ZPCBlog

Here's what I need you to know: if you make space for God, he will fill it up, and when God fills a space, he transforms it.

Here's a second thing I need you to know: the transformation won't be what you expect, and it will probably take longer than you’d like. You may feel like nothing at all is happening to you. You may feel like the husk of your identity is being peeled back layer by layer until you're sure there'll be nothing but a tiny naked seedling left at the end. It will be uncomfortable; it might be boring, but if you keep holding space open for God, he will transform you.

If you still intend to make space for God after reading all of that, you should know that it will be messy.

To that end, this devotional is about how I failed at fasting on Wednesdays during Lent, and how God met me anyway.

I thought I would be, for lack of a better word, “good” at fasting because I’d been practicing it for a year. Instead, I found myself back in the familiar territory of having a sudden health crisis, one that made it difficult to practice the spiritual discipline of fasting.

It started on Ash Wednesday, when I found myself unexpectedly overcome with exhaustion after a morning appointment. I’d been planning to attend the noon service at ZPC before preschool pickup, but as I got into my car to drive to the church, I heard my mind and body pleading for rest. This was not a typical mid-morning slump, but a total and crushing fatigue. Instead of driving to church to receive ashes, I drove home, lay down in bed, and felt small and helpless. I wanted to be sitting in the sanctuary with my church family, listening to Jerry as he invited us to fast together. I wanted to be part of what God was doing at our church. I was sure that my weakness was holding me back.

All throughout Lent, my body continued to trouble me. One Wednesday morning, I started out fasting but developed terrible nausea and a headache within a few hours. I broke my fast and took Advil and lay down in bed until I felt better. Sometimes things would start off all right in the morning and then I would hit a wall in the afternoon. In the face of total emotional and physical collapse, I’d make an early dinner for the whole family. When that didn't satisfy me, I'd have a glass of wine followed by another 1200 calories of snacks and a few hours of Netflix to sate all of my cravings.

I knew that fasting wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to give in early and binge on food and entertainment. My fasting hadn’t been like this in the past--I had fasted even longer than I’d set out to! More importantly, my days of fasting had been mindful, intentional, and rich. I’d made time for scripture and prayer during each fast. But somehow every single Wednesday during Lent was booked solid with appointments so that even on the days I was fasting from food, I wasn’t feasting on God.

And yet, there were moments of profound provision. During one of my morning fasts, I met a senior saint for tea and found a kindred spirit who cried with me over God’s goodness in our lives and families. She spoke words that my soul longed to hear. She showered me with wisdom and love and gave me hope for my wild boys and their weak mother.

Later that day, I took all three boys for simultaneous dental cleanings followed by two orthodontic checkups. I'd scheduled the dental cleaning six months ago, of course, and the orthodontic check up had lined up seemingly perfectly right afterwards since the offices were next door to each other. But I hadn't accounted for the squirrelly behavior of boys who'd been in school or the car or a waiting room all day. By the end of the second appointment, the kids were yelling in the waiting room and throwing toys, and I was not far from throwing things myself. I furiously lectured the boys on the drive home and made dire threats about everyone's Saturday screentime. I silently berated myself for my lack of foresight and total loss of control with the kids. How could I experience God’s provision of hope and encouragement from another woman that morning and completely lose it with my kids a few hours later? I couldn’t help but think that things would be a lot easier if I wasn’t hungry.

With how poorly things were going during Lent, I was not sorry to arrive at one of the last Wednesday fasts. Of course, I somehow had appointments all morning again, and I was predictably hungry and frustrated with my kids in the afternoon. I was feeling weak and tired and angry at God. I said, “Father, why are you making it so hard for me to fast? Why are these health problems coming up now, when I so wanted to have a meaningful Lent with the church? And who is going to take care of my kids today if I have to lay down again?”

My father responded so gently, “Why don’t you ask me to take care of them?”

Only God could cut so clearly to my heart in ten words. I gave up my kids to him and lay down to think about how well he knows me. 

He knows that even when I'm fasting, I want to feel strong and capable. I want to be able to do it all despite being hungry and weak. I want to be the one to take care of my kids even though I know I can’t meet all of their needs; even though I say I want them to trust in God and not in me.

This is how I realized that it's possible to fast during Lent and still place your trust in yourself. After all, fasting is not a golden ticket to God's presence. Even the kingdom of this world is preaching about fasting these days--intermittent fasting is all over the internet. The world’s kind of fasting is about finding the perfect caloric schedule to burn fat and boost your immune system and kill off harmful cells in your body. The world's wisdom is always about maximizing your potential, being the best version of yourself, optimizing everything! And we who follow Jesus are hearing the siren song of improving ourselves every time we engage our culture. 

Here is how that song can weave itself into your life's melody: I believed that my fasting was about making myself better so that God could speak to me.

I had to learn, again, that Godly fasting is not about becoming your "best self." Rather, it is an informed and persevering choice to make yourself weak, to make yourself uncomfortable, to make yourself vulnerable, because we believe God chooses to work through the weak, the uncomfortable, and the vulnerable.

This week we celebrate Christ's resurrection, but there is no resurrection from the tomb without death on the cross. Furthermore, the Gospels teach that Christ's death was more than just his path to resurrection--it was his enthronement! Christ became King by embracing shame, suffering, and death--the things the world fears most. He defeated the powers of the world not by optimizing his life, but by laying it down in love. This is the Good News--Christ is King and his Kingdom comes through sacrificial love. Our calling as followers of Christ, as citizens of his Kingdom, is to live after his example--to embrace weakness and suffering and insignificance in order to love one another. 

We do not have to be our best self for God to use us. From the beginning, God chose the barren woman, the second-born son, and the prophet who was slow of speech. God’s ways are not our ways. I've come to understand that fasting is a gateway to the reality of living more fully in God’s Kingdom. We act out with our bodies--with our actual guts--our faith that God moves when we are weak, hungry, and very much not our best selves. The truth is that God doesn’t need us, but he chooses to use us, and he is able to work most powerfully when we give up control, when we see ourselves for what are: dust-bunnies made majestic with the breath of God.

Prayer: