Advent Fasting Through the Lens of Kings and Shepherds
We are now entering the season of Advent fasting. May it be a time of searching for our own path, pace, acceptance, and care—care for the heart, which ideally should become a manger for Jesus. A heart ready to give birth to trust where there was tension, to peace where there was fear, to tenderness where there was weariness, and to hope where we have almost stopped expecting change.
There are two approaches to how a person can come into their fullness when thinking about service, vocation, stepping beyond the self, and pursuing something higher and more meaningful than ourselves. The first approach emphasizes the gradual fulfillment of our needs—from basic and everyday needs to deeper and greater ones. This approach suggests that we can only achieve everything by moving step by step. Only when we are fed, warm, surrounded by friends, and fulfilled in our work and daily life are we truly ready to seek meaning.
One might ask: is this model compatible with the Christian understanding of the human person? Does it not contradict the Gospel, which calls for spiritual life even in poverty, persecution, and instability? It is compatible because we, as humans, live in a material world. When we are exhausted, hungry, and constantly anxious, our brains operate in survival mode, making it difficult to move into higher spiritual or creative tasks. This is not a failing of the individual; it is a feature of neurobiology.
And you know, Jesus heals the sick, feeds the hungry, and calms the frightened. He does not demand “spiritual feats” from the weary. On the contrary, compassion and care for basic needs are the first steps toward restoration, after which something greater may emerge. For example, in his pedagogy, St. John Bosco, working with children, said: “Give them food first, and then we will catechize.”
The Old and New Testaments contain numerous examples of God caring for human basic needs before giving a greater purpose. For instance, when the prophet Elijah is exhausted and frightened, fleeing into the desert, he cries out: “Lord, take my life—I am no better than my ancestors.” God does not call Elijah to prayer or repentance, does not reproach him, does not command him to persevere, nor lecture him on faith. He provides bread, water, and rest. Only after Elijah is restored does God lead him to Mount Horeb—a place of encounter, vocation, and revelation.
Before giving Israel the Law, the Ten Commandments, and the temples, God first gives food: manna and quails. Only when this foundation is stabilized can the people enter the spiritual path. In the New Testament, when a weary crowd follows Jesus, He feeds them before teaching them about the Kingdom of Heaven. Sometimes, the spiritual path begins not with theology, but with someone seeing your “hunger” and not leaving you alone with it.
Christianity adds yet another dimension, radically different—not better or worse: even when basic needs are unmet, a person does not lose the capacity for inner freedom, prayer, or hope. As Viktor Frankl described, a human being can find meaning even in darkness. The Bible is full of stories of people hearing God in the desert, in exile, in prison. Martyrs, for example, had the strength to testify about Christ under conditions lacking safety, stability, or comfort.
An example of such stepping beyond oneself is Job, who seeks meaning when none of his needs are met—no health, security, social support, family, money, or stability. He begins the greatest dialogue of faith, and it is then that God comes to him. God does not come when Job is rich, successful, or influential, nor when he is a “good example of faith.” God comes when Job literally sits on ashes, scratching his sores with a shard of pottery.
Another example is Jesus going into the desert for forty days. In the wilderness, He has no fulfilled basic needs, experiences hunger, weakness, no security, no comfort, and complete solitude. It is there, in the desert, after fasting and prayer, that His mission becomes clear, His inner freedom forms, His trust in the Father strengthens, and clarity of path emerges.
Jesus welcomed both shepherds and kings.
Returning to Christmas: Jesus is born for kings—those with resources, knowledge, and stability, whose path is a long journey of dedication and seeking. But He is also born for shepherds—those who are poor, exhausted, yet able to hear the angels; for them, meaning can arrive even in darkness.
In preparing for Christmas, these two approaches become two roads to the same goal. The “kings’ fast” is a path of conscious practices, discipline, and sacrifice, undertaken with the intention of taking steps that require willpower and determination: renouncing something, embracing spiritual practice, intensifying prayer, mercy, sacrifice, and working on character, habits, and consistency. This is the fast where we come to God with a gift, like kings.
The “shepherds’ fast” is a path of care, healing, and inner restoration, undertaken when we are tired, exhausted, and lacking the resources for great sacrifices. In this path, God invites us to tenderness and care: to tend to our spiritual and emotional state, body, mind, and psyche; to embrace our vulnerable part, our inner child; to give ourselves permission for gentle words, rest, and silence. This is the fast in which we come to the manger without gifts but with a sincere heart. It is the path of: “I allow God to heal me where it hurts.”
And you know, it does not matter whether you choose the path of asceticism and self-improvement through strict fasting, or the path of self-care. In both paths, Jesus will walk with you, not condemning, but loving.
Halyna Vasylytsia
