Fasting is a practice acknowledged across many religions—and even a fair number of diet plans—as beneficial to both body and soul. I’ll admit, the first time I tried fasting, my stomach growled louder than my prayers. But as I’ve learned, fasting isn’t just about what we give up—it’s about what we gain in seeking God. While cutting carbs or fats might trim our waistlines, and pre-surgical fasting preps our bodies for procedures, fasting holds a more profound, spiritual dimension that reaches far beyond the physical.

During the forty days of Lent, many choose to give up favorite treats as a reminder of Christ’s forty-day fast in the wilderness. My Catholic friends also abstain from eating meat on Ash Wednesday and Fridays during Lent, a tangible sacrifice that ties their hearts to the suffering of Jesus.

Yet fasting isn’t just about giving up something—it’s about making room for something better. It’s like clearing out the clutter in our hearts to create space for God’s presence. The hunger in our stomachs can prompt us to seek nourishment for our souls.

The late Rev. Eugene Peterson, author of The Message, offers wise counsel for fasting with the proper heart posture:

“When you practice some appetite-denying discipline to better concentrate on God, don’t make a production out of it. It might turn you into a small-time celebrity, but it won’t make you a saint. If you ‘go into training’ inwardly, act normal outwardly. Shampoo and comb your hair, brush your teeth, wash your face. God doesn’t require attention-getting devices. He won’t overlook what you are doing; he’ll reward you well” (Matthew 6:16-18, The Message).

Jesus’ words in Matthew 6 remind us that fasting—like giving and praying—should be done with humility and sincerity, not for applause. Our sacrifices are not meant to showcase our righteousness but to draw us closer to God’s heart.

So, what if we intentionally replaced it with something more significant instead of simply denying ourselves something good? What if craving a sweet treat became a signal to pause and feast on God’s Word? What if each hunger pang prompted a whispered prayer of gratitude or surrender?

God isn’t impressed by our self-denial but is moved by our desire to seek Him more deeply. I remember one Lent when I gave up chocolate—my ultimate weakness. Whenever I reached for that familiar sweet, I whispered a quick prayer instead. It wasn’t about the chocolate but about turning my longing into a reminder to seek God first. Whether we fast from food, social media, or a habit that distracts us, the goal remains the same—to make room for God to fill us.

Let’s shift our perspective from giving up to filling up this Lent. Let’s seek the One who satisfies our deepest hunger and allows His presence to nourish our souls.