Every Lent, Catholics hear the familiar summons to pray, fast, and give alms. Yet behind these seasonal practices stands something far older and far more robust: the Church’s unapologetic embrace of asceticism and mortification. To many Protestants—and even to many Catholics—this sounds extreme, medieval, perhaps even unhealthy. Why would the Church encourage bodily discipline in an age already obsessed with fitness, productivity, and performance? Didn’t Christ come to set us free?
He did. And that is precisely the point.
Biblical, Not Bizarre
Asceticism is not a Catholic eccentricity; it is biblical Christianity. St. Paul writes to the Corinthians, “Every athlete exercises selfcontrol in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. . . . I pommel my body and subdue it, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified” (1 Cor. 9:25, 27).
“Pommel” is not a gentle word. Paul is describing discipline, even force. He understands that the Christian life is not passive. It is a race to be run, a fight to be won (see 2 Tim. 4:7). And Jesus speaks in even more arresting language: “If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than with two hands to go to hell” (Mark 9:4345).
No serious Christian interprets this as a literal command to mutilate. But neither can we dismiss its force. Our Lord is teaching that sin is so grave, heaven so real, and hell so terrible that decisive action—even painful action—is warranted.
Add to this Christ’s own example. Before beginning his public ministry, he fasted for forty days in the wilderness (Matt. 4:1-2). He tells his disciples, “When you fast” (Matt. 6:16), not “if.” And he insists that certain demons are driven out “only by prayer and fasting” (Mark 9:29). The Son of God did not need purification, yet he embraced fasting and suffering to teach us the way of freedom.
The Logic of Love
The Catholic Church has never seen mortification as self-hatred. Quite the opposite. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches, “The way of perfection passes by way of the cross. There is no holiness without renunciation and spiritual battle” (2015). Elsewhere, it speaks of “interior penance” as a radical reorientation of the whole life toward God (1430-1431) and of the need to discipline our appetites so that grace may flourish.
Mortification, then, is not about punishing the body. It is about ordering the whole person—body and soul—toward love. Because the human person is a unity, what we do with the body affects the soul. To fast, to deny oneself a pleasure, to endure discomfort patiently—these train the will, strengthen the heart, and make room for God.
Think of athletes. No one calls it mutilation when a runner wakes before dawn, endures soreness, and restricts his diet for the sake of a race. We admire the discipline because we understand the goal. If we can grasp the logic of physical training for a perishable crown, how much more should we grasp spiritual training for an imperishable one?
The Witness of the Saints
The saints are the Church’s spiritual Olympians. From St. Benedict of Nursia throwing himself into thorns to overcome temptation to St. Philip Neri wearing uncomfortable garments in hidden penance to St. John Paul II quietly sleeping on the floor, mortification has marked every age of holiness.
Consider St. Aloysius Gonzaga, who once described himself as “a crooked piece of iron” needing to be made straight by the hammer of penance. His practices were severe, and not all are to be imitated. But what shines through his life is not gloom, but joy. Those who knew him described a serenity and humility that radiated from disciplined love.
Importantly, the Church has always insisted on prudence. St. Ignatius of Loyola counseled moderation and discernment. Bodily mortifications, he taught, are useful—especially when combating real temptation—but “are neither good for all, nor should they be used at all times.” For some, recreation and rest better serve charity and long-term fidelity. The goal is not self-inflicted suffering for its own sake, but growth in holiness.
A Protestant Objection?
Many Protestant communities emphasize interior faith and trust, sometimes wary of any bodily disciplines that appear “works-based.” Mortification does not earn heaven. Rather, it disposes us to receive grace more fruitfully. Scripture links bodily discipline and spiritual vitality: “If by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live” (Rom. 8:13). The key phrase is “by the Spirit.” Asceticism is not Pelagian self-salvation. It is cooperation with grace.
In fact, refusing all discipline can subtly affirm a very modern heresy: that freedom means indulging every impulse. The Church proposes something far more liberating—that freedom means the capacity to choose the good, even when it costs us.
Should We Do More for Lent?
Lent is not a Catholic “self-improvement challenge.” It is a school of love. But love always involves sacrifice. The Church obliges fasting on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday and abstinence from meat on Fridays as a baseline. These practices unite us to Christ’s passion and train our desires.
The question for each of us is simple: Where am I weak? Where do I lack mastery? Is it speech? Then perhaps a measured silence. Is it comfort? Then perhaps a colder room, a simpler meal, a resisted impulse to complain. Is it digital distraction? Then perhaps a deliberate fast from screens.
Mortifications need not be dramatic. In fact, the most powerful are often hidden: leaving a shoe slightly uncomfortable, rising promptly without the snooze button, accepting criticism without self-defense. Our Lord warns us not to disfigure our faces to be seen by men (Matt. 6:16-18). The Father who sees in secret rewards what is done in secret.
But we should not fear adding something intentional this Lent—especially if it stretches us. The cross is the shape of Christianity. If Christ fasted, if Paul disciplined his body, if the saints trained for glory, then asceticism is a path to joy.
In a world that tells us to indulge every appetite, Catholic mortification stands as a quiet, radical witness: we are made for more than comfort. We are made for communion. And sometimes the way to Easter morning runs straight through the discipline of the desert.