Lent is a season of renunciation, when we embody Jesus’ fast in the wilderness, preparing ourselves for Easter. Though Jesus never commands us to fast, he does give us teachings about how to do so. There is an element of secrecy in the way he wants us to do it. It is a prayer which groans inwardly. Our outward appearance need not change at all.
The holiest prayers are uttered in the shadows of obscurity, whispered for only the wind to hear. Jesus teaches us to fast discreetly, cultivating a loving desire for the unknown God in the hidden recesses of our bodies and souls.
“Whenever you fast, do not look somber, like the hypocrites, for they mark their faces to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” (Matthew 6:16-18)
The secrecy of our fast does not require us to lie or deceive others. You can tell the people you live with what you’re doing. Be practical. Keep it simple. Don’t bother anybody else with it or expect them to accommodate you.
Spiritual obscurity is not a secret we possess – it is a secret which possesses us. Surrendering to the silence, all our prayers remain anonymous. Nameless offerings of praise and thanksgiving accompanied by the groaning of our stomachs. As our hunger goes unrecognised, its futility helps us grow in humility and meekness.
Humility prevents us from posting pics of our Friday fish on social media or feeling superior to others we think are less advanced than ourselves. We fast from the praise and respect of others just like we do food and sleep. Our prayer is more precious in the eyes of God when she is the only one who sees it.
One of the ways the desert monks protected the secrecy of their fast was to break it whenever they had guests. They would renounce their renunciation in exchange for hospitality and generosity. When one is able to pick up and set aside their fast according to the needs of the moment, they will grow in detachment.
John Cassian, as he was travelling through the desert learning from the monks who lived there, asked one of them why they would break their fasts to eat with him. One of the elders replied,
“Fasting is ever with me, but since I am soon going to send you on your way I shall not always be able to keep you with me. And fasting, as beneficial and necessary as it may be, is nonetheless a gift that is voluntarily offered, whereas the requirements of the commandment demand that the work of love be carried out. And so I welcome Christ in you and must refresh him. But when I show you on your way I shall be able to make up for the hospitality extended on his behalf by a stricter fast of my own. For ‘the children of the bridegroom cannot fast as long as the bridegroom is with them,’ but as soon as the bridegroom departs, then they will rightly fast.” (Trans by Boniface Ramsey)
Life is beautiful and good and so is delicious food, especially when it is shared with friends. If your great aunt Charlotte makes you a home cooked supper, eat it with grace and gratitude. If your co-worker is celebrating their birthday, have a slice of cake along with everybody else. Feasting with others guards the secrecy of our stomach’s prayer, holding it with care in the solitude of our hearts, eagerly returning to our fast when circumstances allow us.
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