Why Fast?

Are you fasting? If so, from what? On Ash Wednesday, our liturgy reminded us of our mortality. The church then invited us, both individually and corporately, to begin a forty-day retreat, a retreat in which we are called to devote ourselves to “self-examination and repentance; prayer, fasting and self-denial; and reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.” While all of those actions are important elements of the spiritual life, fasting is perhaps the most perplexing one for modern Americans. Fasting from what and why? Our poorer neighbors, those who depend on food stamps, the Outreach Center, and Loaves and Fishes, may know something about fasting. But for most of us, with our overflowing supermarkets, refrigerators, and pantries, and with fast food outlets everywhere we turn, we’re more likely to overindulge than to feel the pain of waiting for the next meal. So why might we consider fasting, and what does it really mean for us?

Like throwing ashes on one’s head and wearing rough, plain clothing, the call to fast has long Scriptural roots. Moses, David, Elijah, Esther, Daniel, and many others fasted as a way of purifying themselves. Even today, observant Jews fast on the Day of Atonement. For those of us who dare to call ourselves disciples of Jesus, the main reason to fast is so that we may follow his example. All three of the synoptic gospels tell us that, after Jesus’ baptism, the Holy Spirit drove him into the wilderness, where he fasted for forty days. Mark gives us no idea of the trials that he endured but notes that the wild animals and the angels waited on him. Following a somewhat different tradition, Mark and Luke provide details of the physical and spiritual struggles that Jesus experienced in the desert. Whether we understand the source of Jesus’ struggle as interior or exterior, i.e., in his mind or orchestrated by an external agent, in both accounts Jesus clearly struggled to understand who he was and the nature of his identity as God’s chosen one.

In the simplest terms, then, we fast for forty days during this time, as a way of identifying with Jesus, in preparation for walking with him to Jerusalem. In the ancient church, these forty days became a period of preparation for baptism, in which both those to be baptized and those already baptized joined in prayer and fasting. In the medieval church, the Lenten fast was especially rigorous. “Lent” is the Old English word for spring, i.e., the time when the days get longer. Some have suggested that in northern Europe food stocks were low at this time. Hence a religiously sanctioned fast made sense. Be that as it may, in Lent people typically ate only one substantial meal usually at mid-day, with a light “collation” in the evening. People also abstained from strong drink and from meat, milk, cheese, butter, and eggs. This abstinence is the source of Mardi Gras (“fat Tuesday) and the Carnival (“carne wale,” good-bye to meat). People generally went to confession the day before Ash Wednesday and were “shriven,” i.e., absolved from their sins, hence Shrove Tuesday. Shrove Tuesday also became the day for pancake dinners, i.e., meals to use up the butter and eggs before Lent.

Many of these practices continued in our church well into the twentieth century. Turn to page 17 in the Book of Common Prayer. There you will see that Ash Wednesday and Good Friday are fast days, and that Ash Wednesday, the other weekdays of Lent, Good Friday, and all other Fridays of the year, with some exceptions, are days of special devotion. So if you want to give up meat on Wednesdays and Fridays in Lent, you will be in good company! Traditionally, too, Christians have “given up” something for Lent. Unlike our medieval forbears, many of us give up things that may or may not impact our lives significantly: chocolate, ice cream, music, or comic books were common. Are all these quaint customs? The truth is that any of these observances, even abstaining from chocolate, could have real spiritual meaning if done with the intention of pleasing God and strengthening our self-discipline, but they could just as easily devolve into meaningless “feel good” gestures.

So what does fasting really mean for us? What is the church calling us to do, either in our Ash Wednesday liturgy or the instructions for days of “special devotion?” The call to fasting could mean literally fasting, not eating anything, say, for twenty-four or even thirty-six hours. When my husband and I were younger we would fast from Maundy Thursday dinner through Good Friday, then break our fast with friends with a simple meal of what might have been eaten in the holy land, dates, fruits, nuts, cheeses, bread, and a little wine. Might we consider trying such a meal here at St. Peter’s? Eating less meat and more plant food during Lent might be a valuable way to begin taking better care of our bodies. We might donate the savings from eating less to a food pantry, to Outreach, to Loaves and Fishes, or to an organization that combats hunger like Bread for the World or Episcopal Relief and Development. During Lent, you might consider the two-cent challenge: put two cents in a jar for every person at the table, every day, say at dinner. If you live alone do it at every meal as you say grace. At the end of Lent, donate the money to an organization that fights hunger.

Are there other things we should fast from besides food? Jesus’ stripped down experience in the desert enabled him to gain a deeper understanding of his vocation as God’s chosen one. Cheryl Strayed’s mother died when Cheryl was only twenty-two. In the wake of that tragedy, she hiked the entire eleven hundred miles of the Pacific Coast trail, a trek she recounted in her book Wild. In the mountain wilderness, Strayed put her life back together and regained her soul. What are those aspects of our life that we need to leave behind so as to have a deeper sense of God’s reality and demands on us? What do we need to give up that distracts us from God? What impedes our transformation and growth in Christ? TV? Facebook? Texting? Shopping? Could we at least scale back on our purchases and entertainment during Lent and increase our donations to organizations serving the poor or our participation in ministry to others? Could we simplify our lives, clear out our calendars, create our own wilderness time, so that we might stand open to God, ponder our own spiritual identity, and let God get a word in edgewise?

What might this parish fast from, besides “alleluias” and the contemporary-language service? Might we fast from our comfortable isolation as a Christian community? We proclaim that our mission is to share “the joy of God’s grace with the community and the world.” It’s right there on your service bulletin and on our sign out front. What does that really mean to us? Are there people who should be here, and might be here through your invitation? Can we pray more intentionally for them, or for those who come to Loaves and Fishes? What else might we do to take God’s love outside the red doors?

And here’s yet another kind of fasting. We might call it a spiritual fast, although, in a sense, all our fasting can potentially be spiritual fasting. I invite you to consider fasting from all those attitudes, fears, worries, distractions, and sins that keep you from following Jesus’ example. Please take out the sheet in your bulletin. We’ll read each sentence responsively. Put the sheet on your fridge and look at it every day this Lent. Go through the fasts and feasts day by day, one fast and feast at a time. During the day, ask God for grace to help you truly live into that fast and feast. For example, for the first one: ask God to strengthen your willingness to not judge anyone and to see everyone whom you meet as someone in whom Christ dwells. Are you ready? Let’s read them. Then commit yourselves to them.

Fast from judging others. Feast on seeing all as Christ’s brothers and sisters.
Fast from emphasis on differences. Feast on the unity of all life.
Fast from thoughts of illness. Feast on the healing power of God.
Fast from cursing. Feast on blessing.
Fast from discontent. Feast on gratitude.
Fast from anger. Feast on patience.
Fast from pessimism. Feast on optimism.
Fast from worry. Feast on God’s providence.
Fast from complaining. Feast on appreciation.
Fast from negatives. Feast on affirmatives.
Fast from unrelenting pressures. Feast on unceasing prayer.
Fast from hostility. Feast on peace-making.
Fast from bitterness. Feast on forgiveness.
Fast from self-concern. Feast on compassion for others.
Fast from personal anxiety. Feast on trust in God.
Fast from discouragement. Feast on hope.
Fast from lethargy. Feast on enthusiasm.
Fast from thoughts that weaken. Feast on promises that inspire.
Fast from shadows of sorrow. Feast on the sunlight of serenity.
Fast from idle gossip. Feast on purposeful silence.
Fast from problems that overwhelm. Feast on prayer that sustains.1

My sisters and brothers, as we travel the road to Jerusalem, to the Cross and beyond, may the fast of Lent draw you closer to God.

1. Adapted from Synthesis, February 17, 2013, p. 3.