A different kind of fast
During the liturgical season of Lent, we prepare for the celebration of Easter. Much like the Advent period which precedes Christmas, this is a time for putting things in order, for dusting off the shelves, for preparing the decorations and for stocking up on all the supplies needed for the approaching feast. In the days leading up to the mid-winter celebration, we are only too well acquainted with the frantic pace at which all this preparation must be done, but the Lenten period has always seemed to have a very different colour and feel, at least to me.
It’s true that there are preparations to be made before the Easter Sunday feast that many of us will share with our families, but the preparations for Easter are much deeper than just getting material goods in the pantry and stocking up our freezers. These forty days are a precious time during which we have the gift of time and opportunity to put our lives in order, to dust off the shelves of our own pretences and to renew our commitment to follow in the footsteps of the Master.
In order to do this kind of dusting and cleaning, the Church proposes the discipline of fasting. Traditionally, many of us look at this discipline as having to do with things. We speak of giving up things like chocolate and television for Lent, but if we limit our understanding to that which we can give up, then we run the risk of missing out on the deeper richness that this discipline offers. The same would be true if we were to read today’s first reading and take it only at face value. God gave his beloved people the Commandments so that we might have some idea of the limits within which we must live, much like parents give their children rules today to define that which is good for them, and that which has the potential to put them at risk.
Consider for a moment the possibility that the Commandments might be interpreted not only as sign posts and definitions of limits, but that within their limits lies the possibility of great freedom, and the promise of great joy for us because we know that within these boundaries we live in union with God. All humans need limits in order to know when we’ve crossed the line. If we understand the rules, we can also understand the consequences. Fasting too can be seen as a restricting discipline, or as a means of helping us to welcome Jesus’ healing in our lives.
What if we were to look at fasting in a different light? What if we considered fasting not only from food, a discipline which has the power to focus our thought on prayer, but perhaps fasting from anger and hatred? Is it possible that anger and hatred can be replaced with intentional acts of love directed toward those we love the most? What if we considered fasting from the temptation to judge others, and seeing such temptations as occasions to remember how Jesus overlooks our faults? What if we were to fast from discouragement, and choose rather to focus on to Jesus’ promise that he has a plan for our lives, a plan that is constantly unfolding? What if we were to fast from complaining, and choose rather to focus on some of the little moments of joy that Jesus gives us every day? What if we were to fast from resentment and bitterness and work instead on forgiving those who may have hurt us? What if we were to intentionally fast from spending too much money, and replace the temptation to have all the physical possessions that don’t truly answer our craving for deep meaning, and choose rather to share some of our wealth with those who are not so fortunate?
Could it be that the discipline of fasting is meant to help us cleanse our lives like Jesus cleansed the Temple? If we were courageous enough to rid ourselves of fears, attitudes and judgements that stop us from knowing Him as he truly is, perhaps we might discover the true message of the cross which appears as foolishness to those who don’t understand it. Perhaps we might even come to understand that God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.
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