by Sadie Facile ‘19

Every Friday at three in the afternoon, the Franciscans in the Old City of Jerusalem lead the Stations of the Cross down the Via Dolorosa. In the Old City, there is always noise, bikes speeding past on uneven ground, and crowds of people pawing through the merchandise of the shops as the smell of incense overwhelms all else. I had been studying abroad in Jerusalem for three months when I finally joined the Franciscans’ prayer.

When I arrived, about one hundred people were waiting to begin prayer, along with fifty Franciscans. I kept wondering how we would all fit along the Old City’s narrow, chaotic streets. The Franciscans knew what they were doing. As we stopped at each station, the Franciscans would line up in the middle of the road and move our crowd to one side, boxing us off from the streams of foot traffic flowing by.

Somewhere near Station Four, the call to prayer sounded from a mosque in the Old City. Pretty soon, each mosque in the Muslim Quarter began to sound the call, the lyrical drone of chanted Arabic summoning Muslims to late afternoon prayer. The crowds were multiplied by the many Jewish shoppers bustling through the streets, squeezing in their visit to the market before the beginning of Shabbat at sundown.

I was in awe at the vibrant intersection of faiths. Jerusalem is a physical and spiritual home for so many seeking encounter with God. This pursuit of God through fasting I witnessed in Judaism and Islam inspired me to reflect on our Christian traditions of fasting.

Judaism’s most visible form of fasting is Shabbat, which begins every Friday at sundown until Saturday at sundown. During this fast from work, parts of Jerusalem shut down entirely for the day. People abstain from transportation, technology, and work.

When my classmates and I traveled south to the Negev Desert, we had to schedule our trip around Shabbat, checking when buses stopped running Friday and when they started again on Saturday. We also had to make sure we had enough food to last through the day on Saturday because no restaurants or grocery stores would be open during Shabbat in the Jewish towns in the Negev. One hike left us stranded, and we resorted to hitchhiking, depending upon drivers who did not abstain from driving on Shabbat to pass by.

At first, these Shabbat restrictions seemed burdensome to me. Shabbat affected travel, access to food, and certainly made things inconvenient. My perspective shifted, however, after being invited into a family’s home for Shabbat dinner. I began to see how this sacrifice of travel, convenience, and comfort allowed them to have greater freedom. Fasting brings families together to eat a big dinner, pray, and be present with one another without technology and distractions. The end of dinner was not rushed, rather the family simply sat together. The family we ate with had everyone at the table share something they accomplished this past week and something they were hopeful for in the coming week. It was another moment of sharing in another’s sufferings or sacrifices, and a reminder of the community we are called to as a people of faith.

Shabbat allows those who observe it to give their full, authentic self to each other because they are not distracted by social media or the tasks of their job. Fasting creates an authentic, life-giving community, centered around a deep love for God and for others.

This same community, brought about by an authentic gift of self through fasting, is fostered in Jerusalem’s Muslim community. The Muslim holiday Ramadan shares its name with the month in which it is celebrated, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, which commemorates the revelation of the Quran to Muhammad. During Ramadan, Muslims refrain from eating or drinking from sunrise until sundown each day. The fasting is meant to redirect faithful Muslims’ hearts away from the world and pursue goodness through service to others. At night, families and neighborhoods gather together to feast and celebrate together with their community.

The rules of Ramadan also seemed extreme. Muslims are not allowed to break their fast to drink water, even while working in the summer heat. In saying “no” to physical comfort during the day, the person observing Ramadan pursues spiritual growth, especially with her community. As the communities gather each night, they experience the goodness of food and drink as a way of growing closer to one another. At night, communities in cities often gather at Ramadan markets once the sun sets to shop, eat, and celebrate. During the day, the community observes fasting in solemn solidarity together, but, at night, they come together with profound energy and joy.

In both these faith traditions, fasting fosters the formation of a flourishing community.

During Lent, modern American Catholics give up many different things: coffee, gluten, sugar. I often gave up sweets in high school. But why do we sacrifice these things? Honestly, I gave up sweets to be healthier. But as I saw how fasting in Judaism and Islam serves to strengthen community, I realize how much I fasted during Lent for myself and not for Christ. My mindset for fasting was more self-serving rather than self-sacrificing.

We witness our unity as the Body of Christ in the Church’s celebration of Christ’s passion and death during Holy Week, the feast after our fast. Being in Jerusalem during Holy Week is something I will always treasure. I remember powerfully experiencing the Body of Christ on Palm Sunday. Thousands of people gathered at Bethpage and processed down the Mount of Olives carrying palms. I remember walking past very solemn groups singing hymns and praying in Latin; then, the next minute, passing groups playing drums, dancing and singing with a joy that echoed throughout the crowds. I walked by religious sisters celebrating, kids running around, and pilgrims craning their necks to take it all in.

We fast together and offer Lenten sacrifices as a Church to become more closely connected to God and to our fellow Christians. As we detach ourselves from the desires that drive us away from Christ, we grow into the freedom of our authentic selves. As our sacrifices purify our own hearts, they draw us closer to Christ and one another.

All photos courtesy of the author.