Not To Fast
How Christians fast our cake and eat it, too
Fasting has changed my life twice.
In a recent post, I announced my intention to write a series of essays about faith, religion, and church. It isn’t quite a plan—meaning there’s no list of subjects to cover nor any certain order. If there were, though, this one would be at the top, circled and underlined in marker. It’s the one, as an emblem, that sums up my misgivings with the religious project I was part of.
What I want to write here is a kitchen-sink post, explaining at length my thoughts about fasting and its treatment in popular evangelicalism1. Fasting isn’t the topic as such—rather it’s the key on a map, pointing and showing us around, helping us decipher our real and stated beliefs.
In chapter sixteen of his satire, The Screwtape Letters, CS Lewis identifies one fictional pastor as part of a repeating type:
“[The pastor] is a man who has been so long engaged in watering down the faith to make it easier for a supposedly incredulous and hard-headed congregation that it is now he who shocks his parishioners with his unbelief, not vice versa. He has undermined many a soul’s Christianity.”
Lewis’s unbelieving pastor redefines Christianity’s terms “to spare the laity all difficulties.” He throws out anything that could be an obstacle on his imagined opponent’s journey to belief. It’s not that the unbelieving pastor dis-believes; it’s that he’s thrown out all material of belief.
Though I’ve only met one atheistic priest (an incredible story, but one for another day), I’m well familiar with the pattern of unbelief Lewis describes. It’s a path I saw to its ultimate conclusion before leaving my career in ministry.
What is fasting?
Fasting is the practice, typically religious, of abstaining from food for a period of time. It’s a practice of devotion, the effect of which is totally evident but frankly hard to describe. You curb your animal desires and become more attuned to God and to your spiritual condition. For someone like me who overindulges in food, there’s something about a little hunger that brings clarity—and yes, a little hunger is enough to do the trick.
I don’t believe in Christian self-flagellation. The memorable instance of Jesus fasting lasted 40 days in the wilderness, but Christians have fasted in various ways throughout history. Today, I’ll typically fast with no food till sundown—starting the evening before or the morning of. On a longer fast, I’ll allow myself soup or basic smoothies. The point isn’t to punish yourself, nor to accomplish some milestone. The point is to be hungry.
Of course, intermittent fasting (the health-focused trend) has gained prominence in recent years—meaning those who never would have fasted religiously are now open to the concept.
What’s the question, then? The Bible and dictionary agree. Inside the church and out, fasting means people don’t eat.
Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. If you think fasting is a term easily defined, you underestimate the logic of unbelief. A few years ago I found myself working in ministry, tasked with a church-wide campaign where we effectively urged people not to fast.
Fasting firsts
In 2021, I fasted for the first time. During a prayer meeting accompanying a church-wide fast, I sensed a directive to relocate to my university’s campus in Florida and change my degree to English. The thought had never crossed my mind, and suddenly I knew it like I knew my name. It was the first of a few events that reshuffled the deck for me, and it all began in prayer on an empty stomach.
I don’t deserve any credit. Honestly, fasting is both difficult and easy—but not in the ways I was raised to expect.
