I recently gave a related church talk on fasting—why it matters, how it shapes us, and how to start. If you prefer to listen than to read, here you go:
The Ancient Struggle of Disordered Desire
We carry within us a constellation of desires, some shining brighter than others, some competing for the same patch of sky. I might want health, yet reach for another croissant. I might yearn to be present with my children, yet feel the magnetic pull of my phone. I might aspire to generosity, yet clutch my resources with white knuckles.
It's often not ignorance that plagues us. Often, we know exactly what's best—but we don't want it - we don't hunger for it enough to make it our choice. And in that gap between knowing and wanting lies a deep frustration.
Paul names this struggle with remarkable clarity in Romans: "What I don't understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise."
Here, Paul's achingly honest reflection acknowledges a truth I think we all recognise:
We don't just struggle with knowledge; we struggle with desire.
We are not, as philosopher James K.A. Smith reminds us, merely "brains on sticks." We are embodied creatures of heart-oriented longing., shaped not just by our thoughts but also by our loves, cravings, dreams, hopes and hungers. As Jesus said, "Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks." Our actions grow naturally from the soil of our desires.
Training the Heart's Hunger
So how do we reshape what we want? How do we cultivate a heart whose desires align with God's own heart?
Paul offers this wisdom: "Train yourself for godliness." (1 Tim 4:7)
Notice he doesn't say "try harder" but train. There's a world of difference. You don't try to run a marathon—you train your body through months of disciplined preparation. Similarly, we don't merely try to love God more—we train our desires through practices that reshape them.
Spiritual formation isn't just about information, but transformation—the slow reordering of what we love most.
This training must engage our whole selves—body, mind, heart and spirit. We need practices that inscribe God's ways into our very muscles and cells, until following Jesus becomes as natural as breathing.
The Ancient Practice of Fasting: The Body's Prayer
Here, in this space between knowing and wanting, the ancient practice of fasting finds its purpose. At its essence, fasting is the voluntary abstinence from food for a period of time—a practice as old as faith itself.
Before the Enlightenment fractured Western Christianity's embodied spirituality, fasting was simply a normal part of following Jesus. However, as the mind was elevated above the body from the 17th century, the church in the West began to abandon discipleship practices that 'worked' primarily in and through the body, focussing more on practices that engaged the intellect through rational, conscious thought.
So, today, in much of the evangelical West, fasting has largely been abandoned, ignored, or rebranded as cutting down on Netflix or caffeine.
"Fasting is one of the most essential and powerful of all the practices of Jesus, and, arguably, the single most neglected in the modern, Western church." John Mark Comer
Why fast from food specifically, rather than just abstaining from social media or chocolate? There is something uniquely powerful about abstaining from that which sustains our physical life. When we fast from food, we engage with our most fundamental biological need, transforming natural hunger into spiritual attentiveness. We experience in our bodies the truth that we do not live by bread alone.
When we fast we say something, not with our mouths, but with our bodies:
“Fasting is a way to physically declare, ‘I want you, God, more than I want food.’ And I want food a lot.” Tish Harrison Warren
At its heart, fasting is an embodied way of saying: "Jesus, I want you more than I want the comfort of being filled. I want your kingdom more than my satisfaction.”
Sometimes I’m even more honest, praying: “God, I don't want you most. But I want to want you above all else.”
Fasting is not just about what we give up, but what we make space to receive. When we fast, hunger becomes our teacher, reminding us of deeper hungers we too often ignore. Our physical emptiness creates a hollow chamber where God's voice can echo with greater clarity.
Rhythms of Fasting
In the Bible, fasting was often a response to a significant moment— a crisis, a need for God’s guidance, a call to repentance. People would fast as a way of turning their attention to God and asking God to move in their circumstances.
But fasting wasn’t only for moments of crisis: throughout Scripture and church history, fasting was also a regular practice: a spiritual rhythm woven into the life of discipleship.
For most of church history, having a rhythm of fasting was a normal part of following Jesus as foundational as reading Scripture, gathering for worship, and prayer.
Practical Beginnings
If you're considering fasting, especially as Lent approaches, begin with intention and humility.
The beauty of this practice is that there's no single "right way" to fast. You don't need to jump straight into a three-day fast or follow someone else's prescribed pattern. My own breakthrough came when I realised I could start by fasting just until 3pm on Thursdays when I picked up my girls from school. This modest beginning was approachable and sustainable—a reasonable stretch that actually fit my life.
Whatever timeframe you choose—whether it's skipping breakfast, fasting until dinner, or setting aside one or two days a week—use that physical hunger as a prompt for prayer. Each hunger pang becomes an invitation to ask: "What am I truly hungry for?"
Remember that fasting serves relationship, not performance. The freedom to customise this ancient practice to your particular season of life isn't a compromise—it's what makes fasting sustainable and transformative. Begin where you are, with what you can genuinely offer, and allow yourself to be gently stretched in God's timing.
NOTE: If medical conditions prevent food fasting, there are countless other meaningful ways to practise intentional abstinence. The heart of the practice isn't deprivation for its own sake, but creating space where you can experience holy discomfort and renewed desire for God.
An Invitation to Holy Hunger
As Lent draws near, consider how fasting might become part of your journey toward Easter. Not as another obligation to fulfill, but as a practice that gently reshapes your desires and draws you closer to the heart of God.
Fasting creates a holy hunger—a space where we learn again that our deepest satisfaction is found not in consumption but communion.
Whether you fast for a day, a meal each week, consecutive days or in some other form of meaningful abstinence, remember that the goal isn't perfection. The goal is transformation—the slow, steady reordering of desires, seeking to be increasingly aligned with God's.
For what we ultimately hunger for shapes who we become and the lives we lead. And through practices like fasting, we train our hearts to recognise and desire what truly satisfies—the bread of life himself, broken for the hunger of the world.
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