By Steven Norris
Next week begins the season of Lent for the church (Ash Wednesday is February 18). Fasting is one of the key practices of this season. The following is adapted from my book, Emptied Out: A Personal Journey Through Lent.
I was ten years old. My mom had to send a note to my teachers explaining why I was not going to eat lunch that day. It was a religious ritual and the teachers did not need to provide me with a special meal. It was my decision to join the adults from my church in the fast on Ash Wednesday. We didn’t eat after dinner on Tuesday and fasted all day Wednesday until our Ash Wednesday service, after which we would share a simple meal together.
Everything was going as expected. I had fought through the hunger pains at breakfast, determined to discipline myself like everyone else. I made it through lunch, even though I had to explain to a few friends why I was refusing to eat; even though they had offered to share some of their lunch with me. I walked home after school and arrived safely with my little brother back in the sanctuary of our house. And then it happened . . . I let my guard down.
I hadn’t thought anything about the Pepperidge Farm Goldfish sitting out on the counter. I didn’t realize what I was doing until I had stuffed a handful of crackers into my mouth, savored the real cheddar cheese and swallowed them down into my empty, grumbling stomach. I blew it! I had failed. One simple task — don’t eat for 24 hours — and I couldn’t even do that. I was doomed. I couldn’t go to church that night. I couldn’t face all those other people who had successfully kept their fast. I didn’t deserve a seat at the table with the “real” fasters. I was failure. I had let God down. I had given in to real cheddar cheese sin.
I know, it all seems a bit melodramatic. Thankfully, I had a mom who granted me a pardon and we were able to go and participate in the service without too many debilitating guilt pangs. Too often, we associate fasting with this kind of legalistic attitude. In Isaiah 58, the prophet was confronting just such an attitude. The people of Israel were keeping fast days, just as they were expected to do. They would go through all the motions — bowed head, sackcloth and ashes, saying and doing all the “right” things. The problem was that the focus was exclusively on rituals.
Isaiah suggests that the fast God desires is this: to let the oppressed go free, share bread with the hungry, give shelter to the homeless, clothe the naked, and embrace a life of humility. In short, the fast that God desires propels you outside of yourself and helps to transform the world around you. If you choose to fast as part of your Lenten journey this year, take some time to consider the status of your heart. May our fasting move beyond ritual and ground us in transformation — becoming more like Christ as God’s word takes root in our hearts.