When standing in line, or when the commercial comes on, or when a moment of boredom comes, fast and pray instead of reaching for the screen. Be reminded that the world is not an oyster to be shucked, but a place where the gifts of redemption are already open.
If you find yourself recently on social media, that saccharine landscape of technicolor fetish, where manipulative algorithms are designed to join voyeurs to exhibitionists, then you’ll know how far down Alice’s rabbit hole we have gotten ourselves. In this Wonderland of excess—created not ex nihilo (out of nothing) but ex opportunitate (out of opportunity)—this Wonderland wasn’t brought into creation out of a primordial chaos, but created chaos by undermining stable institutions. Social media awakens a primordial chaos within us, where complaint becomes virtue and the unattainable becomes the ideal. We are left wondering how free we really are.
The ideals of the old institutions (let us not be romantic) were never perfect, either. They often exploited the weakest and, too often, opened their doors to those they found acceptable. They thought most problems could be solved by money—and if that failed, violence was always the final solution. But one thing they did right was self-correction. Agonizingly slow, and often only after hindsight allowed for a confession of great injustice, the old institutions united us to an ideal of a collective good—if we could be patient and follow the process, good would win out. All of us were after that same good, it was assumed, but we arrived at it slowly, with blood, tears, and cooperation. The system worked by renewing faith in itself—until the faithful grew disenchanted.
Institutions are more fragile now, their demise, like most histories, victims of the mob. Social media’s guise is democratic: it gives voice to all. But the algorithms, bots, admins, TOS, and so on, really just mean curated speech. You see what they want you to, and creatives find success only if they bow to the courtly rules of the Admins. It doesn’t matter, though; we feel free, able to share what we want and do what we want. We feel liberated dancing our hearts out, giving non-expert commentary on everything, teaching others the secrets to making the perfect Gâteau Saint-Honoré while multitasking a makeover. We fail to see—or prefer to deny a darker reality. We’re in a corporate matrix, a social-science experiment that has all the truth of Hollywood’s hollow set dressings. Social media learned to harness the sensuality of a burlesque show, the addictive allure of Vegas, and the entertainment of a theme park, all the while serving the end goals of Wall Street. Does that sound like freedom?
It's easy to pick on social media, and the irony and contradiction are not lost on me that this very article will appear there. But why am I OK with that? Is it because it is a necessary evil, one that leads to a justifiable end? Or, more sinisterly, has social media become an institution of its own, an unavoidable infrastructure in the way we do life and art? If so, it begs the question of freedom. How can we liberate ourselves from the algorithms whose only purpose is to manipulate us? I am asking how, in this world, we can find some freedom from manipulation?
Enter the old spiritual disciplines: they are exercises in freedom, true liberation from a world that sees you as a commodity, a means to someone else’s end. Like all freedoms, their use determines the value of their good. Fire is a good that, when used properly, heats homes and cooks food; misused, it burns you. Spiritual disciplines are like that too. Used properly, they liberate us from the chains of the world; misused, they lead to works righteousness.
One important discipline is fasting, and in the Bible it is predominantly a practice of going without food. But it need not be restricted to food alone. What is fasting, and properly used, how can it give us a little more freedom?
Fasting is a choice to go without. It is a deliberate decision to suffer—not as a victim but like an athlete who stretches their muscles and causes pain in order to reach a goal. Misuse of fasting is like steroids—disproportionate gains that eventually lead to problems.
In a fast, we endure a loss so that we can draw closer to God. In the traditional fast from food, our hunger pangs invoke inner commentary, “Why am I doing this? How about just a bite of that cookie?” We quickly learn that we are fragile and needy. It’s that neediness we are looking for—the right kind of neediness. Not the neediness for the things of the world, but a neediness for God’s grace. Fasting reminds us we are reliant on Him for all things—especially our daily bread. Fasting gives us a blessed and necessary interruption. It wakes us up by emptying us out.
The problems arise when we fast as a type of currency—a way to convince God we are really serious about what we want and to demonstrate to Him that we are willing to meet Him halfway and do whatever it takes to receive our reward. That’s not fasting, that’s divine manipulation.
But true fasting is the practice that draws us closer to God by remembrance of our dependence on Him. Such awareness sets us free. It liberates us from the lie that our lives are the sum result of our own efforts. It emancipates us from the pressure to succeed or face catastrophic failure. By drawing us to God, it reminds us of our need for salvation and God’s gift of Christ. One last point too: fasting usually goes with prayer because in fasting we are drawn to pray. We are drawn to seek God in our suffering and weakness. Hunger creates desire, and desire, hope—and prayer is the language of hope. So, fasting teaches us the hope within weakness. It makes us expectant.
So, if you find yourself weighed down by the world, try fasting. It doesn’t have to be food. You can even fast from social media. When standing in line, or when the commercial comes on, or when a moment of boredom comes, fast and pray instead of reaching for the screen. Be reminded that the world is not an oyster to be shucked, but a place where the gifts of redemption are already open.
Even Alice had to come out of Wonderland—and we do too. Not to find the world as it is, but to find the world as God is remaking it, in and through the image of Christ. That’s why fasting opens us to the dual reality of our weakness, and our dependence on the provision, care, and love of God.
%20(1).jpg?width=36&height=36&name=untitled%20(16%20of%2039)%20(1).jpg){kind=small}
