Fasting for Freedom - Thoughts on Ash Wednesday
Elizabeth Moore
“On this Ash Wednesday, we remember our mortality. We remember that we will return to dust. We fast & mourn the darkening effect of our sin. We grieve our suffering & our temporary separation from God. We feel it in fasting. We feel that we are incomplete—that we are dying for redemption. We ponder our humanity—remembering that we have no righteousness on our own, only dust & ashes. We feel deeply our desire to be redeemed. We bow our heads and rend our hearts in humble self-awareness. We hope in the One who sees and redeems.”
I was in junior high the first time I noticed my Catholic and Episcopalian friends leaving school to go to mass on Ash Wednesday.
Around mid-morning, they all stood up and silently walked out of the classroom. The teacher gave an understanding nod of approval, like they were all privy to a peaceful secret or plan. No one mentioned their absence.
When they returned in the afternoon, there were dark smudges in the shape of a cross on their foreheads. I remember feeling embarrassed for them. Did they know they had marks on their foreheads? Would the football boys make fun of them?
But no one did. Somehow, even as seventh graders, we understood the somber, sacred symbol our classmates bore, and we stared in dumbfounded respect as they re-entered the classroom.
The whole liturgical calendar is a mystery to me. A beautiful mystery. My evangelical background didn’t teach me to observe seasons like Lent, Holy Week, Eastertide, Pentecost, or Epiphany. We lit candles and did devotionals for Advent, but that’s about it. Until now, Lent has gone unobserved in my body, mind, and heart.
But lately, I’m curious.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading a lot of Ann Voscamp, Christie Purifoy, Katie Rosenbaum, and other contemporary writers who are resurrecting liturgical traditions in their families. Who knows.
Years ago, liturgical traditions were discarded in an effort to rid the church of legalism, which I’m sure was incredibly necessary at that point in church history. But now—generations later—I don’t find myself or my church leaders enslaved to legalism. Instead, I find comfort in studying these old rhythms of time: the quiet waiting and candlelit anticipation of Advent, the euphoric triumph of Epiphany, the mournful fast of Lent, the rejoicing of Eastertide. I can enjoy and enrich my spirituality by these old traditions, and I want to learn and observe the Gospel in time more than just words and space.
So, I’m observing the Lenten season this year because I am curious.
In junior high, I gave up chocolate for Lent because everyone else was doing it. And then proceeded to eat around the chocolate chips in my chocolate chip cookie. . . LOL . . . so yeah that basically sums up my experience with Lenten fasting.
**Side note: When I talk about fasting, I'm not just talking about fasting from food. But rather fasting from any substance, privilege, or state of mind that has the power to enslave.**
But as an adult, something in my spirit stirs and tells me that fasting is more than saying no. It’s more than being miserable and enduring dissonance. Fasting, from a higher perspective, is really saying yes. It's really embracing resolution.
This week I read Isaiah 58, where the Lord says, “Is this not the fast that I choose? To loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke?”
I read this and my soul exhales in relief. Loosening bonds, undoing straps, freeing the oppressed, breaking yokes—this is the purpose of fasting. Such aggressive language, but leading to a beautiful end. And here, in the coexistence of force and freedom, strikes the chord of resolution.
Fasting is for freedom.
In fasting, we stand face-to-face with our cravings and say no. We refuse to be dominated by our flesh. And it’s in this restraint that we’re set free.
Paul is clear in 1 Corinthians 6:12, that “all things are lawful, but not all things are helpful. All things are lawful, but I will not be dominated by anything.”
So, as I approach Lent, I’m asking and praying, “Where am I not free? What has dominion over me? And what do I need to fast from in order to be free?”
So though I'm not required to fast, I'm choosing to fast because my urges to eat, to scroll, to please, and to wallow in shame dominate my thoughts and my time.
So here's the point: I’m fasting from social media because I want to be a better steward of my time and my intellect. (Note: I’ll most definitely still be writing and blogging, just not posting) I’m also doing Whole 30 because food has an unhealthy dominion over my body. I want to be a good steward of my body and not let it control me.
Am I fasting because of my strong willpower? No. I’m fasting because I’m weak. Because there are places where I’m not free. Because I hate that I’ve been given life but sometimes still walk back into the tomb. Fasting reminds me of my need for freedom and draws me to the One who breaks my yoke.
Here's to freedom, friends.
What are you fasting from? Why?