Hungering after Righteousness

Our church is in the middle of 40 days of prayer and fasting--prayer for God's presence and power, prayer for our city and our calling to serve. Jodi launched the 40 days with a sermon on fasting. She was encouraging, convicting, inspiring; she talked about the many ways we can fast, and since then, a lot of people have decided to give up real comforts during this period: tobacco, sweets, entertainment, etc. . . . as well as fasting in the traditional "no food" sense (fasting a meal each day, or a day each week, or for several days).

I have to admit that I've never understood fasting--it's one of those things that isn't very clearly explained in the Bible (not the "why" of it, anyway), except that it's clear that a lot of very holy people, including Jesus, did it and expected it to be a regular part of their prayer lives. And it's not one of those things that intuitively makes sense. Further, it's not a discipline that I have myself experienced as fruitful--the few times I've really fasted, I haven't felt that my prayers were especially concentrated or powerful. Even as I write this, I wrestle with whether I should even try to judge whether a discipline commanded in the Bible is "fruitful," much less how to make such a judgment. I know that fasting teaches me to see the shallowness of my concentration on God (because I'm so distracted by my hunger), but I still don't understand it really.

And yet today, I had a little glimpse of what it's supposed to mean, I think. I was at a friend's house dropping something off, and she mentioned that her husband was fasting. I don't know if I would have perceived it otherwise, but as we stood there talking, he came in and smiled and chatted. He sat down on the steps near where we were talking, and he leaned against the wall. It was a tiny motion, but since he's usually quite active and energetic, I noticed it.

Later, thinking about that moment, I was struck not by his decision to fast, but by the context of it. He is, I think, a very happy man. He has a wife who is a strong and loving partner, and healthy children who share their parents' faith. And yet, he decided to go without food . . . not for the maintenance of his own happiness, but for God to move in our church. He wants God's presence with us so much that he will give up his bodily sustenance to pray that in some mysterious way that none of us understands, that sacrifice will allow God to act in him and in us more powerfully.

I think maybe I don't understand fasting because, fundamentally, I don't understand that kind of selflessness . . .