Is This the Fast That I Have Chosen?

I sat with the Lord this morning and Luke 5 came close again.

Some people were watching Jesus' men eat and drink. They wanted to know why those men weren't fasting like they were. Jesus talked about a wedding. While the groom is with his friends, they celebrate. But the days will come when the groom is taken away. Then they will fast.

Jesus isn't walking those roads anymore. He's with the Father. The Spirit has been given. And still, there are days to go without. Days to say a quiet no.

Right after that He talked about new wine and old wineskins. You can't pour the new into the old without tearing it. The new life needs a soft skin that can stretch.

Sitting there, something personal landed. It's easy to get proud when you've been given a lot. Like a kid born with a silver spoon who never thinks about what it cost. I remember being a young man. I talked bold about Jesus. Looking back fifty years later, I see more of what the cross really meant. Some of our Catholic brothers held that weight carefully. I didn't always.

We're sons and daughters because Jesus died. That gift came at a price. So fasting isn't a show to impress God. It's a quiet way to remember. A small hidden no that says, I won't live like this cost nothing.

That brought me to Isaiah 58.

God looks at the bowed heads and asks, Is this the fast that I have chosen? Is this what you think I want — looking spiritual while nothing real changes?

Then He answers. The fast He chooses loosens heavy things. It helps the oppressed go free. It feeds the hungry. It brings the poor into the house. It covers the naked. It doesn't hide from its own family.

When that kind of fast is real, light breaks like morning. God answers when you call. You become like a watered garden.

You start repairing what's broken.

That's what the Spirit left me with.

The bridegroom is taken away.

The gift came at a price.

And a soft heart that remembers is the skin that can hold the new wine — and the fast God Himself chooses.

Sit with it a while.

No campaign.

Just the quiet recognition, day by day.