Easter Monday

Buttermilk & Biscuit's Bovine Blessings, and the Udder Abundance of the Spring Season

Holy Week has always been a challenge for me, and this year was no exception. The car ride down to Southern California, on the last day of a two-week "OMAD" fast, had left me feeling somewhat weak and irritable.

As I entered the church on Good Friday, 16 hours into the Benedict Challenge’s final 40-hour “black fast” the weight of the looming scripture readings hung heavy in the air. The unflinching accounts of Christ's betrayal and torture, punctuated by the poetic prophecies of Isaiah's Suffering Servant, convicted me with an immediacy I could not escape.

Midway through the lengthy service, my overtired 2-year-old son starting acting up. On the one hand, this providing a welcome excuse to step outside into the balmy Huntington Beach weather. But his older sister was quick to follow, and as I chased two restless kids around the courtyard, the priest's voice, amplified through the outdoor speakers, continued to proclaim John's uncomfortable passion narrative.

There was no evading it.

I found myself all-too aware of my own weakness – not just the fasting-induced fatigue of two skipped meals, and dread of going to bed on an empty stomach, but the spiritual weariness that comes from having my own shortcomings as a parent laid bare before a crowd of devout churchgoers. Feeling powerless over my rambunctious kids, a part of me wanted nothing more than to get in the car and drive away – to plug my ears to the challenging message of taking up my cross and forgiving those who would persecute me.

Somehow, we made it through the 2-hour long service, but as the day wore on, the reality of my self-imposed fast began to set in. By 8 pm, I found myself facing a choice: lose my patience with my 2-year-old, who was refusing to lie down in his travel crib, or break my observation of the black fast with a glass of water.

In the end, I chose the water. It was a small concession, but it felt like a failure nonetheless to live up to the admittedly high bar I had set out for others to follow.

With Jesus's haunting words from the cross – "Oh Lord, Oh Lord, why have you forsaken me" – still ringing in my ear, I tried to reframe my own sense of weakness and inadequacy was as a small act of participation in the sufferings of Christ. The crosses I bore that Good Friday, though incomparable to the agony of crucifixion, were an invitation to unite my struggles with His, to trust that even in moments of apparent defeat, His grace is sufficient. But if I’m honest, the comparison rang hollow.

It wasn't until Monday, on the ride back north, that I could begin to see my Good Friday experience through “Easter Eyes.” The difficulty of those hours, the sense of helplessness and frustration, had been a preparation for the season of renewal that was to come. Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, I had been slow to recognize that Christ was in my midst, even as as had been opening the scriptures and revealing Himself in the breaking of the bread on Easter Sunday.

The title of this post refers to the fact that the Resurrection is not just a historical event, and certainly not just a holiday in which we overindulge in mediocre milk chocolate candy. It is a radical new reality that should remain with us throughout the year.

Every moment holds the potential for new life and transformation.

Welcoming Buttermilk (And Biscuit)

This truth was brought home to me in a tangible way when, on Saturday evening, we received some unexpected news: our new cow, Buttermilk, whom we were planning to pick up the following Tuesday, had calved two weeks early.

The arrival of Buttermilk and her calf (whom we named Biscuit), was a concrete instantiation of the Easter message. The same God who had conquered death and risen from the tomb was now blessing us with the gift of new life in the form of these gentle and majestic creatures (Dexters – a small Irish heritage breed known for producing creamy milk in smaller quantities than a typical dairy cow).

In The Benedict Challenge, I wrote about fasting as a kind of crucible – a period of affliction and testing that precedes an encounter with the divine, and a renewed sense of mission and purpose. Throughout those 40 days, I strained my ears to hear the faint whispers – intimations of a coming revival, in which I sensed I was being called to play a small but vital role. This grassroots uprising, I came to believe, would begin in the humble soil of Northern California and ripple outwards.

Now, on the other side of Easter, I feel a deep confirmation of this sense of purpose. I can see all the different threads of my life – the writing, the publishing, the daily rituals of milking and mucking – being woven together into an integrated vocation, where every project is oriented towards a single, unifying goal.

To put it simply, that goal to become the best dang homesteading, holistic-health writer and independent publisher this side of the Mississippi. Or the other side, for that matter. It's to take the things I'm good at – the wordsmithing, the big-picture thinking, the ability to distill complex ideas and multiple perspectives into simple, actionable steps – and hone them to a razor's edge.

Beyond this, I want to do it with my family, as we go against the grain of modern society with a shared vocation of maximally independent farmsteading. We want to get back to the basics – to the simple rhythms of planting and harvesting, of nurturing land and animals and watching them grow. We want to teach our kids about the sacredness of creation, our responsibility to steward it, and about the true value of things that can't be measured in dollars and cents.

Over the past 40 days, I've started to see glimmers of this vision coming to life. I've connected with kindred spirits in the Bangor area who share this vision of a rural revival, of a return to the land, and a renewal of family and community. My wife and I are on the cusp of publishing our first book together – a beginner's guide to buying and cooking beef in bulk – and it feels like a sign, a confirmation that we're on the right track.

Coming soon!

Subscribers will get a preview of this book beginning next week, and this Substack will remain a testing ground for my writing on diverse topics, all under the umbrella of Living an Abundant Life through Faith, Discipline, and Stewardship. This theme will guide all my upcoming writing projects, including my most ambitious undertaking yet – a training manual for the "JFK 50," aka the 50-mile march or Kennedy Challenge.

Now that Lent is over and I am back on a normal eating schedule, I find myself reinvigorated and ready to embrace a more vigorous training regimen. While I didn't entirely put aside physical challenges during the fasting period, I did scale back on cold swims, distance runs, and intense exercise. Now, I feel a certain leanness and cleanness post-fast that provides a strong foundation to rebuild strength and endurance in preparation for this year's 50-mile march.

As part of this process, I'm revisiting my collected health and fitness writings, previously compiled in the book Hormetics, with an eye towards making important revisions based on the wisdom I’ve gained since 2020.

Turning the Page on the Benedict Challenge

There is something beautiful about the fact that the 40 days of fasting is followed by 50 days of feasting in the Easter Season leading up to Pentecost.

If we have fasted well, we will be inclined to feast well – to savor and appreciate our food, to be nourished by less. We will attune to the daily, weekly, and seasonal rhythms of God's creation and redemptive story. But it takes practice and grace. It takes a willingness to stumble, to start again, to rely not on our own strength but on the abundant new life that Christ offers us.

For those who missed out on participating in The Benedict Challenge this year, fear not! I've been gathering feedback from the beta cohort to refine and improve the program for next year. Interestingly, the most common question that arose during the weekly check-ins wasn't about managing hunger or low energy, as I had anticipated. Instead, many participants struggled with the transition back to eating, finding it challenging to nourish themselves adequately within the designated eating window without slipping into patterns of overindulgence. In response to this feedback, I intend to place a greater emphasis on the "refeeding" protocol in future iterations of the program, perhaps even including specific recipe ideas and meal preparation tips to help participants break their fast in a balanced, mindful way.

Another change I'm considering for next year's Benedict Challenge is to move away from assigning specific daily and weekly scripture readings. In retrospect, this approach felt somewhat forced and disjointed, making it difficult for participants to fully engage with the biblical context surrounding the fast.

Instead, I've come to appreciate the wisdom of the Church's pre-existing prayer and scripture program for Lent, which includes daily readings and the divine office, a practice of praying the psalms at regular intervals throughout the day. Rather than attempting to “innovate” or introduce arbitrary forms of self-discipline, the true spirit of The Benedict Challenge lies in allowing these traditions to guide our Lenten experience.

If you did participate, I would love to hear your feedback. Get in touch! Or join us for this Friday’s final call – reflecting back on the experience and discussing how will carry the lessons from the experience forward into the next 50 days and beyond.

And now, without further ado, here is the concluding chapter of the Benedict Challenge.

---

Epilogue: Easter Eyes

The celebration of Christ’s resurrection on Easter Sunday represents a pivot point. As we emerge from the darkness of Good Friday and the penitential season of Lent, we have the opportunity to view life through a new lens.

Theologian James Alison uses the term “Easter eyes” to capture this post-Resurrection perspective. When we see the world with Easter eyes, the reality of renewal and rebirth becomes tangible. Food tastes richer, blue skies and flowers seem brighter, and old wounds and resentments lose their sting.

If we have prayed and fasted with our whole body—our whole being—we experience the reality of the resurrection. Just as Spring arrives to awaken the dormant earth, our spirits now long to stretch and grow toward the light of Christ. As we transition back to normal eating, we carry the fruits cultivated through fasting into everyday life. There is a transformation of our desires and identity away from death-based patterns towards a new life in Christ, “who is light and in whom there is no darkness” (1 John 1:10).

Breaking the Fast

As the playwright George Bernard Shaw quipped, “Any fool can fast, but it takes a wise man to break a fast.” When ending a lengthy fast, we must proceed thoughtfully, and I would be remiss to neglect this topic.

After a period of fasting, the body downregulates digestive enzymes to conserve energy. Suddenly introducing heavy foods can overwhelm the gut and cause discomfort. Those partaking in the traditional Paschal feast should take care to reintroduce nutrition.

To prepare your stomach for a meal, there are a few things you can do. First, add a tablespoon of psyllium husk (Metamucil) to a cup of water and let it sit for 10 to 15 minutes before drinking it. Second, drink some lemon water before eating to help trigger natural digestive enzymes.

Also, eating a small meal about 6 hours before your larger meal can also help prepare your stomach. Dr. Jason Fung, who helps obese and diabetic patients to cure their metabolic syndrome with long-term fasts, recommends including some cooked non-starchy vegetables with poultry or fish for your first meal. Be aware that people often struggle with consuming raw cruciferous vegetables, nuts, seeds, dairy products, eggs, and alcohol. It is also recommended to avoid processed carbohydrates, which can cause a sudden and significant insulin spike.

What Comes After Easter?

As the 40 days of Lent comes to an end, the real adventure of integrating fasting into everyday life begins. Determine a plan aligned with your needs—whether an eating window, intermittent fasting routine, or seasonal multi-day fasts. This will help you prepare for next year’s Lent.

St. Benedict urged his followers to “love fasting” as much if not more than the feast. Once we are adapted, fasting grants freedom from old compulsions and amplifies our capacity for presence. We don’t need to white-knuckle through hunger, but can relax into a graceful rhythm of fasting—a keepable habit.

My Easter prayer is that you may see in every shadow the bright shoot of renewal awaiting discovery. Let us both feast and fast with joyful ease.