On Fasting

"Do not deprive one another, except perhaps by agreement for a limited time, that you may devote yourselves to prayer." 1 Corinthians 7:5

For many of us, the “Break the Fast” dinners that took place this summer were a new—and perhaps uncomfortable—experience. Fasting is simply not something that our North American evangelical culture routinely engages in. Consequently, while we recognize its place within Scripture, we often find ourselves unable to makes sense of why we are called to do it. Are we trying to impress God? Restrain the flesh? Focus our thoughts? In as much as the mandate to “fast and pray” is a biblical one, I offer the following thoughts.

Fasting in Scripture is typically associated with great need. We fast because we have a desperate desire to hear from God in this matter, at this time. It is the natural expression of our soul-hunger for God. We fast because our circumstances, whether personal or corporate, have grown beyond us. We fast because we need the grace of God to shower upon us in fresh new ways.

It seems to me that fasting is not a direct means of igniting spiritual hunger, but rather of paving the way for, and preserving, an already present spiritual hunger. Fasting is a form of preparation, an intentional cleansing of all distractions that would come between the believer and the God whom he desperately seeks to lay hold of. It is David laying aside Saul’s armor in preparation for the giant. It is Elijah girding his loins before his desert flight. It is the man rushing into a room with the long sought treasure map and, with the sweep of his arm, clearing the table in order that he might make undistracted use of the map. We fast because we want nothing—not even food—to distract us from our desperate desire to encounter God. It is the same logic found in 1 Corinthians 7:5, where Paul talks about a husband and wife fasting from sex in order to focus on prayer. Sex, like food, is a good thing. But there are times when that which is good must be laid aside to seek after that which is best. And so we fast because we deeply desire to lay hold of God and because we want nothing to dull this desire.

In many ways, fasting—whether it be from food or sex—is a form of mourning; a refusal to go on with “life as usual.” Like the bereaved lover who does not desire to be comforted, so too we fast because we do not want our earnestness to hear from God lessened by a numbing slide back into normalcy. Fasting sanctifies our desire and serves as a constant reminder that things are not right—that we must hear from God in this matter, at this time. When we have arrived in such a state of mind, eating becomes a sacrilege, a profaning of a holy moment—like boisterous laughing at a funeral. To eat is to squelch the soul-hunger, and desecrates our profound sense of holy dissatisfaction. We fast because we have arrived at that particular place where nothing but a fresh encounter with God will suffice; a place where must see the hand of God move. We fast because the status quo is no longer acceptable.

The convicting thing then, is not that we fast so little. It’s that we feel so little need to fast.

So let’s all pray together that God would spark in us a hunger for more of Christ. And let us fast together that nothing would stand in the way of us realizing this desire.