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On the first two trips, the shorter ones, I prayed fervently for my preferred solution to my friend's problem. On the third trip, I realized I had spent no time trying to hear God's voice on the subject, so 1 began to ask God to teach me how to pray for the problem. I found myself thanking God for the ways he has helped my friend cope and for the ways he has brought good things to her because of this unresolved issue. Then my prayers changed again, and I began to focus on her family. By the fourth car trip, I was praying for the problem in a totally different way and this new way of praying continued to influence my prayers after the fast day ended.
On the two longer car trips, I didn't pray continuously. My thoughts would drift off to other things. But, as I expected, the absence of music, the hum of traffic and the roar of my muffler reminded me numerous times that I had committed myself to pray while I drove.
This form of fasting communicates a profound freedom. I don't have to do things the same way, day after day. I am not a slave to my habits. I can change things around, I can try new things, and I can experience companionship with God in new ways. I am free to lightheartedly stop a habit for a day and experience new things with God, even as my heart is heavy and I am praying fervently for my friend's needs.
Freedom, not self-punishment
As I write about many specific issues related to fasting, I want to argue that fasting is essentially about freedom: The freedom to make time to read the Bible and draw near to God. The freedom to pray passionately for the needs of people near and far. The freedom to listen to God and change the direction of our prayers. The freedom to feel the full range of human emotions mirrored so passionately in the Psalms. The freedom to embrace a rhythm that includes days and weeks of ordinary everyday consumption of food and entertainment, days of fasting, and great celebrations of feasting, when we eat special foods and indulge in favorite activities.
Linda, a medical assistant who was raised in a Roman Catholic family, remembers the Fridays of her childhood, when her family ate macaroni and cheese or Tuna Helper instead of meat. She reflects, "Fasting in my childhood was about self-punishment because we are sinful." She does not fast today because she doesn't believe God wants us to punish ourselves. Linda is right that God doesn't want us to punish ourselves. Fasting as self-punishment denies the freedom God gives us in Christ. Fasting as self-punishment does not create space for prayer, give energy to our prayers or enable us to listen to God.
Jodie, an office manager in her 50s, echoes the theme of self-punishment, taking it even further. She is adamant that "not eating is not good." She cannot see any way that fasting could he a healthy spiritual discipline. Fasting, Jodie says, runs the risk of being theologically or spiritually abusive. It surely calls on the perceived dichotomy between body and soul, physical and spiritual, as if there can be no integration, no unity, no fullness of self. I find that worldview to be a denial of God's good creation, and one that has caused innumerable problems for Christians over the years. Deny the body. Deny the appetites. Don't have fun. Of course, the other side—indulge to excess—is equally spiritually bankrupt and self-destructive. We are a part of creation, and our bodies and appetites are a part of creation. We should rejoice in that, not deny and reject it. Our spirits are intimately connected to our bodies, and to deny the latter is to cripple the former.
