Fasting has long been part of religious life. I remember as a boy in the Catholic church being asked to give something up for Lent. We tried to be clever about it. Giving up watermelon sounded impressive until you realized it was not even in season. That was not much of a sacrifice. Candy, on the other hand, felt like a true trial, and I voiced my concerns with great consistency. I also remember when my father gave up coffee for a year. Let us just say that the household noticed. Jesus addressed fasting in Matthew 6:16, saying, “And when you fast, do not look gloomy like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by others.” His concern was not with the act itself, but with the motive behind it. Fasting was never meant to become a public performance.
That issue reaches beyond food into the broader patterns of our lives. It is possible to practice spiritual disciplines in a way that quietly seeks recognition. I say this carefully, because I have caught myself doing small things with a larger audience in mind than I would like to admit. True fasting, however, is of the heart. It is not merely about giving something up but about creating space for God. Stu Weber points out that fasting can take many forms: food, entertainment, even time alone in solitude. First Corinthians 7:5 suggests that even relationships may involve temporary sacrifice for spiritual focus. These disciplines are meant to deepen prayer and sharpen awareness of God’s presence. Yet they are not meant to alter our outward demeanor into something heavy and somber. It is possible to give up something valuable and still carry a spirit that reflects quiet joy rather than visible strain.
The New Testament consistently connects spiritual discipline with a deeper, inward joy rooted in Christ. Paul writes, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice” (Philippians 4:4). That joy is not dependent on comfort or convenience. It is anchored in a relationship with Jesus. Even in sacrifice, there is a kind of brightness that comes from knowing Him. Jesus Himself said, “Your Father who sees in secret will reward you” (Matthew 6:18). The focus shifts from being seen by others to being known by God. Through Christ, even acts of self-denial are reshaped into expressions of trust and devotion. The outward life does not grow darker; it reflects a quiet confidence that does not need to announce itself.