91: Make Room

When I was a kid, in many respects, I prided myself on being different. Not obviously different; I didn’t want to blatantly stand out, risking extra attention or being made of. That was never the goal. But I did seek out just enough nuance to assure myself I was unique and special.

Let me give you an example. Let’s go back to the season of Lent when I was 10 years old. I’d learned about Lent a couple years prior and had previously given up things like ice cream or watching TV. Pretty typical, I suppose. But this particular Lenten season, I wasn’t interested in doing what was typical. I wanted to be unique. And so I thought long and hard about what I loved and what I could “sacrifice” for the 40 days leading up to Easter. What could I come up with that nobody else would think of? Eventually, I made my decision: I would give up my bed. As you do.

That’s right. I slept on my bedroom floor for forty nights. Now, don’t worry, it was still a pretty comfortable set-up—carpet, sleeping bag, lots of pillows. I definitely wasn’t suffering. But still, somehow my odd, unique Lenten practice “worked.” Because, as silly as it might sound, every night when I went to sleep, 10-year-old me was thinking about Jesus. I certainly was inexperienced and didn’t have a full understanding of this liturgical season {let’s be honest, I’m still learning}. But, I gave it a try. In my own unique way. And to me, it mattered.

If you are listening in real-time, the 2023 Lenten season is now upon us. In fact, it begins next week on Ash Wednesday. And typically around this time in the liturgical year, those who observe Lent are encouraged to fast in some way, shape, or form. And what might that look like?

For some, it might look like a 40-day fast from food in some capacity, whether skipping out on one meal, two, maybe all. Now, hear me say this isn’t necessarily best for all of us, but it might work for some, especially those with experience fasting from meals. Others might choose to give up one particular thing, like meat or soda or social media, or our beds. And still others might consider starting something new, which covertly means they are still actually giving something up, right? We can’t say yes to one thing without saying no to another. But anyway, this might look like trying out a new spiritual practice or reading through a Lenten devotional.

No matter how people choose to observe, the point is that, in fasting, we are invited to lean into our limitations, our lament, our frailty, our emptiness, our need, so that we can be reminded of our dependency on God. After all, as Fr. Richard Rohr has shared, we need to regularly be led to the edge of our own resources. That’s where the transformation happens. When we are fully relying on God as our Source.

Keeping that transformation in mind, as we seek to become people who look more like Jesus, I wonder if today, together, we might reflect on and consider this spiritual practice of fasting.

While I’m definitely not an expert, it’s probably good to note that fasting isn’t something only reserved for the season of Lent. So, if you’re listening a bit later on, and Lent has already started, or maybe is already through, well, all is not lost. We see God’s people fast all throughout scripture, individually and communally: Moses, David, Elijah, Esther, Daniel, Anna, Paul, other apostles, and even Jesus himself all fasted in order to better focus on the heart of God. To deepen their awareness of God’s presence and provision, and better attune themselves to God’s guidance and will.

Even today, we can practice fasting whenever we sense the invitation from God to do so, keeping in mind this important truth: fasting is never meant to be forced or flaunted.

Now, there is much more that could be said about fasting as spiritual practice. Of course there is. But as you consider if, perhaps, God might be inviting you into a form of fasting, either for the upcoming Lenten season, or maybe during some other period of time, I do want to offer one gift of fasting that is worth paying attention to. And that is the way it can make room for the Spirit of God to move.

We’ve talked about it here before and I’m sure it will come up many times again: our lives are often packed so tightly. Distractions, obligations, commitments, you name it. They’re all there. And part of what fasting helps us do is remove a thing {at least for a time}, giving us more space to unfold, more room to become, more opportunity to grow.

This past December, Brad and I were helping with an outdoor gathering at church. Our main responsibility was making sure a fire was going so that everyone could gather ‘round and enjoy each other’s company, along with a cup of hot cocoa and some roasted marshmallows. So, we arrived and got to work building the fire. We had everything we needed—a starter log, a lighter, plenty of wood and kindling. And yet, we could not get the flame to take. Over and over and over again we tried, but the roaring fire we’d hoped to make kept going out.

That is until a student arrived who had experience building fires with his scout troop. He took a look at what we’d put together, and basically took it all apart. He told us the reason the flame wasn’t taking was because there wasn’t enough space in between the logs. It turns out, fire needs room to breathe. So he tossed some of the logs aside and started over. Sure enough, with less logs, the flame caught, and the fire roared.

I share that because I wonder if it might be a helpful picture for one part of what fasting has to offer. I think it can sometimes feel pretty intimidating and mysterious even. But really, fasting can simply help us make room for the movement of God in our lives. When we remove something we think we’re dependent on, it creates the space we need to experience God in a deeper way. As writer Judy Brown shares in her poem, Fire:

What makes a fire burn

is space between the logs,

a breathing space.

Too much of a good thing,

too many logs

packed in too tight

can douse the flames

almost as surely

as a pail of water would.

So building fires

requires attention

to the spaces in between,

as much as to the wood.

When we are able to build

open spaces

in the same way

we have learned

to pile on the logs,

then we can come to see how

it is fuel, and absence of the fuel

together, that make fire possible

We only need to lay a log

lightly from time to time.

A fire

grows

simply because the space is there,

with openings

in which the flame

that knows just how it wants to burn

can find its way.

Do you sense God inviting you to give something up? If not, that’s okay. Maybe this reminder is one you tuck away for another day. But today, if you are, in fact, sensing that invitation from God, remember to make room. May we consider what might be best to remove and in doing so, may we experience God in new and deeper ways. Amen.