‘Blessed are the hungry’: Rediscovering solidarity through fasting
Photograph by Hosny Salah via Pexels
Nathan Perrin
In November 2023, I participated in the Apache Stronghold’s call for prayer as a representative of Community Peacemaker Teams. In the hot Arizona desert landscape, I watched sacred ceremonies and heard heartfelt prayers about the need for settlers to recognize the inherent spirituality in the land. Every resource on the ground was reused somehow. I’ve always appreciated indigenous cultures and their teaching and emphasis on zero waste.
Food is political — even if we don’t always see it that way. Take immigrant workers, for example: without them, Wisconsin wouldn’t be known for its cheese, and California’s farms — where most of our fruits and vegetables come from — would grind to a halt. And it’s not just about who grows our food. Grocery stores throw out tons of perfectly good produce just because it doesn’t look right, even though there’s nothing wrong with it. At every step, decisions about food are shaped by what sells, not what nourishes or what’s fair.
And in the most extreme cases, withholding food becomes a weapon. Right now, in Gaza, Israel is blocking food and aid, using hunger as a tool of control. Currently, in perhaps the darkest moment of the genocide, thousands of babies are at risk of starvation. Veterans for Peace, FOSNA, and Mennonite Action have all called on their people and allies to fast in solidarity with Palestine for forty days. Some folks are taking extreme measures, such as only doing 250 calories a day. Others are skipping a meal a day.
Fasting, which is usually recommended in the Bible as a private event, is a spiritual discipline that is a way to help connect with God more deeply. It can help us reconsider our relationship with food. The other element of it is experiencing what frankly much of the developing world experiences every day: poverty and hunger.
What I particularly love about this call for fasting is that it forces us, US Americans, to reconcile with our wasteful habits, and the small ways we contribute to the harm of others. One of the myths of white supremacy is that we are all independent individuals, isolated from our own communities. The Trump agenda would have us believe that different communities and our neighbors don’t matter nearly as much as our own wellbeing.
Imagine how infinitely beautiful it would be to see the Western church take accountability for its role in the Gaza genocide, as well as the exploitation of others globally. Repentance, a central tenet of Christianity, doesn’t exist to remind us we are bad people but rather to show us that a different way is possible.
However, to take a hyper-individualized stance is to ignore God’s love for the collective humanity. All US American Christians participate in systemic sin, in one way or another. It’s unavoidable. This call for fasting not only puts an urgency on the dire situation in Gaza, but it forces Western Christians to reconcile somehow with a bleaker reality: we enjoy the fruits of exploitation. Underneath that is a Gospel plea to the church, with the Holy Spirit saying it doesn't have to be this way. (Luke 4:18-19)
Thinking back to the Apache Stronghold prayer ceremonies, something I was struck by was the Apache view that the fight for justice was inherently spiritual and that it needs to be waged with prayer and fasting. I didn’t fully understand that until October 7 drove home how my own tax dollars had been, and still are, fueling the killing of Palestinian children. The Western church needs to find a way to repent of our systemic wrongs that put others in systems of poverty globally, whether it’s through our spending habits or exploitative missionary efforts that take no account of communities’ well-being.
When all other options seem to be wasted, what better direction to turn than in the direction of the cross? Who better to take this burden than Christ? My prayer for this call to fasting is that it help reawaken the American church’s conviction — that other people matter, that our spending habits matter, and the way we treat our food is inherently spiritual.
I’d encourage whoever is reading this to search their own heart as they consider a call to fasting. Imagine how infinitely beautiful it would be to see the Western church take accountability for its role in the Gaza genocide, as well as the exploitation of others globally. Repentance, a central tenet of Christianity, doesn’t exist to remind us we are bad people but rather to show us that a different way is possible. Redemption is available for all. A better world is absolutely possible, but we first need to recognize the importance of our role in accountability and reparations. The only step forward with this is radical empathy and solidarity with the oppressed. Anything less than that cheapens the Gospel message, and, more importantly, makes Jesus look like another consumerist option that hurts impoverished and vulnerable communities.
Again, pray and search your heart for this national call. Consult your doctors if that is a concern. As for me, I will be joining in loudly, proudly, and obnoxiously, because my faith refuses to let cruelty and genocide have the last word.
Nathan Perrin (he/him/his) is a writer and Anabaptist pastor in Chicagoland. He holds an MA in Quaker Studies and is a doctoral student studying Christian Community Development at Northern Seminary. His doctorate work centers on creating a writing program for nonprofits and churches to use to help under-resourced communities process trauma. His work has been published in the Dillydoun Review, Bangalore Review, Collateral Journal, Esoterica Magazine, etc. His forthcoming novella Memories of Green Rivers will be released in winter 2026 by Running Wild Press. He is also a screenwriter. For more information, visit www.nathanperrinwriter.com
The views expressed are those of the author and not necessarily those of American Baptist Home Mission Societies.
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