Hungering for a Fast

BY LUKE STAMPS

In a world of feasting, we are hungering for a fast.

Our modern market economies are increasingly predicated on consumption, not even production, and certainly not on restrained appetites. Our media are littered with advertisements, preying on our discontent. “Eat this juicy burger.” “Drive this enviable car.” “Wear these latest fashions.”

Even our attempts at constraint are marketable. “Become a member at this gym.” “Buy this meal plan.” “Subscribe to this magazine.”

And for what? We learn from a young age the empty promises of the ads. The breakfast cereal never tastes as good as the faces in the commercial make it seem. The toys eventually break. The sneakers soon go out of fashion. Appetites are satiated but never satisfied.

Part of this is perfectly natural. God made us to enjoy the good gifts of creation. Christians should avoid a kind of quasi-Gnostic denigration of the body and its appetites (Note: Gnosticism was a second-century heresy that, among other things, saw spirit as good and matter as evil). Our hungering is an occasion to look to God for provision and to give him thanks. And God made us to receive these natural gifts in the repeated patterns and rhythms of life. Eating is not a one-and-done thing. In short order, we will have to return to the table once again to receive nourishment.

But these patterns get distorted in a culture that is stuffed to the brim. When the pantry is full, no one has to feel hungry. But it’s not just food. When we have a world of information in our pockets, what is there left to learn? When we can order whatever we need or want from the comfort of our couches, what is there left even to desire? Satiety has made us numb, unfeeling. Surplus has dulled our humanity.

Like addicts who need ever-increasing dosages to reach the same euphoric high, only to crash down even lower than before, what we really need is a detox. What we are really hungering for is a fast.

This is why our Lenten fasts are such a gift. With roots in the earliest centuries of the Christian church, Lent is an annual reminder that “man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matthew 4:4). Lent forces us to re-collect our disparate selves, spread thin by consumption, and to gather them up again in consecration to God. In these short forty days (excluding Sundays) between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday, we are offered an invitation, not to a feast, but to a fast.

The traditional practices of Lent revolve around the disciplines set forth by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 6: giving, praying, and fasting. Let’s be honest: sometimes these practices feel like deprivation. But that’s only because they are. And that’s the point. We give, when we could hoard or spend; we pray, when we could be “productive”; and we fast, when we could feast. We do these things by faith in the Son of God, who taught us that “it is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35).

We are now over half-way through the Lenten fast. Maybe you have failed to keep your fast. Don’t despair. Just ask for divine aid and recommit. See this as a reminder that our best practices cannot justify us. Only the blood and righteousness of Jesus can atone for sin. That’s what this holy season is all about. Keep in mind Gethsemane: Jesus watches and prays and faces the cup of judgment while his closest followers doze (Matt. 26:40).

Maybe you didn’t start a fast to begin with. It’s not too late. We still have time to orient ourselves—body and soul—to this season of fasting and prayer. Pick a charity to give to. Develop a daily prayer routine. Fast from a meal or two one day a week. Abstain from social media or some other good but potentially distracting practice. Dedicate extra time to pray for your family, your church, and your world. 

Just try it. And see if the fast doesn’t actually fill you up.

Luke Stamps is a member of Christ the Redeemer and serves as associate professor of Christian Theology at Anderson University.