Why do we fast?

Have you ever stopped and really asked yourself, Why do we fast?

I have.

Is it just something we do during Lent? A tradition we inherited? Or is there something deeper happening in us when we willingly give something up?

For me, fasting has become less about food and more about freedom.

When we choose to fast, we are choosing to take up our own crosses and follow Him. That sounds beautiful but it’s also very practical. It means we don’t just enjoy the joyful moments of life; we also embrace the difficult ones. We begin to see challenges not as interruptions, but as invitations for deeper spiritual growth.

If I’m honest, my appetites can easily cloud my thinking. Not just hunger for food but hunger for comfort, distraction, recognition, ease. These desires aren’t always sinful, but they can quietly take control. And when they do, I stop desiring only God and His will.

That’s where fasting becomes powerful.

When we say “no” to something our body wants, even something small, we are retraining our hearts. We are reminding ourselves that God is in charge. These small acts of self-denial help curb our disordered appetites. They strengthen the spirit so it can guide the body, not the other way around.

And let’s be real: fasting doesn’t feel exciting at first. Penitential acts are rarely attractive. But that’s actually the key. When we do what our flesh does not “desire,” something shifts inside us. Our spirit grows stronger. Our will becomes clearer. We gain control over impulses that once controlled us.

And that changes everything.

We are called to imitate our Lord and to look at Him interiorly with the eyes of faith and then act outwardly as instruments of sacrificial love. But how can we love sacrificially if we cannot deny ourselves even in small things? We need our passions and appetites under control to fulfill our mission. 

Fasting, along with increased prayer and penance, draws us into a deeper spiritual journey. It clears noise. It creates space. It sharpens our spiritual hearing.

In the end, fasting is not about punishment. It’s about purification.
Not about deprivation. But about direction.

It teaches us that we don’t live by every craving that rises within us. We live by every word that comes from Him.

And slowly, quietly, we begin to follow Him cross and all.

✝️ “Nobody Dies for a Lie”

I recently came across a post on Instagram that said:

“Nobody dies for a lie” — Mel Gibson, speaking about Jesus’ Resurrection.

That statement stopped me in my tracks. He's talking about his new movie on Jesus's resurrection, and it's an idea he wants to project in it. 

It’s a simple statement, but it gets right to the heart of something profound, doesn't it?

Think about it. People may suffer for many reasons - for family, for country, for dreams, or even by accident. But who would willingly give up their life for something they knew wasn’t true? 

No one. 

If the Resurrection were a lie, would the Apostles have gone to their deaths proclaiming it? Certainly not. They knew what they had seen, they had touched, and they testified to it even at the cost of their lives.

Jesus Himself knew exactly what He was laying down His life for. He wasn’t caught up in confusion or swept away by chance. He endured the Cross because He saw the glory beyond it. 

“For the joy that was set before him [he] endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” -- Hebrews 12:2

The pain and humiliation of the cross were real, but they were nothing compared to the glory that was to come. He knew that His sacrifice was the ultimate act of love - a love that would bridge the chasm between God and humanity forever. His gaze wasn't on the temporary agony but on the eternal victory.

And we see this echoed in the life of the first martyr, Stephen. As he was being stoned, 

“he, full of the Holy Spirit, gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God” -- Acts 7:55

That vision gave him strength. The pain of stones crashing against him could not crush the hope of what he saw. He knew the outcome, and it was worth it.

You and I wouldn't risk our lives for something we weren't absolutely sure was true, right? That’s the entire point.

It makes me wonder  what do we value in our daily lives? Most of the time, we weigh everything by what we can gain or what suffering we can avoid. We pray for convenience, for relief, for comfort. Yet when we say “Thy kingdom come”  we are really asking God to prepare us and the world not just for the temporary but for eternity.

And eternity comes with a cost. It demanded everything of the Father’s only-begotten Son. And in some sense, it has demanded everything of the saints who followed Him. Their lives were not lost but were poured out for the truth.

The Resurrection proves once and for all that Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:6). When we see Him clearly, this temporal life loses its grip on us. Suffering doesn’t vanish, but it finds meaning. Death doesn’t terrify, because it is no longer the end.

The things we worry about in our daily lives and all our worldly ambitions fade in comparison to the immense reality of God's love and the promise of His Kingdom.

“Nobody dies for a lie.” The martyrs didn’t, the saints didn’t and neither did Jesus. He died and rose because the truth of God’s love is more powerful than death. And that same truth is what gives us strength today.

🛟 A Father's Dive

The Father’s Dive

When your child is in trouble, you don’t really think, do you? You just jump in. You don’t pause to calculate the risk of crashing waves or raging fire but you move to rescue.

I was reminded of this when I saw a short snippet of Moana’s father. She’s underwater, not surfacing, and without hesitation he dives in after her. No second thought, no plan B, just a father’s love in action.

It got me thinking… isn’t that a glimpse of what God did for us?

Only His dive wasn’t into the ocean. It was into a world of wolves, sin, betrayal, and suffering. He didn’t hesitate, but He also didn’t act rashly. Unlike Moana’s father, whose jump was an instantaneous reaction, the Father’s decision was eternal and deliberate. From the very beginning, God knew He would send His only Begotten Son. It wasn’t a plan B. It was always the plan.

And yet here’s the difference that really stirs my heart: you and I, as parents, sometimes get tired. After years of the same battles of tantrums, teenage struggles, adult wounds we get frustrated. Sometimes we even feel like giving up.

But not God.

He is patient. He is kind. He does not give up when we push back against Him. Even when we crucified His Son, His response was forgiveness: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” -- Luke 23:34

That’s the Father’s heart. The heart that dives in; not blindly, not recklessly, but with steadfast, deliberate love.

So maybe the next time we feel like throwing up our hands with our kids, or even with ourselves, we can remember: God never gave up on us. He still hasn’t. And if His Spirit lives in us, then His patience, His perseverance, can live through us too.

🥹 Why Faith Doesn't Erase Grief

We all start our spiritual journey, I think, hoping for a shield. We imagine that a deep, authentic prayer life or perfect devotion will be a kind of divine insurance policy; a guarantee that the big, painful things will simply pass us by. We crave a faith that removes the suffering.

After all, if God is good, why would He let us hurt?

The simple truth, however, is that spirituality doesn’t erase grief, struggles, or hardships—it transforms how we navigate them. The life of faith doesn't take us around the Cross; it teaches us how to carry our own little crosses with meaning.

The Reality of the Christian Walk

Look at the greatest saints. Were their lives easy? Absolutely not. St. Teresa of Calcutta dealt with profound spiritual dryness. St. Padre Pio bore the stigmata. Jesus Himself, the very model of perfect spiritual communion with the Father, faced betrayal, agony, and death on the Cross.

If the most spiritually advanced people in history still faced immense pain, we can’t expect to bypass it. Suffering is simply an unavoidable condition of life in this fallen world.

The difference for us, as Catholics, isn't that our pain disappears, but that our perspective changes. We move from asking, “Why is this happening to me?” to asking, “How can God use this pain?”

The Redemptive Power of Suffering

The Bible doesn’t promise ease; it promises purpose in the struggle. The Apostle Paul lays out this incredible spiritual math:

“More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit which has been given to us.” --Romans 5:3-5

This verse is the key. Suffering isn’t a dead end; it’s a necessary step in a process of spiritual formation. It’s the kiln that fires the clay of our character.

Our spirituality transforms our navigation of hardship in two profound ways:

It Unites Us: We are invited to unite our small pains—the loss, the anxiety, the physical aches—to the boundless, redemptive suffering of Christ on the Cross. This is the incredible, almost incomprehensible Catholic concept of redemptive suffering. Our pain, which would otherwise be meaningless, becomes a way to participate in Christ's work for the salvation of souls, including our own.

It Grounds Us: When the world feels unstable, our faith is the anchor. Grief still hurts, but the pain doesn't have the final word because we know, with absolute certainty, the Resurrection.

How to Navigate, Not Escape

So, what does this look like practically when you’re facing a real, painful struggle?

Lean into Prayer of Presence: Don’t feel pressured to have perfect, eloquent prayers. Sometimes the most spiritual act is simply sitting quietly with God and saying, "This hurts, Lord. I'm here. Help me."

Embrace the Sacraments: Go to Confession. Receive the Eucharist. These sacraments are the divine fuel that gives us the actual grace needed for endurance. You don't get through the hard times on sheer willpower; you get through them on grace.

Find Meaning: When you feel overwhelmed, intentionally offer that moment of suffering up for someone else—a loved one who is struggling, the Holy Souls in Purgatory, or a specific intention. This simple act of spiritual redirection transforms a moment of self-pity into a moment of sacrificial love.

Our faith isn't about avoiding the shadows; it’s about having a Light that shines in them. The goal is not a life without pain, but a soul that is stronger, more compassionate, and utterly fixed on Christ because of the pain it endured. And that, truly, is the deepest kind of spiritual victory.