I’ll be the first to admit that I enjoy eating. Perhaps too much. I eat if I’m hungry, or excited, or sad, or angry. I eat out of boredom. I eat because it’s there, which is dangerous in an office environment where you sit near the communal snack table.

Needless to say, fasting isn’t at the top of my “things I love to do” list.

God commands fasting. Jesus did it himself, for an entire forty days in the desert. (Just the thought of that makes me weak.) People do it all the time in the Bible, begging God for forgiveness by shaving their heads and literally ripping their clothes in anguish.

But do I really have to forego food?

Food is a basic human necessity. We need nutrients, and our bodies function optimally when nourished with good things. My own body is tempermental. I’ll go from not-hungry to starving within minutes. Sometimes, I carry an emergency snack in my purse. If I think I won’t have access to food for an extended period of time, I go into panic mode.

So, isn’t that why I should fast?

“Yet even now,” says the LORD, “return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; and rend your hearts and not your garments.”
—Joel 2:12–13

I attended morning Mass, at a time when I’m usually still in bed. I sat close enough to the front that, during the distribution of ashes, Father’s every intonation was audible as he marked us: “Repent, and believe in the Gospel.” It was 8:30 in the morning, and my stomach was already rumbling. Repent. I thought of the chickpea-and-vegetable dinner I was to make that night.

Repent.

After the Eucharist, I felt a little better. The hunger didn’t go away, but it was more a minor inconvenience than life-ending disaster. That small wafer certainly has no nutritional value, and I often get lightheaded from even a sip of wine. But rather than accept food, I accepted Jesus. Fasting isn’t about starving yourself. We’re probably not going to starve in the twelve-or-so hours without food. It’s about understanding our human frailties, and leaning on God’s strength. It’s about control and sacrifice.

I certainly needed that strength when I headed to work. The cafeteria smelled like bacon, and my favorite sugar cookies were on the communal snack table. But I made tea, and I went to my desk. In the downtime of work, I read the point of fasting and St. Basil’s homily on the subject. I won’t pretend I’m not hungry, but it’s not crippling. In discomfort, I am comforted. In weakness, I am strengthened.

It’s only been six hours. But I’m probably not going to die in the next six.

Fasting quenches the power of fire; it closes the mouths of lions. Fasting sends prayer up into heaven, becoming like wings for its upward journey.
—St. Basil the Great