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Some pre-Lent thoughts: fasting and feasting

Some people eat to live, and others live to eat. I fall into the latter camp, which is why I’ve been both confused and fascinated by the fasting trend that has flooded the health and wellness movement in the last few years. To temporarily deprive oneself of food in service of a larger goal — for some, weight loss; for others, metabolic health or mental clarity — is the kind of challenge that borders on unreasonable. To me, fasting ranks just below ice baths in terms of appeal.

And yet, my faith tradition has encouraged fasting since before its health benefits were known. Rooted in Jewish spirituality, Christianity has always included fasting as a form of embodied prayer: in allowing ourselves to feel physical hunger, we access our hunger for God. When my stomach is empty, I’m reminded to pray more often — either for specific things I want to focus on, or for the mercy not to snap at my children in my hangry state. Fasting also reminds me, in a small way, of the many people around the world who struggle to find their next meal. This should ultimately benefit them: when those with plenty willingly abstain from some standard indulgences (for example, lunch), we realize there is enough to share with those in need. Fasting is a social as well as a spiritual exercise.

Since the early centuries of the church, Christians’ longest corporate fast has happened during Lent. The 40-day period preceding Easter recalls Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness, during which time he fasted in preparation for his ministry. For some Christians, Lent was a time of preparation to be baptized; for others, it was a time to come back to their faith after a season of waywardness. For all believers, Lent was a time to “lean in” to Jesus’ story— especially his passion and death — and to be conformed more fully to it. For this reason, fasting and prayer during Lent were accompanied by almsgiving. Just as Jesus’ holiness didn’t benefit only himself but was for the sake of the world, so too our Christian devotion should always have an outward component. Holiness and justice are meant to go hand in hand.

Today, Christians around the world still observe Lent and its accompanying practices of prayer, almsgiving and fasting. But they do so in creative and diverse ways. Some people I know fast from food on one or more days during the week; others fast from alcohol or sweets or even social media. The point is not to pick the hardest challenge or the one that will simultaneously boost one’s ego (this is not about weight loss), but to immerse oneself in 40 days that truly feel set apart from the rest of the year. At many churches, Sunday services during Lent are set apart with different colors in the sanctuary, specific Bible readings and other tweaks to the service to help us experience the sobriety of the season. As we journey with Jesus toward his death, we reflect on his great gift of self — and we are more prepared to celebrate the miracle of his resurrection.

The heaviness and length of Lent might give the impression that Christianity is all about ascetism and discipline. It is not. We fast for 40 days, but then we celebrate Easter for 50. We even designate every Sunday during Lent as a “little Easter” in which fasts may cease. (When my friend, who gave up chocolate for Lent first learned about Sunday feast days, she was ecstatic.) In the Christian story, discipline and self-denial and the cross are important, but they give way to greater and more lasting realities: resurrection and renewal and celebration. Because of Jesus, joy wins.

This seeming tension — of joy on the other side of heaviness and a feast within a fast — has shaped my life in a personal way. As a child, I experienced profound and irreversible loss within my family. My early encounter with grief taught me that some “fasts” are not chosen. Sometimes we are sent into the wilderness whether we want to go or not. But the story of Jesus, who entered the wilderness of the human experience with us and on our behalf, spoke to me in a way nothing else could. Following him has not led me out of the wilderness entirely yet, but to places of refreshment and hope within the wilderness — to a feast within the fast.

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(Hannah Miller King is a priest at The Vine Anglican Church in Clyde and the author of “Feasting On Hope: How God Sets a Table in the Wilderness.”)

Join the feast

I write about this experience in my first book, a theological memoir called “Feasting On Hope: How God Sets a Table in the Wilderness.” It will be available on February 17, at Panacea Coffee House in Waynesville, where my church is throwing a Fat Tuesday party for the community. We’ll kick off the season of Lent with a pre-fast feast (pancakes and all the fixings, plus drinks from Panacea and Frog Level Brewing) and a conversation about fasting, feasting, Lent, and hope. Book proceeds will benefit Haywood Pathways Center, which supports those in our community experiencing homelessness. All are welcome. The event is free but please RSVP here so we can prepare enough food. Come feast with us!

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