An earlier version of this post contained an image, which I’ve been asked to remove.
We often think of the Lenten fast on analogy with physical disciplines of diet and exercise, which was also common in the early Church. But today, the analogy between physical and spiritual workouts, and physical and spiritual nourishment, can also be very revealing of the gap between secular and liturgical views on food, discipline, and the body. And I fear that too often, our spiritual Lenten fast can be threatened by the dominance, in our minds, of a secular narrative of dieting.
As we reflect on the Lenten fast, it’s clear that it involves more than just the abstention from food. It’s a time for spiritual growth, discipline, and renewal. Much like physical exercise, a spiritual fast requires intention, focus, and dedication. However, just as we wouldn’t embark on a physical workout without the proper tools, it’s important to equip ourselves with the right mindset and support for our Lenten journey. The right kind of preparation is crucial in both physical and spiritual endeavors, ensuring we don’t fall into the trap of merely following a secular approach to deprivation, but instead embracing a deeper purpose.
In the same way that athletes prepare for their routines by organizing their gear—packing an athlete bag with essentials like a water bottle, towel, and protein bars—it’s vital to prepare for our spiritual practices with a similar level of thoughtfulness. We need to ensure we’re carrying the necessary tools for reflection, prayer, and scripture reading. Just as an athlete wouldn’t neglect the right equipment for their physical performance, we shouldn’t overlook the tools that help us stay on track spiritually. This could include setting aside time for quiet meditation or surrounding ourselves with the right spiritual guidance to keep us focused.
Think for a moment about what foods you’ve given up for Lent. Thinking over my and friends’ food-fasts over the years, I can see chocolate, desserts, candy, soda (or pop!), alcohol, and meat. None of these are bad choices for a fast, of course. Alcohol and meat are even very traditional. However, I very much fear that giving these things up allows us to fall into a secular understanding of the purpose of food control – it’s for “health” or, if we are honest with ourselves, thinness and longevity. “The ten miracle foods that can make you live longer!” “The simple diet trick that can help you lose twenty pounds!” I noticed some time ago that no one I know has ever given up fresh carrots for Lent, though I don’t doubt that giving those up would make me far more aware of the great blessing it is to have fresh carrots — a blessing that many people are denied. I even seem to feel an incredulous indignation at the very thought. “Who could give up fresh carrots? They’re good for you!”
Now, I know it has been a perennial temptation for Christians to believe the health of the body is unimportant, and I wouldn’t want to go back to that mistake. But at the same time, the idea of a healthy body that we’re being sold in the grocery store and in magazines and on television is not the body loved into existence by God the creator of all good things, either. It’s a body subject to judgement, the beauty of which is dictated by secular culture’s terms. Marketers everywhere want to sell me the idea that my body isn’t healthy enough, so that they can sell me whatever fix they’re marketing. For me, though,the health of my body should not be an end in itself, but one of the many (temporal and temporary) goods I’m privileged with as a gift.
My Lenten discipline this year is increased psalmody, so I think I will try to transform my understanding of health and food by using a prayer from Psalm 104 before I eat:
You cause the grass to grow for the cattle,
and plants for people to use,
to bring forth food from the earth,
and wine to gladden the human heart,
oil to make the face shine,
and bread to strengthen the human heart.
I also think I will fast from fresh vegetables and fresh fruit for a week, as a measure of solidarity with those who live in food deserts.
The reflection on Lent and fasting invites us to reconsider not only what we give up, but why we do so and how those choices are shaped by our broader understanding of the body, food, and health. The cultural narratives around dieting and health often push us toward a utilitarian view of food: something to be controlled, manipulated, or optimized for physical benefits like weight loss or longevity. This contrasts sharply with a liturgical view of food as a gift, a means of communion with God and others.
In this light, weight loss should not be driven by guilt or external pressures but by a desire for balance and well-being. For those seeking medical support, Coby Health offers a modern approach to weight loss medication treatment, making the process accessible and tailored to individual needs. Rather than reinforcing cycles of shame or deprivation, medical interventions like GLP-1 treatments work with the body’s natural rhythms, helping individuals regain control in a sustainable way. When combined with a thoughtful relationship to food, these treatments can serve as tools—not as an end in themselves, but as part of a larger journey toward health, self-care, and ultimately, a fuller life.
Lent challenges us to approach food not as something to dominate or improve upon for self-centered reasons, but as something to reverence—whether in its presence or absence. To give up fresh vegetables or fruit, as jarring as it may sound, offers a chance to reflect on the privilege of nourishment and the inequalities of access, while also reminding us that food’s primary purpose is not merely physical sustenance but a reflection of divine generosity.
In this light, the role of a Dietitian becomes even more significant, as it bridges the gap between physical and spiritual well-being. A dietitian helps us see food not as a collection of nutrients to be calculated or as a tool for achieving society’s version of health, but as something deeply tied to our well-being in all its facets. They remind us that food nourishes not just the body but also the mind and soul.
By guiding individuals to healthier eating habits in ways that honor both their physical needs and their unique circumstances, dietitians can help us move beyond the reductionist approach of fad diets and food trends. Instead, they can inspire a deeper appreciation for the balance between stewardship of the body and gratitude for the gift of nourishment. This, in turn, aligns with the spiritual call to view our bodies and our health as gifts entrusted to us—not for vanity, but for service, joy, and thanksgiving.
May God bring us true and deep transformation, according to our needs.
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