Hunger That Teaches Us To Trust

Today, we will move into some days of reflecting on the Lenten practice of fasting.  

The language that we use surrounding this practice tells us a lot about what it means.  We will say that we are "giving up" something for the season of Lent, like certain foods, drinks, habits, and desires.  

I've struggled with this practice over the years.  I once tried to fast from coffee during Lent, and only made it a week before I decided God probably wasn't pleased with the person I'd become without it.  The people in my life affected by my lack of coffee agreed.  

But there have been other Lenten seasons when I let go of certain habits and remained steadfast. I learned that some things are easier to give up than others, and that if it was too easy, and I didn't feel at least some discomfort, it probably wasn't creating the desired effect.  

Fasting isn't about self-flagellation or something that we do to feel bad.  Jesus himself told his followers that if they fasted, they shouldn't walk around looking and acting morose so that others would think they were pious.  

In other words, we should feel the effects of fasting, but those effects should serve as reminders to us that we are finite and frail at times, and dependent upon God.  

Fasting from food is the most traditional Lenten practice, yet it is often the most misunderstood. Biblical fasting is not about punishing the body or proving spiritual strength. It is about creating space—space to remember our dependence on God.

When Jesus fasts in the wilderness, he resists the temptation to turn stones into bread, declaring, “One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matthew 4:4). Hunger becomes teacher rather than enemy. It reminds us that our deepest sustenance comes from God.

Food is good. Scripture affirms it as gift. Yet fasting invites us to loosen our grip on even good things so we can notice what truly satisfies. Physical hunger can awaken spiritual hunger. It can expose where we reach for comfort instead of presence.

The prophet Isaiah reframes fasting not as ritual, but as transformation—loosening injustice and sharing bread with the hungry (Isaiah 58:6–7). Fasting that turns us inward misses the point. Fasting that reorients us toward love fulfills it.

This practice also cultivates gratitude. When we refrain, we learn to receive more intentionally. Meals become prayer. Hunger becomes reminder. Dependence becomes clarity.

Fasting from food should be practiced wisely and with care. It is not required of everyone, and health matters. But even modest fasting—a missed meal, a simplified diet—can become sacred when offered intentionally.

As hunger rises, let it become prayer. Let it remind you that God sustains more deeply than bread. Lent is not about deprivation for its own sake; it is about reordering desire.

Prayer
God who sustains us, teach us through hunger. Help us depend on you more deeply than on comfort. Amen.

Reflection Questions

1. What does physical hunger awaken in you?

2. Where do you seek comfort apart from God?

3. How might fasting deepen gratitude?