And When You... Fast

_{BY BRITTANY SCHICK}

Some sermons instruct.
Others linger.

This week’s message on fasting did the latter. It wasn’t loud or prescriptive. It simply sat with Jesus’ words and let them ask their own questions: “When you fast…” Not if. When.

That assumption alone reframed the practice for us. Fasting wasn’t presented as an advanced spiritual discipline or a dramatic act of devotion, but as a normal rhythm in a life shaped by Jesus. The focus wasn’t on obligation, but on intention—on the how and why behind holy habits.

Jesus’ warning in Matthew 6 is subtle but sharp. The danger isn’t fasting; it’s performing. The word hypocrite—an actor hiding behind a mask—feels uncomfortably familiar. It makes us pause and ask where our faith might drift toward appearance rather than authenticity, toward being seen rather than being formed.

Fasting, at its core, is denying ourselves food to hunger for God. Not to punish the body. Not to impress anyone. But to pay attention again.

Scripture tells a long story of appetite and distraction. From Eden onward, we see how easily desire can pull our focus away from God. Fasting interrupts that pattern. It quiets the noise of the flesh just enough for the voice of God to come back into focus. It reminds us that we are sustained by more than what we consume.

Patrick’s sermon also named something our culture struggles to admit—we don’t have a healthy relationship with our bodies. We fight them, idolize them, or indulge them. Fasting offers a different posture: surrender. The body not as an enemy or a god, but as an offering. As worship lived out in real time.

The biblical examples grounded this practice even further. Jesus fasting before battle. Esther fasting for deliverance. Paul fasting for direction. Daniel fasting in humility and discipline. Each fast was purposeful, intentional, and deeply dependent on God. Not a way to get God’s attention—but a way to align the heart to hear Him.

What stayed with me most was the simplicity of the invitation: pick a fast, pick a purpose, commit—and don’t do it alone.

Fasting isn’t about spiritual theatrics. It’s about honesty. About noticing what fills us, what drives us, and what we reach for when we’re uncomfortable. Maybe, in denying lesser appetites, we rediscover how hungry we’ve been for God all along.

A Closing Prayer

God, we confess that our appetites are loud and our attention is easily divided. Teach us to hunger for You again. Quiet what distracts us, strip away what competes for our devotion, and draw us closer—not for appearance, but for love. May our fasting be sincere, our hearts attentive, and our lives shaped by deeper desire for You. Amen.