Has Fasting Outlived Its Usefulness?
Sunday of the Prodigal Son
I Corinthians 6:12-20; Luke 15:11-32
Oops!
When I became a catechumen in February of 2005, Lent was just around the corner, just as it is for us now. And though I wasn’t a full member of the Orthodox Church just yet, I decided that I should start acting like I was, so I learned the rules for fasting.
For the next 40 days, as a senior in college, I learned how to make meals without meat, wine, dairy, or oil. Actually … I take that back. I was told by my priest to ease into it, so I mostly avoided meat while keeping dairy in my diet. After all, we still had cheese pizza in our college OCF meetings.
When my mother found out I was fasting, she was concerned. Would I be able to get all the nutrients I needed? Would I stay healthy?
I assured her that I would. After all, if this has been the practice of millions of Orthodox Christians for two millennia, then surely it would be safe. Of course, at that time, I didn’t know that St. John Chrysostom had damaged his stomach and kidneys from extreme fasting, and that he suffered from poor health the rest of his life as a result—but that was extreme fasting, which I was not undertaking.
During that first “Great Fast,” I mostly focused on the rules. What I could and couldn’t eat. And as Lent ended and we resumed our normal Wednesday/Friday fasts, I continued with a legalistic mindset. When I went out with Orthodox friends, or when I was invited to homes, I was always curious: would my friends stick to the rules or break them?
I really wasn’t spiritually maturing from all of this. Instead, I was simply learning rules—pointless rules if you think about it. And what I was actually learning—if I’m honest with myself—was to judge my friends. Friends who should’ve been brothers and sisters in Christ. Friends who are on this journey with me.
Ugh!
When our society thinks about people who fast, they often think of religious extremists. Crazies who probably should be locked up in padded rooms.
But it isn’t just society that thinks this. How often have we encountered a new Orthodox Christian or catechumen, and when they tell us they’re going full throttle with their fasting regiment, do we also judge them? Maybe we think to ourselves, “They should slow down.” Or maybe we quietly back away and find someone ‘normal’ to talk to.
In Orthodox countries, such as Greece, fasting isn’t always received as we would expect it to be. Outside of Holy Week, fasting is often said to be best left to the monks; it’s not something for the average person.
And for those who fast and move beyond the rules, they often undertake fasting as a protest. It’s an eccentric or extreme way of rejecting the world: “death to the world,” as some Orthodox say. There seems to be nothing left to redeem of our world.
It seems fasting is broken, having become nothing more than an unhealthy balance between spirituality, the world, those around us, and the church’s guidance.
So, with Lent just around the corner, should we even bother fasting? Should we fast despite the potential downfalls?
Or is there a better, healthier way to understand fasting?
Aha!
Perhaps there’s a way to reclaim the Great Fast so that it aids us on our spiritual journey. Perhaps it is possible to draw closer to God and to our brothers and sisters in this world by paying attention to what we eat.
I believe the answer can be found in what St. Paul tells us today. He writes,
“All things are lawful to me—but not all are beneficial. All things are lawful to me—but I will not be overpowered by any of them. … And the body is not for sin, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body … Do you not know that your bodies are the Anointed’s members? … [Therefore] Flee from [sin].” (David Bentley Hart’s translation)
According to Paul, the Good News is that the Old Testament law has fallen away. We are no longer bound by prescriptions to circumcise our baby boys or eat kosher. We can put cheese on our hamburgers, and we can work on Saturdays.
But—and this is a big ‘but’—just because we’ve been freed from the law doesn’t mean that everything is now good for us, as I know from personal experience. It’s possible for me to stay up all night, but it’s not very beneficial for me.
It seems the trick is to not be “overpowered” by our freedom, as St. Paul put it. And I think this is the heart of fasting. It isn’t so much about food as it is about discipline: paying attention to the right things. It’s just that to learn this discipline, the church uses food as the example.
I think the Ecumenical Patriarch clarifies what I mean. He wrote,
“[Fasting] ultimately implies focusing on what really matters, prioritizing what one values, and acquiring an attitude of responsiveness and responsibility. … it begins as a form of detachment; however, when we learn what to let go of, we recognize what we should hold on to” (Encountering the Mystery, pg. 82).
In other words, we can’t really say “yes” to God until we learn to say “no” to everything else.
Whee!
We have no better example of this than the parable of the Prodigal Son, which the church gives to us today.
A son, wishing to be free from his father, asks for his inheritance early. When his father surprisingly gives it to him, he flees to a far country and squanders it, which leaves him destitute.
His freedom from his father meant that all things were lawful for him. But, as he found out, that doesn’t mean all things were beneficial. He ended up being jealous of the food that even the pigs ate.
Through his ordeal, this son learned to focus on what really mattered. In his case, putting things right between him and his father. When he had asked for his inheritance, he was essentially saying, “Dad, I wish you were dead because I want your money.”
But as he matured, he realized that he had to let go of his own ego, which was his ‘no,’ and instead, hold on to what really mattered. But it wasn’t easy. He had to admit how he had strayed, which he did.
“Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you, I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” (DBH)
This was his ‘yes,’ and as a result, he grew spiritually, and his father received him back into his home, not as a slave, but as a son.
Yeah!
If we want to grow, if we want to spiritually mature, fasting is a necessity. But we shouldn’t fast in such a way that we become obsessed with food labels.
Instead, we should use the Great Fast of Lent as a way to learn discipline. Use it in such a way to learn how to say ‘no’ to those things that are not beneficial for us, and ‘yes’ to those things that keep us growing closer to Christ.
So the question is: What do you need to say ‘no’ to this Lent?
Is it a particular passion such as lust, greed, gluttony, or pride? Is it a particular bad habit that, though it may not be a ‘sin’ per se, doesn’t really help you? Or perhaps you simply need to say ‘no’ to not making time for God, whether it’s daily prayers or not coming to church on Sundays.
And here’s the greater question: If you were able to detach from that which is holding you back spiritually, what opportunities would open up for you? How could your spiritual life improve?
When you do say ‘yes’ to God, like the Prodigal eventually did, how will it feel to be welcomed home, not as a slave, but as a son?
I can’t wait to find out.
Amen.