FASTING FOR THE MASSES
Many Western Christians, particularly Protestants, think of fasting (if they do at all) as a tool for intensifying prayer; Richard J. Foster, author of “Celebration of Discipline,” says that “the central idea in fasting is the voluntary denial of an otherwise normal function for the sake of intense spiritual activity.” Narrow-focus fasting like this can powerfully enhance intercession, repentance, and other spiritual undertakings.
There is a broader use of the discipline in the history of the church, however: regular, corporate, extended fasting, as a means of broader spiritual growth. The earliest existing Christian document outside Scripture is the Didache, or the Teaching of the Twelve Apostles (dates vary; but it may have been written as early as A.D. 70). The Didache reminds believers that the Jews fast on Tuesday and Thursday-remember the publican in Luke who stated, “I fast twice a week”? But the Didache does not say, “So avoid that foolishness, because we don’t need it.” No, this earliest church-discipline text instructs that Christians should fast as well, but on Wednesdays (the day of Judas’s betrayal) and Fridays (the day of the Crucifixion).
Doesn’t this veer uncomfortably close to salvation by works? Southern Baptist minister Dallas Willard writes in “The Spirit of the Disciplines,” “We have simply let our thinking fall into the grip of a false opposition of grace to ‘works’ that was caused by a mistaken association of works with ‘merit.’” This confusion results in lives that are not spiritually pure or healthy, as we do not know how to harness the power that made Christians of other ages spiritual giants.
Willard proposes that we take seriously the disciplines of the spiritual life: “Disciplines of Abstinence” (including solitude, silence, fasting, chastity, and sacrifice) and “Disciplines of Engagement” (like study, worship, service, prayer, and confession). If we want truly changed and empowered lives, we must be as self-disciplined, and as constant in our disciplines, as an athlete. Willard says that it is not enough to be like the boy who, admiring his baseball hero, imitates the way he holds his bat. The athlete did not win success by holding the bat a distinctive way, but by disciplining himself to a lifetime of training and practice.
Willard is not the first to use this analogy, of course; Paul wrote, “Athletes exercise self-control in all things; they do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable one. Well, I do not run aimlessly, nor do I box as though beating the air, but I punish my body and enslave it, so that after preaching to others I myself should not be disqualified” (1 Cor. 9:25-27).
Fasting is a key, not only to overcoming gluttony, but to other self-disciplines as well. Willard writes: “Since food has the pervasive place it does in our lives, the effects of fasting will be diffused throughout our personality. In the midst of all our needs and wants, we experience the contentment of the child that has been weaned from its mother’s breast” (Ps. 131:2).
This psalm had always puzzled me; it was only in researching this article that it became clear. I had seen the contentment of a nursing child and wondered why the psalmist didn’t use that image. I believe the point is this: the weaned child has learned to be satisfied with another food. We do not live by bread alone.
While the discipline of fasting has gone through seasons of use and disuse in the West, Eastern Christians have maintained it consistently. In fact, from the date of the Didache to this, Eastern Orthodox Christians still abstain from meat on Wednesdays and Fridays. In the weeks before Easter, Orthodox heighten their fasting; for those seven weeks they eat no meat, fish, or dairy products. It is a rigorous discipline, one eased by the knowledge that millions of other Orthodox around the world are fasting at the same time. It is not seen as a way of earning salvation or anything else; the recurrent metaphors are of “exercise” or “medicine” for the soul.
DARE TO BE DISCIPLINED
In the midst of Lent, I spoke with several Orthodox Christians about the experience of that discipline. Because several had previously been members of other churches, they were able to contrast this extended, corporate discipline with individual, one-day fasting. Among the comments:
“There’s definitely strength in numbers.”
“Because it’s not just intensely focused on one day or one prayer need, it can spread through all your life and change you.”
“We all fast together, just like we all feast together. It wouldn’t be fun to feast by yourself.”
“The first year I did this, it was like ‘Let’s hurry up and get through this and get to Pascha [Easter], get back to regular eating.’ Now its more like a chance to get back on track, to try to bring the rest of the year up to this mark of discipline.”
One woman had been Orthodox for all her 86 years. She said, “My mother taught us as little kids to thank the dear Lord for the opportunity to have this fasting. I feel like it cleanses my body. I look forward to it every year.” In fact, many Orthodox I talked with agreed: somewhat to their surprise, every year they look forward to the Lenten fast, much like an athlete, on arising in the morning, may look forward to going for a jog.
Only by testing can believers discover whether fasting bears fruit for them. Taking on fasting means pursuing self-discipline through some irksome trials, an ability many modern-day Christians can well afford to learn. But heed Saint John’s advice: Do not attempt too discouragingly much at once; do not try to go up the whole ladder in a single step.
The law of the jungle is “Eat or be eaten.” Indulging in gluttony seems like a private vice, a “cute sin,” a matter between only the tempted diner and the eclair. But undisciplined indulgence in the pleasure of food costs us more than we dream: it coarsens and darkens our minds and ruins our powers of attention and self-control, of sobriety and vigilance. It hobbles and confuses us. It makes us prey for another Eater.
The one who bids us to his marriage supper will not devour us; in fact, he promises to feed us. But there is more; he does not feed us only with the good things he has made, or even the goodness of supernatural food like manna. He feeds us his very self. It is this other bread we must learn to eat, not “bread alone” but the Word of God himself. At the Communion table this becomes not just theory, but a true encounter-a feast that binds hungry sinners together and links us to the One who alone can feed our souls.
“Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever, and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh…. Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you” (John 6:49-53).
Lord, give us this bread always!
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Frederica Mathewes-Green is the author of “Real Choices” (Questar), a syndicated columnist with Religion News Service, and khouria (priest’s wife) in the Antiochian Orthodox Church.
Copyright (c) 1995 Christianity Today, Inc./CHRISTIANITY TODAY Magazine ctcurrmrj5TD0445B6r
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