Sabbath Devotional :: A Testimony of Fasting

I just gained a testimony of fasting. But it happened backwards.

My mom always told me about how fasting made her feel a sort of mental and spiritual clarity, that it amplified her ability to tackle important ideas and challenges.

To me it always seemed like going hungry, book-ended with prayer, and accompanied by a donation slip.

Except for those first Sundays when I remembered not to eat, but forgot to pray. Then it was just going hungry. And sometimes, having forgotten to pray, I would throw my hands up, declare a “failed fast,” and write my check for fast offerings, resolving to do better next time.

I’m a foodie. I love food. Good food. And lots of it. I was that girl on dates who ordered as much as the guy and cleared my plate. I’m the one at business dinners daring everyone to chip in personal cash so we can order more courses.

So it was surprising when, after a recent research conference, I wasn’t hungry.

I’d been talking with friends, colleagues and coworkers about everything from new collaborations to spiritual experiences. I felt spiritually and emotionally connected with my work and the people around me. My mind was alive with new ideas, and I was quickly finding solutions to old problems and the motivation to move forward.

I felt the Spirit. I felt clarity of mind. And toward the end of a delicious three-course meal I had paid for out of my own pocket, I found that I didn’t want to finish the food on my plate.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t hungry.

That feeling of being alive and on fire lasted for most of the next week. I could see pathways forward in my work and personal life that had been obscured before. I connected deeply and meaningfully with my spouse and kids. I was present, focused, alive. And I didn’t eat much.

It’s not that I was too busy to eat — I would sit down for a meal or, when I was alone in the house, go to prepare myself a snack. I had room in my life for food, I just didn’t want it as much.

I was filled with other things. I was being sustained by other things. And suddenly it occurred to me: Maybe this is one of the beauties and powers of fasting. Maybe it provides the space in one’s system to be filled with things other than food.

Maybe it provides a purposeful way to let the Spirit in. To find balance in our system of needs — to allow room for more ways of feeling whole. To amplify the nonphysical ways in which our human experience is constructed. Prayer invites the Spirit — and fasting with prayer says, in effect, “I have provided a space for you in my body and in my life.” It sets an intention to fill the emptiness with the power of God.

Writing this, I am acutely aware of the privilege I exhibit when I talk about food as though it is something I can just have or not have according to my whims. There are so many in this world — in my own community — who are not so fortunate. They do not have the privilege of eating whenever, whatever, or however much they want.

I go without food because I choose to. There are others who go without food because they have none.

In a very practical sense, there is an elegance to the willingness to go without food so others can eat. And the ritual of providing monthly fast offerings in a system that promotes self-reliance, employment opportunity, and provisions for emergency food and shelter gives me the chance to think meaningfully about other ways I might give and serve.

But this idea — this idea of fasting providing an opportunity to be filled with things other than food — highlights another hunger faced by many. Are they filled by the gift of the Holy Ghost? Are their reservoirs of meaningful personal connection full? Or are we starving people of more than just physical sustenance?

The ritual of fasting is connected with considering the poor among us. But perhaps we should think about more than just filling their bellies. Perhaps we need to think prayerfully about filling their souls and hunger for human connection as well. And maybe we should do the same for ourselves.