I wrote much of the following precisely ten years ago. I’ve updated it ever so slightly, but I see in this writing how much it continues to speak to me today. For those of us Christians who observe it, Lenten season begins in a few days. Regardless, we all understand what it means to walk through very dark times when all that can be shaken is.
Sometimes we walk though seasons of suffering because we are following a tradition, like Lent. Other dark experiences are of our own making, the result of bad decisions or faulty advice. Still others, brought on by the death of a loved one or the effects of trauma, are totally involuntary. Sometimes such darkness threatens to capsize our very existence.
Whatever your own circumstance, I invite you to walk with me through these next few paragraphs and reflect on what they might mean to you. What does it mean to give up, voluntarily or involuntarily, what we hold dear?
In the mid-2000s, I descended into a prolonged period of depression. “Descending” is exactly what it felt like – sliding down into a steep, increasingly narrow and seemingly bottomless cone of a hole.
Those years were my “forty days” in the wilderness when everything that had been certain in my life was shaken. My mega-Lenten season of deep reflection when meaning and mission as I had known it disappeared. The difference between before and after could not have surprised me more. It was as though I had gone through a cosmic wormhole, only to come out on the other side in an utterly strange and new world.
Gradually over time, some of the old familiar resurfaced and the new became familiar enough that I did not remain disoriented. But there would be, as is inevitably true in life, no going back to what had been.
That was true even of my faith. Though I found myself still anchored in the core person and message of Jesus Christ, my faith experienced a shaking up and a redirecting – a process at once traumatizing and rejuvenating. Even as I returned to old and familiar markers, I saw them in a new light.
Of the many passages of scripture that spoke to me in this wilderness season, one in particular was from the Apostle Paul. Throughout his life and ministry, he went through several periods of struggle and relational disruption. In each defining moment, he clung to certain essentials of his faith, one of which was to continue to remember the poor (Galatians 2:10). Keep to the basics, Paul!
And so it was that I too clung to the understanding that, when all else is shaken, my faith in Jesus continues to call me to remember those who are marginalized spiritually, socially, and economically. This mission remains what I have long devoted my life to. Stick with the basics, Howard!
I am by nature a non-ceremonial type of person. Give me informality, spontaneity, variety in the corporate worship experience. I am Pentecostal, one who “flows with the Spirit,” listing – to use the King James word – wherever the Spirit leads.
At the same time, I do value liturgical seasons and the stabilizing strength that ritual brings to faith. We didn’t celebrate Lent in the faith community I grew up in, but we did observe a higher church moment around the Holy Week as we joined with other congregations throughout our town. My free-spirited faith somehow felt very much at home in those scripted daily noon-hour gatherings, three-hour Good Friday services, and Easter sunrise celebrations.
Fasting was another ritual we practiced both in that Holy Week season and at other times as well. With fasting, I have long had a love-hate relationship. As it should be. The very idea of fasting is that we give up that which we are not inclined to give up. If I enjoy giving up something – coffee, for example – then I am not really giving anything up. I am simply finding an excuse not to have to have it. Drinking coffee, as you might have guessed, has never been my thing.
Now, an Arnold Palmer (iced tea, lemonade mix) or hot chocolate? Giving them up would be fasting for me. Not quite the same as going without food altogether for 40 days, but still something I’d have to work through. Then again, is that what Lent is all about, just parting with hot chocolate for six weeks?
Despite my very natural struggle with fasting, I have come to recognize the spiritual benefit of the traditional Lenten practice of going without something for a season. As with anything, it can be done either with a sense of gravitas or in sheer silliness. Much of eternal value is to be gained by taking the season seriously, obviously, as neither Lent nor biblical fasting were meant to be trivialized, but to bring us closer to God.
Even so, my free spirit jostles with such disciplines and asks, What does it mean to fast? Over the years, I’ve come to find that answer in the words of the prophet Isaiah: “Is this the kind of fast I have chosen?”
That Sage of old speaks to a people who assume they are righteous. They are intent on seeking after God and humbling themselves. In all this, they are sincere.
But they are sincerely limiting their understanding of what God expects. Is it not enough to cry out to God, to seek to know God, to humble oneself before God? Apparently not.
“Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please,” cries Isaiah. “You exploit your workers. Your fasting ends in fighting and arguing and coming to blows.” And that is only for starters.
“Is fasting merely for calling out to God and humbling yourselves?” I can’t believe Isaiah is saying that! What is wrong with calling out to God and humbling yourself?
If you really want to fast, Isaiah responds, then set people free from injustices and whatever is oppressing them. Share your food with those who are hungry and provide shelter for those without. Clothe the naked. And, while you are at it, don’t ignore people in your own household who are in need.
Isaiah presses on. “Stop pointing fingers at others,” he says. Stop with the malicious posting on social media and talking bad about your neighbors or people in other churches or the other political party.
“Take a true Sabbath rest,” shunning the modern 24/7 approach to life.
Stop saying things that haven’t been vetted by God first before being uttered. At least that is my take on Isaiah’s reference to “idle words.”
What stirs me about this passage in Isaiah 58 is that the outcome of all this kind of fasting is joy and celebration, restoration and healing – and a whole new sense of mission. Just like experiencing Easter after Lent. Which is exactly what we would expect should happen when we walk through a long season of self-denial, prayer and repentance, and then encounter the resurrection.
We get to party!
Not quite. At least not party in the sense of what we envision in Mardi Gras, that indulgent holiday that has grown up on the front end of Lent. No, the joy and celebration that comes with Easter is entirely different. Sure, there is dancing and shouting – I am Pentecostal after all – and why would we do any less with the amazing discovery that our crucified Lord is risen!
However, the party that Easter and Pentecost-to-follow invite us to is a celebration that fulfills the Isaiah vision of fasting. The Isaiah fast leads us to take on the coveted roles of Repairers of Broken Walls and Restorers of Streets with Dwellings. In other words, we who have learned to walk through times of desolation until we come out at the empty tomb discover that we can restore and repair others, whole communities even, lying in desolation.
That, my friends, is the secret of an Isaiah 58 fast. It is not just learning to give up; it is learning to give.
As we walk through Lent, we follow in the steps of what we have come to call the “passion” of Christ, spiraling down and down like a depressing black hole until we arrive at “Good” Friday where all hope seems lost. The one we adore is now dead and buried in the tomb.
There is a very odd teaching in the New Testament and the Apostles’ Creed about Jesus descending into hell to preach to those imprisoned in that dismal place. Chronologically it occurs between his death on the cross and his resurrection. It’s defining point is that he, who knew no sin, goes through hell to reach those who are in the margins of God’s grace and people’s favor.
Then – boom! – Easter morning dawns and we encounter the amazing news that he is risen! Not risen to move on and out of our lives, but risen so that no one need be marginalized, lost, or without hope again.
Such is the power of incarnation – that God enters our world to identify with us in our darkest hour. Then the resurrection breaks through our darkness.
So, too, we who have experienced both darkness and resurrection are able to enter into the darkness of others, to bring resurrecting power to all we encounter. God’s incarnation leads us to our own incarnational experience. Herein is the meaning of Pentecost, coming fifty days after Easter: That God calls us who are being set free to go forth and set others free.
My thoughts here are not just about trying to find meaning in my own or anyone else’s wilderness experience. Much tragedy and pain is beyond explanation in this life. But mission can – and will – arise out of the ashes of suffering.
Lent and fasting remind us of the mission-creating value of those wilderness experiences. Loss, whether voluntary or forced, can be a great mentor – if we let it.
I invite you to join me in a 3-fold process of reflection and action this Lenten season. Lent begins this year (2025) on March 5, and technically ends on April 17. But, practically speaking, the season includes Good Friday and Holy Saturday. Here is how I plan to observe the season:
- Read through and meditate on Isaiah 58 on a regular basis.
- Pick some food or activity near and dear to my heart that I will forgo.
- Find some way or ways to fulfill Isaiah 58:6-7 (and also verse 12) literally or in kind – through directly caring, actual giving, volunteering, advocating, praying on behalf of others, or some combination thereof.
I welcome you to join me. And if you’d like, let me know what you decide to do or have done or what your experience has meant to you by connecting with me on this page on my website: Contact Us!
Photo: I’ve paired a public domain photo titled “Depression” with Van Gogh’s “The Good Samaritan”