How fast are you?

When we think about rewards, we often think of getting what we deserve. We work in such a way to get a reward that corresponds to our effort.

But the reward Jesus is referring to is not meritorious. Fasting does not put God in our debt. It is not a technique that puts us in good standing with God. God offers, as a gift, the satisfaction of our desires—desires that are ultimately for him.

David explains this reward further in Psalm 63. He begins the psalm by saying to the Lord,

         O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;

            my soul thirsts for you;

         my flesh faints for you,

            as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. (v. 1)

David has developed a hunger, an appetite for God. He goes on,

         So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary,

            beholding your power and glory.

         Because your steadfast love is better than life. (vv. 2–3)

Notice all the action verbs? Seek you; thirst for you; faint for you; look to you; behold you. Is that characteristic of your spiritual life? Is there seeking, thirsting, fainting, looking, beholding?

Then David describes the reward of all these actions:

         My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food,

            and my mouth will praise you with joyful lips. (v. 5)

He’s describing the satisfaction of eating a rich and satisfying feast. God has prepared a feast for David. What makes it a feast is that he hasn’t gone after the easy comfort of mediocre meals. He has learned how to be hungry.

All of us keep things in our lives that dampen our hunger for God, so we never feel the deep hunger pangs of our souls. We are always full but never satisfied. Regular rhythms of fasting have a way of connecting our physical hunger to our spiritual hunger. The growl of our stomachs reminds us that we also have a growl in our souls. We can fast from all kinds of things—media, alcohol, chocolate—but there’s something about physical hunger that transforms our hearts.

As in other spiritual disciplines, there’s an element of waiting in fasting. It teaches our hearts that we need something deeper than bread and more sustaining than water. Paul says in 1 Corinthians 6:13, “‘Food is meant for the stomach and the stomach for food,’ and God will destroy both.” He’s quoting a popular saying among the first-century Corinthians, which implies that our sexual desires are as natural as our cravings for food. Just as we eat when we’re hungry, so we have sex when we crave it. It’s as simple as that.

But Paul argues that our desires are not primarily meant for immediate gratification. Our bodies and our desires find their ultimate fulfilment in God. “Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ? … Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price” (1 Corinthians 6:15, 19-20).

Fasting, then, teaches our hearts that satisfaction in God, rather than immediate gratification in food (or sex or social media), makes us more joyful in this world. Fasting enlarges our hearts and deepens our joy in God by making more room for him rather than cluttering our hearts up with mediocre things.

Fasts lead to feasts. If fasting lifts creation up to the Supper of the Lamb, feasting gives us a taste of it. We ought to grow our hunger for God, but let’s not pretend God is stingy—he owns the cattle on a thousand hills. Earthly feasts prepare us for heavenly ones, giving testimony to what they will be like. 

“Man invented cooking,” says Capon, “before he thought of nutrition. To be sure, food keeps us alive, but that is only its small and most temporary work. Its eternal purpose is to furnish our sensibilities against the day when we shall sit down at the heavenly banquet and see how gracious the Lord is.” Fasts teach us how to be hungry; feasts teach us how to be full. Both teach us about heaven and how to be satisfied when we get there. “Nourishment is necessary only for a while; what we shall need forever is taste.”8

So, yes, we ought to practice a regular rhythm of fasting but stabilise our souls with feasts too. If you’ve never practised either on a regular basis, let me offer some guidance.

A traditional time when Christians ordinarily take time to fast is Lent, right before Easter. Or you may be facing a season of spiritual dryness or distance from God and long for more intimacy. So make space in your week for fasting. Start with a meal. Make some accommodations ahead of time to fast in private. If you are at work during your times of fasting, have some plans on how to keep your fasts for God to see rather than others. During lunch, instead of eating, use the time to pray.

Jesus says in the wilderness while he’s fasting, “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matthew 4:4). God’s Word is more necessary to us than bread. So when you fast, do what is more necessary. Take the time you would’ve spent eating and meditate on Scripture. Pray for others, confess sin, and enjoy God’s Word, even while you’re feeling the pangs of hunger.

Let your hunger pangs remind you of Christ’s hunger in the wilderness. The Spirit who led Jesus into the wilderness (Matthew 4:1) is the same Spirit who sustains you in your own hunger. Remind yourself of Christ’s thirst on the cross (John 19:28)—when the soldiers heard him cry out, they gave him a sponge full of sour, bitter wine. 

Remember that because of our sin, we deserve that sour, bitter drink with its wrath and condemnation. But Christ, the perfect Son, drank the bitterness for us. He cried out for God and dreamed about the feast—“My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food.” Jesus had experienced that feast with the Father from all eternity. Now he experienced thirst and hunger. But because he thirsted, our thirst can be quenched; because he went hungry, our hunger is satisfied.

Perhaps most challenging is not the time during your usual meal when you pray but the time after. Your body wants relief. A simple prayer—“Help me, Father,” “Give me strength, Lord,” “Satisfy me with your presence, Christ”—will suffice. 

Trust that the Lord will supply what you need. If you fail, don’t be hard on yourself. Try the next week again and pray for help during the week as the day arrives. Remember, fasting doesn’t merit anything. It doesn’t get us into the feast—Jesus does. But fasting does stir and excite the taste buds of our hearts for the true feast of Christ. As you go about your daily labours while you experience hunger, remember that Christ is with you while you work and that every work, however large or small, is done for Christ’s glory.

As you can, increase your fasting to two meals or to a whole day. As with any discipline, it’s best to progress incrementally. The amount of time is not the point; the goal is to increasingly stir your hunger and dependence on Christ, exposing some things (like food or drink) that have control over you. 

Remember that being disciplined is not sanctification in itself. You may be able to fast seven days and still be filled with pride. Seek humility, letting your fasts constantly lead you to neediness and hunger for the Lord. The fruit of your fasts should be more thanksgiving, more awareness of personal sin, and softness of heart. Be wary if your fasts lead to self-righteousness or grumbling.

Longer fasts should be undertaken with some counsel, and not just a doctor’s. Multiday fasts can bring spiritual breakthroughs, but they should be done carefully, with some direction from a pastor or mentor about why or how a longer fast should be undertaken and with wisdom on what to expect.

There are different reasons in Scripture to fast: in response to personal sin (Joel 2:12-13), in times of great urgency of need (Esther 9:30-31), to increase humility (Ezra 8:21), to grieve (Judges 20:26; 1 Samuel 31:13), as an expression of worship (Acts 13:2), and others. But at the core, fasting should stir our inner hunger for God.

Fasts should be followed by feasts. If you are coming off a day-long or multi-day fast, a large multi-course meal may not be easy on your intestines, so give yourself space. Maybe break your fast with a smoothie and then feast the next day. But feast we should, and we should do it in good company.

Gather friends for a meal that everyone is involved in making. Come prepared. Take a nap or sleep longer the night before—no one goes home early from a good feast. Feasts are eternal reminders that food “will always be more delicious than it is useful.”9 So pay attention to calories and nutrition during other times in the week so you won’t have to at the feast.

Set aside phones at the door. Email, text, and Twitter can wait until later. Be present with the people you’re with, who brought the food and drink. Maybe try journaling about your feast rather than posting a picture of it on Instagram.

If you’re hosting or in charge of the feast, come with fun, engaging topics of discussion that reach beyond superficial gossip. Try every kind of food that’s brought and have more than one kind of dessert.

Wine should be served at dinner; have enough available for a few glasses each. Keep the harder liquor for after the meal, when deeper discussions are broken up among smaller groups, scattered around the house.

Have music prepared. A list of songs or a stack of records should be more than just a filler of empty space, but it shouldn’t distract from conversation. I’ve hosted nights when everyone brought a vinyl record of their choice.

Take opportunities to share gratitude, honour one another, give toasts, and even sing if it feels natural. And most of all, remember that Christ is present. Remember he brings the best wine when he comes. He reclines with us, his friends. He’s in our stories, he’s in our laughter, and he’s in our eating and drinking. Those times are best when he is remembered and cherished.

One evening, my wife and I were cleaning up after a meal with friends. As we were rinsing dishes and picking up glasses around the apartment, we laughed together as we remembered some of the best moments of the night. We had been surprised when a shyer friend broke out of her shell and shared her gift of impressions. 

We were glad to toast to a friend who got his dream job that we’d all been praying for. We were so happy to see a friend who had been distant from us for a while, but that night was laughing and seemed to experience love. We were tired and needed to go to bed, but we had full bellies and full hearts—a lot to be thankful for.

The rhythm of feasting and fasting forms hearts at rest with God rather than hearts that restlessly crave the things of this world. It makes the life of prayer easier. Fasting teaches my heart to hunger for the deep things of God. Prayer is the daily feast on those things.

8 Capon, Supper of the Lamb, 40.

9 Capon, Supper of the Lamb, 40.

Starke, J. (2020). The Possibility of Prayer: Finding Stillness with God in a Restless World (pp. 142–149). IVP.