My dad has been a runner for over a decade—he has completed more than 60 marathons, and he even ran the whole length of New Zealand solo in two months. I had always thought he was crazy, and I claimed I’d never take up running. With all the exhaustion and injuries he’s endured, surely the payoff couldn’t be worth the pain. He got the shock of his life when I announced I’d started a Couch to 5K training plan.
I didn’t suddenly find running easy. Even now that I’m in the habit of running a few times a week, it’s still painful. But I don’t merely know of running’s benefits; I’ve experienced them firsthand. It gives me more energy, it clears my head, and it strengthens my body. I’m enjoying being able to push myself after a decade of chronic illness.
You may have the same doubts about fasting as I did about running. It’s uncomfortable. It goes against what our bodies want. But despite the cost—even because of the cost—fasting is a means that God uses to bless us. The payoff is worth it. Here are a few blessings that come from this practice.
We Commune with God
Seeing more of God is the central benefit of fasting. Isn’t it why we practice spiritual disciplines in the first place? To come nearer to Christ, to draw strength and joy from his presence? If every other gift of fasting fell away, this would be enough.
Fasting helps us see more of God because it facilitates our communion with him through prayer. That’s why John Piper calls it the “humble, hungry handmaid of faith” that prompts us to pray. Fasting is pointless when not paired with talking to God—it’s an empty ritual, a form of self-deprivation to show our mettle.
While fasting does help us teach our bodies that they’re not our masters, that’s not the main purpose. Our focus should be less on what we’re saying no to and more on the better yes in its place. All the benefits of fasting are downstream from this one: deepening our relationship with God through prayer. Let’s consider a few ways that fasting does this.
We See Ourselves Rightly
I can give many reasons why my prayer life isn’t as vibrant as I want: I’m busy. There’s so much ministry to do. I haven’t found the right system. But Nick Thompson unmasks the reality: “Where prayer is wanting, humility is wanting.” My lack of felt dependence keeps me from praying. I don’t feel as though I need it.
Our focus should be less on what we’re saying no to and more on the better yes in its place.
Fasting doesn’t make me weak and dependent—it reveals how weak and dependent I’ve been all along. When I feel the piercing hunger pangs, I’m reminded how quickly my body breaks down without the food that God provides daily. He’s the source of everything I need for life: sustenance, water, oxygen, and shelter. So I’m drawn to him in dependent praise and gratitude.
When I feel capable, I’m more likely to work instead of pray. I can maintain the illusion of self-sufficiency. Fasting reorients me to the reality of my creatureliness and casts me on my Creator.
We Love What’s Worthy
When food is taken away, we realize how much we’ve relied on it for satisfaction and comfort. For those like me who struggle with emotional overeating, this absence is especially revealing—all this time, I’ve been turning to a gift instead of to the Giver.
Without food as an easily accessible crutch, I have to look elsewhere. In Habits of Grace, David Mathis writes, “In that gnawing discomfort of growing hunger is the engine of fasting, generating the reminder to bend our longings for food godward and inspire intensified longings for Jesus.”
Fasting creates space so that I can turn to Christ with my boredom, my anxiety, and my desire for control and find that “my soul [is] satisfied as with fat and rich food” (Ps. 63:5). I hunger less for food and more for righteousness—and for the Righteous One (see Matt. 5:6). As we sharpen our affections for Christ through fasting, our longing to see him face-to-face grows.
Fasting is a temporary measure because the Bridegroom is coming back (Matt. 9:14–15; John 14:1–3). Through our deprivation now, we’re viscerally reminded to long for the right thing—not for the dinner we’ll eat in a few hours but for the wedding feast of the Lamb and the fellowship we’ll enjoy with him forever (Rev. 19:6–7). Fasting is an expression of longing for Christ’s coming that in turn intensifies our longing.
We See God Work
Prayer is communion with God, but it’s also more than that. The Lord encourages us through Paul to bring all our requests and thanksgiving to him (Phil. 4:6). We come to God with our needs and desires, asking him to act in particular ways.
Fasting adds fuel to the fire of our prayers. It’s similar to how the posture of kneeling helps orient our hearts toward the Lord. By “leaning into the lack,” we feel our weakness bodily. We come more desperately; we come with more faith. We get the joy of focusing all our neediness on the One who promises to provide for all our needs (Phil. 4:19).
But we mustn’t treat fasting like a formula: subtract food and receive the answer we want. King David fasted and prayed for the life of his newborn son, but the boy died anyway (2 Sam. 12:15–23). Despite such a devastating outcome, David still worshiped the Lord (v. 20). Praising God even when our prayers aren’t answered the way we desire is an act of trust that his wisdom is greater than ours.
Fasting creates space so that I can turn to Christ with my boredom, my anxiety, and my desire for control.
When answers are delayed, we still have reason for confident hope. In Luke 2:36–38, the elderly prophetess Anna spent her days in the temple worshiping, fasting, and praying as she awaited the promised Savior—and she lived long enough to give thanks to God as the baby Jesus was brought into the temple.
If we humble ourselves and bring our requests, the Lord will answer according to his superior wisdom. We can use this God-given means of grace and trust that, whatever the outcome of our petitions, we’ll benefit by learning to rely more on the Lord. That’s his work too.
Throughout Scripture, believers have intensified their prayers with fasting in times of special need. Let’s imitate them and see what God does. Fasting isn’t reserved for those with great self-control; it’s also for those who see their need for self-control. It’s not reserved for those who walk closely with God; it’s also for those who lament their distance from him.
If you’re tired of relying on yourself, if you’ve experienced the emptiness of worldly comforts, if you desire a deeper relationship with God—fasting is for you.
The Gospel Coalition