People often ask me, “What shall I do for Lent, Sister?”
I usually begin with a simple answer: asking the Holy Spirit for guidance sheds light—especially on a vice calling for healing or a virtue needing to bloom. Still, Lent calls us to go into the deep. Amid the confusion about what makes for a good Lent, both Pope Leo XIV and St. John Henry Newman, the Church’s newest Doctor, point us toward a Gospel path.
Pope Leo and St. John Henry turn to the ancient tradition of the Church Fathers—the early teachers of the faith—who consistently emphasized fasting, prayer, and almsgiving. So why begin with fasting?
Pope Leo defines fasting as a concrete way of preparing ourselves to receive the Word of God. Abstaining from food, he teaches, is an ancient ascetical practice essential to the path of conversion. The word “ancient” matters because it reminds us that fasting is rooted in the Church’s early life. The pope refers explicitly to St. Augustine of Hippo, highlighting that fasting is not a spiritual innovation but a time-honored practice.
St. John Henry Newman likewise preached on fasting during his Anglican years, addressing a church that had grown lax in this discipline. Influenced especially by St. Athanasius of Alexandria, St. Newman recognized that neglect of fasting weakens the Christian’s interior life.
Interestingly, both Pope Leo XIV and St. John Henry, speaking in different centuries, return to the Church Fathers during periods when fasting had largely been forgotten. This underscores its enduring necessity.
Pope Leo XIV tells us that fasting prepares us concretely to receive God’s Word. That word— concretely—asks something of us. So often we think in generalities and do not get specific when it comes to reform, and the enemy is content to leave us there—he loves the general. We can ask ourselves specific questions: When am I most prone to grazing? When do I reach for food—or comfort—without reflection? From what, precisely, can I abstain?
For centuries, Christians took up fasting as a means of conversion. While the Church relaxed obligatory fasting—moving from many days each year to only two—she still invites us to embrace freely this venerable practice. The very words of the Lenten collects include “bodily discipline.” We can ask ourselves sincerely: Do I take up fasting as a path of conversion, or do I set it aside?
St. John Henry distinguishes Christian fasting from other forms of fasting, even from Jewish fasting. Christianity emerges from Judaism by God’s design, yet—as St. Paul often notes—the law alone is insufficient without the Spirit. So what makes Christian fasting truly Christian? The answer is simple: we fast with Jesus. As Our Lord tells us, “Without me you can do nothing” (Jn15:5). No work for God, even fasting, is good without grace and love.
Jesus blessed fasting as a means of grace. He went ahead of us to fast for forty days in the desert. Why? He did not need this ascesis to restrain Himself, the sinless One. He did so that we can mystically reiterate in ourselves His fasting. We are like unblessed water in Baptism or wine before Consecration. Without grace, we remain poor, and our fasting is in vain.
This mystical participation distinguishes Christian fasting from a Buddhist fast, a protest fast, or fasting undertaken merely for health or appearance. Unless we fast with Jesus, our self-denial risks becoming self-reference. A decisive question, then, is not simply what we fast from, but whose fast is it: God’s, or my own?
Unless we fast with Jesus, our self-denial risks becoming self-reference.
This question is especially pressing today when people often fast for good reasons that can eclipse the one thing necessary. Fasting for health is good. In doing so, our bodies, temples of the Holy Spirit. Yet health, good as it is, cannot take the place of Jesus. When bodily well-being becomes the primary aim, fasting shifts from communion with Christ to concern with the self. History offers sobering reminders that fasting untethered from discernment can become harmful rather than holy. Zeal without obedience—especially without spiritual direction—can mislead even the well-intentioned. All false idols replace the One—Jesus. We fast with Jesus, for Jesus, and through Jesus. All is grace if we listen to the Holy Spirit.
The evangelists note that after forty days of fasting, Our Lord was tempted. This detail is important. Fasting, by its very nature, lowers our defenses. It can leave us impatient or vulnerable to thoughts we would normally dismiss effortlessly. This is not failure; it is proof that fasting is effective rather than harmful.
Temptation does not interrupt the fast; it belongs to it. Christ did not wave a magical wand to banish the devil. Though sinless, He allowed Himself to be tested. In doing so, He dignified the place of struggle. When we fast with Him, we do not escape temptation—we enter it with Him. This is a great consolation. Christians who fast and feel more tempted are not moving backward; we are standing where Christ once stood. What differs is not the presence of temptation, but the presence of grace. Joined to Christ, our weakness becomes the place of His strength. What the enemy intends for discouragement becomes supernatural power.
What the enemy intends for discouragement becomes supernatural power.
St. John Henry observes that fasting can leave us weak, lethargic, irritable, and even silly. Thoughts we would ordinarily reject may suddenly gain traction. Should we abandon fasting when this happens? No. Fasting often reveals who we are without God—something many of us need to learn repeatedly. As St. Teresa of Avila teaches us, humility reigns in every stage of the spiritual life.
Hunger exposes our attachments to comfort, control, and predictability. Irritability often arises not merely from hunger itself, but because something we have relied upon—which perhaps we did not even notice—is taken away from us. In this way, fasting becomes a friend rather than an enemy, uncovering false securities and hidden dependencies.
With humility, we go to Jesus in our fasting. He, too, was tested. Though His struggle differed from ours, it was still struggle. In our weakness, He seems to say, “I was tempted; you are joining Me here.”
God exalts us. We use fasting like a sword, and the demons run from us, for we are with Jesus, the Victorious One who conquered them. He who said, “Get behind Me, Satan” says it for us, if we are fasting with Him. Evil spirits tremble from every true Christian. Fasting gives us power over the diabolic world—not just at the time of Christ, not just in the Apostolic Age of the Church Fathers—but now, in the twenty-first century. Right now, we desperately need this supernatural power over the demons.
As we engage in this spiritual struggle, we are not alone. An angel came to comfort Our Lord, just as angels sustained Elijah with food for his journey, revealed heavenly mysteries to Daniel amid his fasts of mourning, and affirmed Cornelius in his constant prayer and alms. May we grow more attentive to our guardian angels, who assist us in temptation, and be more willing to heed their inspirations, which guide us unceasingly.
Let us conclude by praying the Collect from Friday of the first week of Lent:
Grant that your faithful, O Lord, we pray,
may be so conformed to the paschal observances,
that the bodily discipline now solemnly begun
may bear fruit in the souls of all.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever.
