after ash wednesday

It's common, during Lent, that we'd avoid something - give up, go without. We have so much, and we have the absolute luxury of being able to pick and choose what we sacrifice, and we'd all admit that even that hardly feels like a sacrifice because again - we have so much. I often find that when I avoid sugar, I simply consume more salt as an attempt to assuage the craving - we still often seek false substitutes for what we give up even when we are attempting full devotion.

Anyway, during Lent we often "give up" something. But what about actual fasting - giving up food? It's truly different than all of those other things you'd give up, and it's truly worth doing. It's also sometimes awkward to talk about - my first interaction with the idea of fasting was a friend in junior high complaining all day about how hungry she was because she was fasting. While I love that she was developing that habit early, talking about it definitely defeats a big part of the benefit. But unfortunately, that also means it probably doesn't get as much attention as it needs, because it is really powerful.

When we first got married, Grant had some previous experience with fasting. The way he approached it was to do a supper-to-supper fast, meaning he'd eat supper one day, and then fast through the night (no bedtime cereal snack!) and to the next suppertime. When I have fasted, I have followed this format as it has been effective and allows us to keep our family suppertime rhythms without interruption.

The reason that fasting is different than other types of "giving up" is because food is our source of strength and energy - and when we fast from food, we are placing our bodies in a posture of very great dependence on Jesus to meet those needs. Our body is constantly reminding us that we have needs, and we are constantly turning upward instead of inward for those needs to be met.

I have used fasting very selectively in my life - perhaps once or twice a year when I am midway through a very pivotal decision or as was the case recently, when I am simply in a hard spot emotionally or spiritually. Current culture would strongly discourage us from denying ourselves anything when we are in a hard spot - but the reality is that in the upside down Kingdom of God, that's actually the only effective solution. Because here's the thing about fasting: it doesn't solve any problems, it doesn't tell me what to do, and it doesn't make God give me anything. But what it does do is that it positions me completely dependent and rids me entirely of myself - which, ironically, actually always delivers the clarity I'm looking for. I am finding myself turning to it more frequently as a means to help me through a part of my life where I feel stuck or shadowed; where God seems nearby but out of reach. Emptiness produces fullness in God's Kingdom, and I've found that to be true even in my physical body.

Fasting is also a good re-set button for self-discipline. When I sense increasing disconnect in my body and my brain, fasting re-connects everything and then helps me to re-establish things differently going forward. This, of course, should come as no surprise seeing as how everything we do flows from the Father's work in us. Fasting breaks down my self-dependence and re-focuses me on the only One who can truly keep me where I need to be.

I know someone who fasted for a great length of time, and I remember him saying how weepy he became. As humans we spend so much time and energy on preserving and containing ourselves, often using food as a tool for doing so. But fasting produces humility in the place of control, and vulnerability in the place of preservation. Weepiness, then, is to be expected as we reach the utter end of our limits and still find ourselves in the care and protection of an almighty God. This, this is what we are called to during Lent.

We're not called to just tack on the practice of fasting like a blue ribbon, acquiring another "to-do" that we accidentally use as a way to define ourselves instead of an act of submission to God (I believe that was the trap that my dear friend in junior high had fallen into). No - instead we're called to total surrender and I can assure you - the relief is complete.

In her book "The Way of the Wildflower", Ruth Chou Simons writes: "The intensity with which we feel defeated and burdened by our troubles rises and falls concurrently with how much we believe we deserve answers to our questions. It isn't wrong to long for relief amidst angst in the chaos; the problem is when we believe we deserve to know what God knows or when we think God's plans should align with our plans. [...] So the next time you're [...] overwhelmed by racing thoughts and burdened by fear, take a deep breath, friend, and stop trying to fix things and find the solutions with worry. Instead, begin with worship. Start by acknowledging to God that you simply don't know the best way forward or the safest way out. You don't have the wisdom it takes to understand why you're experiencing the things you're facing. When we begin with a surrendered posture, we acknowledge that God is God and we are not. When our posture declares that God gets to determine what is right and good, we find freedom."

There is no posture more freeing than trusting God to sustain us from the inside out.

In John 6:48-66 when Jesus is telling the disciples how He is the bread of life, they grumble and complain that it is a "hard saying". I wonder sometimes if they felt like it was hard to understand (which it was) or if it seemed hard to live out and do (which it also is). The Bible tells us that many turned away from Jesus after hearing Him teach on this topic - either it didn't make sense to them, or they hadn't experienced it, or both.

Understanding Jesus as the bread of life only makes sense if we have actually experienced it, and the only way to experience it is to actually make Him our bread.