Given that today is Mardi Gras and tomorrow begins Lent with Ash Wednesday, I decided to bump my usual Thursday post up a few days to talk about something relevant to the season.
Fasting.
I find the modern take on fasting very curious. There are those who do it because it’s obligatory, especially this time of year. There are those who refuse to do it because it has traditionally been obligatory. There are those who will fast a day here and there for really special occasions, when they need to be dedicated to prayer, and there are those who fast regularly throughout the year. I’m probably missing some. But you get the picture. Fasting, in our modern age, is all over the board.
So, first, what is fasting? Quite simply, an abstaining. Most often from it’s food, but it could be from anything, specifically something that brings us pleasure. The idea of the fast is to deny yourself something you are accustomed to, enjoy, or even crave. Why? In part to remind you to pray. In part to suffer (yes, that’s right). And in part to create discipline.
I did a lot of pondering on fasting last year when my husband and I decided jointly to do a very traditional Lenton fast. In the past, I’d occasionally given something up for Lent. But it had never been as hard as this. Those forty days stretched on forever this time. And that made me thoughtful about it.
I know that fasting isn’t always looked upon with favor these days. And that it really isn’t recommended for a lot of people. But I have to say that I learned so much–about myself, about my faith, about the purpose of this practice–when I did this.
First of all, yes, it did remind me to pray. Because hunger has a way of sharpening us. Every time my belly growls, I think about why I’m hungry. But it was so much more than that.
And it was more because it was hard. When I was hungry and just wanted to give up on this whole thing, I would think, “All I’m doing is not eating until a given hour of the day. What is that compared to what Christ did for me? How hungry was He in the wilderness, when He didn’t eat at all for forty days? How much did He suffer in those weeks leading up to the crucifixion, when He knew what was coming? He did that for me. For us. And I’m complaining about going a few hours?”
Our modern world isn’t big on suffering (ahem). Not only do we not want it, but we’re also very cynical about the forms of it that have traditionally been invited. Oh, we recognize the value of physical exercise, even though it might hurt. But something like fasting? Um, no. Many of us, especially Protestants, not only don’t participate, but we look down on those who do as being not as strong in the faith, if they feel the need to do obligatory things.
But here’s the thing. We will suffer in life. This is guaranteed. It will come. And how will we handle it when it does? Part of the point of a fast is to have created in ourselves a discipline and a strength. Just like with exercise, we condition ourselves to withstand discomfort and pain. We condition ourselves so that when a true trial comes, our spiritual muscles aren’t completely unaccustomed to it.
And then there’s temptation.
Last year, I had homeschool group the first Thursday of every month. One of the things my group always had available was a breakfast the moms could come in and grab between classes. And that particular month, there were some delicious-looking options. I wanted to get something. It looked yummy. It was a temptation–a mild one, really. I mean, a donut isn’t sinful. It’s not forbidden in general. It was just something I’d decided not to eat for forty days.
But as I sat there not eating it but really wanting to eat it, I realized this was practice. This was training myself–if I can resist small temptations, then I’ll have trained myself to resist bigger ones. Ones that actually matter.
What’s the point of all this musing? Certainly not to say, “You must fast!” I’d never say that. I fully believe this sort of thing is between us and God. But I will say, “Maybe you should consider it, ask God if there’s something He’d like you to give up for a while.” Spiritual exercise, discipline-crafting. We recognize the value of doing that for our physical bodies. Why not our spiritual ones?
And I will also say this: it seems that when fasting is part of a requirement, people get creative in finding ways to bend it. That totally defeats the purpose. Yes, it’s hard. It’s supposed to be. If you’re bending “rules” to make it more manageable, then you’re defeating the purpose. Kinda like when I lay there on the workout bench doing nothing but still count it as part of my thirty minutes. 😉 (Not that I ever do that, ahem. LOL)
Maybe you fast sometimes. Maybe you don’t. Maybe, like I’ve done in the past, you give up something for Lent. Or maybe you think that’s legalistic and not embracing grace. Maybe you give up food for specific times, or maybe you can’t give up food for medical reasons and instead give up television or fiction or something else. Whatever your opinion, I thought today would be a good day to ponder the practice as a whole.
It’s something Jesus did. Something Paul and the disciples did (“often,” according to 2 Cor 11:27). Something the early church held in such high esteem that it was some of the earliest teachings in the Didache. Something that clearly is to be joined with prayer to achieve greater effects (think of when Jesus said a certain unclean spirit could only be cast out “with prayer and fasting”) because it draws us closer to the Lord.
Where do you come down on this topic? Have you learned any lessons through fasting?
Roseanna M. White is a bestselling, Christy Award winning author who has long claimed that words are the air she breathes. When not writing fiction, she’s homeschooling her two kids, editing, designing book covers, and pretending her house will clean itself. Roseanna is the author of a slew of historical novels that span several continents and thousands of years. Spies and war and mayhem always seem to find their way into her books…to offset her real life, which is blessedly ordinary.