On Thursday, Feb. 27, my husband approached me with a request not to buy from large retailers for 24 hours, beginning at 12am on Friday. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I agreed because he found it important. Even though Fridays are $5 sushi days at Safeway in the Hub. I packed a lunch instead.
Interestingly, this “24-hour economic blackout” coincided with the first day of Ramadan in 2025. A few days later on March 5, Catholics began their observation of Lent. (Jewish folk will have their turn in the fall, with Yom Kippur. Luckily that fast will only last about 24 hours, rather than over a month.)
This got me thinking about the purposes of self denial, which often feels like a lost art in our modern consumer culture. For many (but not all), because so much is available at their fingertips, the concept of going without is alien to them. I don’t believe this is tied to ability or resources; I think it’s a kind of myopia stemming from a core belief that “My highest priority is to meet all my needs—Wants are the same as needs—Therefore any inconvenience is bad.”
Fasting can have many purposes. One is religious devotion: God gives everything and himself requires nothing, but one thing he requests is to be freely chosen. Religious practices involve self-denial as a way for adherents to show by action that they are no fair-weather worshipers.
Other reasons for fasting include: to raise awareness for those who have very little and endure deprivation all the time, to increase one’s willpower, and to shake off the hold of materialism.
One of the interesting things to me about religious fasting is how it’s often connected to celebration. During Ramadan, Muslims fast sunup to sundown, but in the evening they break their fast with an iftar, and they can get together with friends and family. Lent is bookended by two festive occasions, Mardi Gras and Easter Sunday.
Someone might ask, “So you’re all about going without sometimes, but at other times you cut loose and indulge?” But I don’t think this is an inherent contradiction. I think being able to give up material things sometimes makes people more able to appreciate abundance. If you never let yourself be hungry, you don’t learn that you can both endure hunger and what a blessing it is to have food.
The Christian church I grew up in didn’t have a formal tradition around Lent, but my friends did try giving things up—like caffeine, sweets or social media. So at the end of this editorial (or maybe Eid-itorial) I’m thinking about what I can try giving up. I wonder if I’ll appreciate it more, or if I’ll realize I never needed it as much as I thought.
