Commit Yourself to True Love: The Fast

"How does fasting strengthen our relationship with God during Lent?"

Fasting was once a pillar of religious life throughout the world: it was not just practiced in the confines of Lent, Ramadan, or Yom Kippur, but it was something regularly taken up whenever a situation called for it. We see pious examples of fasting constantly throughout Scripture: prophets decide to fast in preparation for mission, kings decide to fast in repentance for crimes, even whole cities undertook fasts to express their common unity in overcoming some spiritual battle. Indeed, Jesus declares in the Gospel that some battles cannot be won nor evils “driven out by anything but prayer and fasting” (Mark 9:29 RSVC). Jesus indicates that fasting is a critical ingredient in our spiritual lives, even going so far as to put it alongside prayer. But how possibly could fasting be this important? How could it be at all comparable to prayer, which is intimate conversation with God Himself?

Fasting is a special way of speaking with God. In a fast, whether it is the standard Lenten Friday fasts or some other deprivation that we have found necessary to impose on ourselves, we encounter a battle against the desire to fill that deprivation—to eat meat, pick up YouTube, pour a drink, etc. The battle against desire is one which constantly compels us to reorient ourselves to Christ, seeking His help to endure the struggle at hand. This results in a period of special closeness with God—fasting is a time of acute struggle, and, in the properly disposed soul, of acute intimacy with God. It is for this reason that Jesus entered the desert for forty days of fasting before beginning His ministry: He began it by strengthening His intimacy with the Father. Moreover, enduring this struggle, which has been set up on our own terms, prepares us to endure the various trials and sufferings that lay ahead of us in life that are never on our own terms. Again, this sheds light on why Jesus began His ministry with fasting: it was suffering that sturdied Him for the brutal, unfair death He knew was His to bear. Through fasting, we build our spiritual vigor, train ourselves in the habit of looking to God in our sufferings, and generally learn to conduct ourselves well once the suffering is no longer something we control. When things happen to us that are unfair, unjust, and out of our control, our fasting will have prepared us to endure them with fortitude, staying close to the Lord as a child stays near his father. 

Jesus mentions “prayer and fasting” together because the two are deeply intertwined. The struggle against desire during a fast is meant to be a relentless call to prayer: “I am hungry, why don’t I eat? Ah, yes, because for what do I truly hunger? I am thirsty; but for what do I truly thirst?” Fasting reminds us that the desires of this world are but pale shadows compared to our soul’s desire to be unified with Christ. He alone will satisfy our desire for authentic happiness; He alone will bring us sincere joy. Pope Saint John Paul II famously said “it is Jesus you seek when you dream of happiness,” and the fast reminds us of this. Do not mistake that donut for the greatest good; put it aside, and endure temptation lest you seek pleasure but find only further pain and sorrow. Every time you desire to break the fast, turn to heaven. The struggle of a fast is a giant arrow pointing us toward the divine.

Each fast is a miniature school of love, teaching us how to better rely on God for warmth, for strength, for guidance and protection—that is, better teaching us how to accept the love that He yearns to shower us with. We often can become so petulant to our loving Father, unexcited about His love for us, unimpressed by the miracles He surrounds us with, and unhappy amidst the prosperity He has placed us in. When we fast, our suffering reorients us to the love of God and trains us to remain there once the suffering is gone. The need for the fast and the sort of benefit we get from it are beautifully illustrated by these lyrics:

Prone to wander Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love
Here's my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above (Chris Rice, “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing”)

For someone stronger than I, fasting might be unnecessary; they might already be focused on Christ for every second of the day, spending each moment in delighted conversation with Him; they might need no reminders of Christ’s love, seeing it perfectly and remaining in God’s sweet embrace unceasingly, even when things go well and worldly comforts seem like all we need. For myself, however, I know better. I am prone to wander, prone to leave the God I love. Some people might be strong enough, but for us, the broken-hearted and bored in spirit, we must stay close to the practice of fasting to constantly remind ourselves of the indescribable love of God.

When we fast, we commit ourselves to a time of suffering and in doing so, offer God our hearts: we speak to Him in humble adoration: “here’s my heart, O take and seal it.” Our commitment to the fast is a commitment to remain beside God, in God, and with God; when the fast is over, our souls shall be strengthened, knowing better how to commit to a God who has never stopped committing Himself to us.

My name is Tommy Murray, I’m a third-year from NOVA (sorry) majoring in economics and PPL. One of my favorite saints is St. Francis de Sales. He is an incredible writer on achieving spiritual tranquility in the face of great worldly temptation and interior turmoil/depression. I highly recommend reading his stuff, especially since we are college students seeking to author their faith in a fast-paced college environment with little concern for the interior spiritual life. In my free time, I love kayaking, reading, and running. My favorite way to pray is the Ignatian Examen—I can’t recommend it enough. For me, it’s a great spiritual practice that I try to use daily to see God’s love more clearly.