Friday after Ash Wednesday

When the Bridegroom Is Taken Away

The disciples of John come to Jesus with what sounds like a reasonable question: Why do we fast, and your disciples do not? They are not trying to trap Him. They are honestly confused. Fasting is holy. Fasting is serious. Fasting shows devotion. And Jesus does not dismiss fasting—He reframes it.

“Can the wedding guests mourn while the bridegroom is with them?” In other words, you don’t fast simply to fast. You fast because of love. Because of longing. Because something is missing. Right now, Jesus says, the Bridegroom is present. This is a moment of closeness and joy. But the day will come when He is taken away—and then they will fast.

That distinction matters for us, especially at the beginning of Lent. Lent is not about spiritual performance or proving our seriousness. Fasting only makes sense if we know why we are fasting. We fast because something in us is hungry—not for food, but for peace, for healing, for freedom, for God. Lent reminds us that life is not yet the wedding feast. We live in a world where relationships fracture, bodies weaken, prayers feel unanswered, and Christ can seem distant.

So we fast—not to punish ourselves, but to tell the truth. I miss You, Lord. I want more. I don’t want to be numb anymore. John Chrysostom once preached, “Fasting is the change of every part of our life, because the sacrifice of the fast is not the abstinence from food, but from sin.” True fasting names what is out of place in us and opens room for God to act.

Every sacrifice we make this Lent—whether skipping a meal, letting go of a habit, or releasing a comfort—is meant to point us somewhere deeper. Not toward emptiness, but toward desire. And fasting is never the last word. The Bridegroom will return. The feast will come. Joy is promised. Lent trains the heart to recognize that joy when it arrives.

So let your fasting be honest. Not forced. Not showy. Just real—a quiet way of saying, Come, Lord Jesus.