Fasting by Slowing Down

Don’t let this title mislead you. The idea of slowing down for Lent brings to mind a resolve to minimize unnecessary busyness and allow time for prayer and pondering divine mysteries. Those are laudable Lenten practices. However, this article’s title is meant literally. It refers to the year of an unusual fast, the year I fasted from speeding.

Speeding Prudently?

That’s right, speeding, as in driving too fast. Once my children were grown and I was alone in the car most of the time, I developed the habit of driving about five miles over the speed limit. I had heard that police rarely give speeding tickets until one is seven miles over the limit, so five seemed prudent. The trouble is that five miles over the speed limit occasionally led to seven, or ten, far enough that I would automatically hit my brakes when I saw a police car. Now, I don’t mean to give the impression that I was one of those who zoomed down the fast lane like a comet or weaved from lane to lane at breakneck speed. I simply drove a little faster than the law allows. I counted on this to arrive at places on time. It didn’t always work, though.

On one occasion, my husband and I were both traveling the 80-mile trip home from his parents’ house. Circumstances necessitated that we drive separately, and about ten miles from home I passed him. I thought, “Gee, he’s driving awfully slow.”

You can guess what happened next. About five miles later my husband passed me. I was detained, pulled over onto the shoulder of the road with a police car behind me and bright red and blue lights swirling in my rearview mirror. It was the only speeding ticket I ever received.

War on Venial Sin

Consequently, as the next Lenten season approached, I thought of giving up speeding. Not only that, I also would require myself to arrive at places on time. It was a game-changer. Now I needed to figure out how long a route would take going no faster than the speed limit. I had to plan to arrive at my destination a few minutes early since planning to arrive on time had often failed even when I drove fast. I had to prepare for each trip in advance, with a purse, shoes, coat, and glasses within easy reach so I would leave home at the appointed time.

All of this seemed at first more of a necessary change of habits than a Lenten sacrifice. But I remembered a sermon from my childhood. My pastor had instructed us that “Lent is a war on venial sin.” That made a great impression on me; it taught me to think of Lent as a time to give special scrutiny to behaviors that I might not normally think to mention in confession. Was not my constant rushing around a sin? Speeding represented a lack of charity, not just a foolish bad habit. Certainly, this Lent I had to declare war on speeding.

Penance Produces Freedom of Heart

The more I considered it, the more I knew I had to fast from speeding, completely, that Lent. The Catechism notes that penance such as Lenten fasting not only prepares us for the liturgical feast of Easter but also “helps us acquire mastery over our instincts and freedom of heart” (CCC 2043). I would be slower getting around, but I would conquer my instinct to hurry, and I would have freedom of heart.

The result was more wonderful than I could imagine. For one thing, I did not find it difficult at all, once I had made up my mind never to exceed the speed limit, not even by one mile. Sitting behind the steering wheel at the beginning of my trip, I would say, “You may not speed.” Silly as it sounds, that gave me a feeling of peace. The amount of time the trip would take was not a matter of how much I could push beyond the speed limit. I didn’t need to get in the fast lane or rush through a yellow traffic light. Driving became a relaxing activity.

Strangely, I began to think of the other motorists as my neighbors. Someone going slowly might be a new driver or a stranger unfamiliar with the locale. Bumper-to-bumper traffic didn’t bother me much, because we were all in the same boat, and I did not allow myself to feel hurried. If a car whizzed by, rushing as I used to be, I felt a little sympathy for the driver. When I saw a police car, I felt the confident, delightful security that law-abiding drivers have. This is the freedom of heart that the Catechism promises.

Observing the Speed Limit, Religiously

There were moments when it seemed awkward to observe the speed limit religiously (pun intended). Occasionally, mine was the slowest car on the highway and I sensed annoyance from the stream of cars passing on my left. In our church driveway, I felt awkward observing the 10 MPH sign. Have you tried driving 10 miles per hour on a quarter mile of road with no other car in sight? It does feel dreadfully slow. But I had committed to giving up speeding, completely, so whatever the posted speed limit was, I observed it.

Recently, in re-reading St. Francis de Sales’ Introduction to the Devout Life, I came across a passage that relates a little to my Lenten experience. Like my former pastor, de Sales encourages Christians who seek holiness to fight even venial sin. He warns us to recognize dispositions and inclinations to sin and describes how, even after repenting, one can hold an affection for sin. As long as I saw driving a little faster than the speed limit as a harmless means of making up time, I held an affection for it. I needed to stop altogether in order to see that driving under the speed limit was more rewarding, peaceful, and pleasant.

It was the best sacrifice I could have made that Lent. Driving slower led me to develop patience, an unexpected by-product of restraining my impulse to rush. Francis de Sales, in his discussion of this virtue, quotes Luke 21:19: “In your patience you shall possess your souls.” I surely felt more in possession of my soul when I gave up being an impatient driver.

De Sales, Francis. An Introduction to the Devout Life. Charlotte, NC: Tan Classics, 2010.