websites provide Dry January participants with all manner of activities and ways of relaxing that do not involve alcohol. Dry January has become so popular that the marketing department at one major brewery has tailored a special advertising campaign for January, focusing on their non-alcoholic brew.

This cultural phenomenon does not touch my life very much since I have had a dry January (and a dry February, etc.) for the last 24 years, ever since it became clear to me that I was spending an awful lot of time thinking about when I would have my next drink. What I believe is important here is that Dry January touches upon something that runs deep in our human psyche. It is a sense that we are missing out on something. Partaking of all the pleasures that the world has to offer still leaves us with an empty hole at the center of our life. What we are really missing is God. This same phenomenon helps explain why so many Catholics are frantic to get ashes on Ash Wednesday, even if they have not attended Sunday Mass in years. Being selfish and self-indulgent leaves us unsatisfied. We know something needs to change and the Season of Lent offers us that opportunity. Ash Wednesday reminds us of a truth we sometime neglect. As children of God we are not just a random collision of molecules that dissolve into dust at the end of our life. Because we are made in the image and likeness of God, we also have an eternal destiny. We are made out of love and we are made for love, love of God, love of neighbor, and love of self. Whether we are churchgoers or not, we sense that something is wrong when our focus is too much on ourselves. Self-denial and self-emptying are meant to be part of the human journey, and fasting and abstaining are ways that we express our need to change—whether we do it in January or during Lent.

On the other hand, it is good to remember that our faith is not just based on fasting. It is also a faith of feasting. Self-denial itself is a preparation for the great feast of heaven. Jesus said that when he (the bridegroom) is present, we should not fast. We should feast. That is one of the reasons why, when permission was given, we worked quickly to restore the practice of sharing the cup at weekend Mass—even though at some Masses only a few people choose to consume the Eucharist under both forms. When we gather for Mass, we celebrate the living presence of Jesus. Jesus Christ, risen triumphant from the grave, is present to us sacramentally under the appearance of bread and wine. Although our Catholic faith teaches us that Jesus is fully present to us in the host, about fifty years ago the Catholic Church restored the option of also receiving from the chalice. This was to provide a more complete human experience of communion, since at the Last Supper Jesus shared both bread and cup with his disciples and told them to “do this in memory of me.” More than that, wine in Jesus’ culture was a sign of celebration. It meant that we were feeling blessed and grateful. That was why running out of wine at the wedding feast at Cana created such a panic and why Mary felt the need to intervene. At Mass, though, the consecrated wine could also serve as a symbolic reminder that we find true joy not in spirits served at parties but in The Spirit, who leads us ever onward to our true destiny, the eternal banquet of heaven..

                                                                                          Fr. Joe