If there’s one thing that can be said about the Christian faith, it’s that it’s one of paradox and tension. Aside from believing Jesus is fully God and fully man, we believe that God himself is both imminent and transcendent, both merciful and just, in control over all things while still allowing freedom and autonomy. Even the trinity itself is paradoxical.
Lately, I’ve been fascinated by the already/becoming tension we find in Scripture. Of course we’re familiar with the already/not-yet nature of God’s kingdom, but what is also true is that we are saved even as we are being saved. On the one hand, we are as saved as we are ever going to be and, on the other, we become more like Jesus over time (or at least we’re supposed to). This, too, is sanctification. Scripture talks about being holy (1 Peter 2) even as we are called to be holy (1 Peter 1:15-16). We simultaneously hold a status while still needing to choose to live into it.
We know that some of this has to do with submission or surrender. But lately I’ve been thinking about the role of sacrifice. If holiness is about nearness to God and choosing life over things that represent or promote death, then I have the option to evaluate everything in my life based on whether or not it aligns with that greater purpose. Do the shows I watch symbolize life or death? Does the music I listen to promote life or death? What would my relationship with God be like if I chose life in all those areas? Intimacy is related to holiness. Holiness, to an extent, is directly correlated to sacrifice. How holy do you want to be? Well, how much are you willing to give up?
Toward the end of last year, I felt spurred to do toward the end of last year. Of course, I had things I was praying for, but what I found more interesting was how it kickstarted my walk with God. Although I knew God always hears me, I prayed with more expectation. I listened in prayer more attentively. I believed that God would move in a special way. It wasn’t that I thought I was getting God’s attention as much as I was hyper-aware of my need for God. Earlier in the year I had wrestled with what it looked like to return to the things I did at first (Revelation 2:5). Dropping everything at the drop of a hat because I felt a tug in my spirit definitely fit in that category. Strangely enough, the very act of fasting felt like an answered prayer. It got me wondering what if this were a regular part of my life.
In his classic, Celebration of Discipline, Richard Foster talks about how spiritual disciplines in themselves don’t mean anything but can act as the gateway to a deeper work. It can’t replace desire – without desire, disciplines become another form of law – but sometimes when desire wanes, discipline can help. I don’t think I understood that until this fast. It got me thinking about how much I’m willing to sacrifice and what would my spiritual life look like if I fasted more, sacrificed more. Foster records the thoughts of a person who fasted one day a week for two years. My fast was inspired by the story of a person who fasts the first three days of every month. Even my old pastor in Cayman fasted every Wednesday until lunch time. If I admire and envy the spiritual depth of those people, am I willing to enter into their spiritual rhythms? At first, it sounded like too great of a cost. Those three days invited me to reconsider.
Tomy Wilkerson 
This is such a special article. I’ve actually been considering fasting lately. Thanks so much for the insight.