Session 4: An Acceptable Fast

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1An Acceptable Fast: An Adult Lenten Study, 4

The End of the MannaThe desert is not a hospitable environment for cultivating crops, or even for foraging. So for forty years, for the Isra-elites who escaped Egypt with Moses, God bypassed the usual process of raining on fields, and rained down bread from heaven instead. This manna is described as “a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground.” It was “like coriander seed, white, and the taste of it was like wafers made with honey” (Exod. 16:14, 31). The travelers would gather the manna that appeared on the ground each morning when the dew lifted. No matter how much or how little they gathered, they always had enough. On the sixth day of each week, they gathered twice as much, so that they could rest on the Sabbath day. It became a means to learn to trust that God would give them each day their daily bread.

The agricultural harvest in the promised land was antici-pated in session 1 with Moses’ instruction, before the Israelites even arrived, to bring the first fruits to the priest with a grateful narrative of God’s deeds. This week we read about the transitional moment from God’s direct provision of daily bread in the desert to the community’s self-provision in the promised land.

As at the journey’s beginning, so also at its end, the Isra-elites pass through water. Like the Red Sea, the Jordan River stands still before them and they walk across it on dry ground. They had begun the journey as slaves to the Egyptians; in the wilderness they learned to rely on

God; and now, as they celebrate their first holy day in the promised land, a new challenge presents itself:

On the day after the passover, on that very day, they ate the produce of the land, unleavened cakes and parched grain. The manna ceased on the day they ate the produce of the land, and the Israelites no longer had manna; they ate the crops of the land of Canaan that year. (Josh. 5:11–12)

With freedom comes responsibility, the responsibility in this case to provide for their own needs.

Growing to AdulthoodMost of us replicate this transition as we grow from the bounty of our parents’ table. When we were children, our parents provided our food and showered other blessings upon us without our efforts—shelter, cloth-ing, nurture, teaching, and love. Unlike the Israelites, we don’t enter the adult world in a single day, but grad-ually. “You were born with a whole bundle of apron strings binding you to your parents,” the mother of one of my friends would say. “Each year one is cut, till you are grown.” When deciding what to do for her children, another parent relinquished whatever the child became ready to do for herself. In that way she cared not only for her needs but for her growth into responsibility.

An Acceptable Feast: An Adult Lenten StudySession 4—Joshua 5:9–12 and Psalm 32

Take responsibility.

We cannot be satisfied to remain children in faith any more than we are to

live forever in our parents’ basement.



Just as we take on care for physical necessities, we also enjoy the opportunity to grow in emotional and spiritual capacity. Such growth is not as clearly laid out in our soci-ety as physical growth is, but it is nevertheless a prereq-uisite for successful adult life. It is a grace that our faith communities at their best help provide us, and that we, at our best, take on. We are not children in faith forever.

In the front of the sanctuary where I worship, a large stained-glass window portrays Jesus as the good shep-herd guiding a flock of sheep through a gate. Most of the sheep are standing or walking, but he carries one small lamb. When asked to locate themselves in the win-dow, many people, even the oldest adults, say they are the lamb in Jesus’ arms. Such a response communicates humble, childlike trust. Imagining ourselves carried in God’s everlasting arms inspires peace and contentment.

Yet if we leave it at that, if we see ourselves solely as the lamb in Jesus’ arms, we may confuse childlike trust with mere immaturity. We have the opportunity not only to be nurtured lovingly by God, but also to grow emotionally and spiritually, to enjoy new horizons and adventures, and to become ever stronger leaders and nurturers of others. We cannot be satisfied to remain children in faith any more than we are to live forever in our parents’ basement.

The apostle Paul spoke of this distinction between the childlike and the childish when he told the Christians in Corinth: “Brothers and sisters, do not be children in your thinking; rather, be infants in evil, but in thinking be adults” (1 Cor. 14:20). It’s easy to turn Paul’s good advice exactly backward, to become quite sophisticated about evil, yet ignorant of our spiritual tradition and its riches. The Christians of Ephesus were similarly told no longer to be children. Rather, “speaking the truth in

love, we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and knit together by every ligament with which it is equipped, as each part is working properly, promotes the body’s growth in building itself up in love” (Eph. 4:15–16). A vibrant faith finds ways to continue grow-ing, to take responsibility for choices and behavior, to explore the rich world of human spiritual possibility, and to grow in active care for the larger world beyond our friends and families.

Taking Responsibility for Personal ActionThe psalm for the day, Psalm 32, describes taking respon-sibility for one’s own actions, for confessing wrongs and failures that haunt the conscience. The psalm offers a sort of spiritual memoir:

While I kept silence, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer.Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not hide my iniquity; I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,” and you forgave the guilt of my sin. (vv. 3–5)

Dealing with our own shortcomings can be tricky. Most people view them disproportionately. They may mini-mize the seriousness or scope of sin, allowing weekly confession in worship to become rote reading without introspection. On the other hand, when convicted they may feel overburdened, ashamed, too guilty to move on, as if their own humanity surprises them. But confes-sion of sin is better practiced as spiritual hygiene. We can’t shower once for all time. Nor can we confess all our sins at once and expect to be done with the matter. Some days we may frankly pray, “I’m sure I’ve done wrong without meaning to, though at the moment I’m not seeing it. Show me a better path.” Other days we see our wrongdoings all too clearly. God’s bountiful for-giveness means we are free to notice and confess what isn’t working, let go of it, and move on.

Toward the end of the psalm, a divine response high-lights God’s ongoing guidance:

I will instruct you and teach you the way you should go;

I will counsel you with my eye upon you.Do not be like a horse or a mule, without under-

standing,

The Book of JoshuaThe book of Joshua tells about the tribes of Israel entering the promised land of Canaan. They have escaped the slavery of Egypt under the leadership of Moses and have wandered in the wilderness for forty years, creating their religious and community life and depending on God for their food (manna). Now they finally become dwellers in Canaan.



whose temper must be curbed with bit and bridle, else it will not stay near you.

Many are the torments of the wicked, but steadfast love surrounds those who trust in

the Lord. (vv. 8–10)

According to this psalm, for those who are receptive, life itself is a school of spiritual direction. As we remain open to instruction, all that happens will teach us how to live well. This can at times be humbling and even painful. But to be guided willingly is far preferable to undergoing the same experiences without learning from them.

Taking Responsibility for One’s Spirit Besides confession, another place to take responsibility is to feed regularly on what makes for spiritual and social growth. There are many possible starting points. One is to seek spiritual direction from a wise practitioner who can listen as we examine our lives, and who, for each challenge, obstacle, or grief, can prompt us to explore the question, “Where is God in this?” Another is to begin to read the Bible (the book of Proverbs or one of the Gospels can be a point of entry), or a spiritual classic such as Teresa of Avila’s Interior Castle, Thomas Merton’s The Seven Sto-rey Mountain, or Martin Luther King’s Strength to Love. Another is to take a class. A substantive course in religion or philosophy will raise questions worth exploring.

Such practices do not produce growth in and of them-selves. Rather, they feed our reflective minds with good nourishment, interacting with our experiences to inspire new ways of seeing and living in the world. It’s impor-tant to know where we are in this journey, since it is not a circular one but an adventure in learning and gaining wisdom. We may gauge our growth not necessarily by how many answers we have gained, but rather by how, over time, our questions change. For a season, the promi-nent questions may concern healing from a destructive circumstance. At other times they may involve growth to match a new challenge, such as parenting or new profes-

sional responsibilities. At still other times we seek new information or knowledge, for instance, about an impor-tant issue on which people of faith disagree, or a new skill, such as listening more helpfully to friends in pain. The world is full of opportunities, too full to sit passively by, but the curriculum is our responsibility. Keeping a journal or a list of thoughts and ideas can help us sort out where we have already been and where we wish to go.

My spouse and I make spiritual reading, prayer, and meditation a regular part of most every day. In the early morning I love to read from contemplative books and

from Scripture, and some-times to reflect in writing. We’ve also enjoyed taking classes from the agricultural extension service that help us better understand the natural world around us. A loose cur-riculum and a sense of won-

der keep this precious time stimulating. Rather than an obligation cutting into more important to-do items, such moments become like a cathedral in time, elevating and even sanctifying the mundane order of the day.

Taking Responsibility for the Community A third element in taking responsibility involves the welfare of our community. Here also, disproportion can be a spoiler. To narrow down our boundaries of moral obligation is to take little responsibility, and to care little, for life beyond ourselves, our friends, and our families. This way of playing it safe is ultimately unsatisfying. We cannot help but live in a larger world, touched by the pain and needs of others. To shield ourselves from them means to cut ourselves off from our own best sensibili-ties. Yet when we begin to widen our boundaries, when we let our lives become porous to others, when we take on cares, it is sometimes hard to draw lines, difficult to find the times and places to pull back for the sake of sanity and health. When we widen our boundaries, but do so carefully and skillfully, we will know the vivid-ness of activities that matter, the newness of ventures that refresh, and the joy of caring about a greater web of people and living things.

For many adults, responsibility means the crush-ing weight of juggling professional and family needs.

We may gauge our growth not necessarily by how many answers we have gained, but rather by how, over time, our questions change.



When I was a new pastor with preschool children, I saw a cartoon that articulated my daily dilemmas. The professional Cathy in her business skirt frets over an overflowing inbox, unfinished administrative details, and unreturned messages. In the next frame, as she opens the door to her home, she frets over unpaid bills, unbought groceries, and unvacuumed floors. Finally she observes, “I’ve just traded my work guilt for my home guilt.” As I tried to pursue one track of my life as faith-fully as it deserved, I found myself neglecting another. It takes years of practice to put one foot or hand in front of another in a sequence that keeps us from falling on our faces—the left foot of work, the right foot of family, the left hand of volunteerism, the right hand of self-care.

In the effort of growing to meet our responsibilities, we may not see clearly the moments of grace that kept us enjoying, even relishing, the most demanding times, the times that drew upon and built our competence. By the time the children are grown and the work has become routine, many people dream of change. Some retire-ment counselors suggest an “encore” career, either paid or unpaid. Rather than golf and leisure, they say, why not use the skills and maturity developed in a lifetime to offer service that meets Frederick Buechner’s definition of vocation: “where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” A new challenge may keep us vital, while a refreshing cycle of work and rest such as a com-mitment to Sabbath-keeping helps work remain a joyful offering of our talents to benefit the world.

Taking StockIn this Lenten journey we have now ranged back and forth across the Hebrew Bible. Last week we jumped ahead in time to the exile, and now we are back in the Israelite nation’s early days. Even though many cen-turies separate these passages, certain themes recur that continue to be meaningful. The ancient Scriptures are accessible because the story of ancient Judeans is one we relive today. We don’t travel as they did, we don’t wear or eat what they did. But the deepest human questions, quests, and needs remain remark-ably consistent.

The prophet speaking in Isaiah 58 led the way with the insistence that God and the things of God were not to

be found through religious practice alone, not even holy, time-tested ritual behaviors. What God sought was faithfulness, reflected in remembering God’s grace and in pouring out that grace to those who needed it the most. Fasting without justice was cheating God and, ultimately, cheating oneself. But those who fasted from injustice by caring for the poor were those who worked with God to mend the world.

Moses, addressing the Israelites just before they entered the land, counseled gratitude, active gratitude, grati-tude that retells the story of God’s kindness again and again, even as in gratitude we freely give. Abraham, liv-ing an unremarkable life of faith and failure, was invited by God to take the long view, to prepare for generations born long past his own death. With him we too are invited to preserve the earth for descendants we cannot imagine, in a future very much contingent on decisions that we make today.

The Judean exiles living in Babylon and beyond were invited to choose well, to choose food, both physical and spiritual, that nourished health. And the Israelites reach-ing the promised land were given the responsibility to grow past childhood dependency to take responsibility for themselves and their society.

The last two lessons for Lent come from the same portion of Scripture as Isaiah 55. In Isaiah 43, the poet invites the audience to welcome fearlessly all the unknowns that may come, even that which is unprecedented, in faith that God who saved them in the past is still at work in their day. And finally, in Isaiah 50, a poet models a stance of faithful, persistent trust in God despite adver-sity, a stance that can serve us well not only when times are especially rough but in the ordinary days of ordi-nary lives. Throughout the Lenten journey, the theme pervades that every good gift is freely given by the God who both provides for us and invites our participation, who offers us both promises and challenges for the future.

About the Writer Patricia K. Tull is Professor Emerita of Old Testament at Lou-isville Presbyterian Seminary and the author of several books and Bible studies, including Isaiah 1–39 in the Smyth and Helwys Bible Commentary Series.

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Session 4: An Acceptable Fast