where shadows linger soft against the wall,
a soul turns inward, hungering for more
than bread or light or any visible thing.
The Master spoke of this in measured tones,
not if but when you choose to lay aside
the daily feast, the comfort of the full,
do not parade the emptiness you bear
like actors masked in sorrow for the crowd.
They disfigure faces, etch lines of grief
upon their brows to broadcast holy pain,
hoping eyes will pause and voices murmur praise—
how devout, how disciplined, how set apart.
Their reward arrives in glances, nods, and words,
a fleeting coin of admiration spent
before the sun has climbed the eastern ridge.
It vanishes like dew upon the grass,
leaving the heart as barren as before.
But you, He said, when fasting claims your frame,
anoint your head with oil as for a feast,
let water cool your face and lift the dust,
carry yourself as one who walks in joy,
unmarked by any sign of inner war.
Let no one guess the vigil of your soul,
the quiet battle waged in hidden rooms
where appetite is tamed and spirit wakes.
Make your devotion secret as the root
that feeds the tree unseen beneath the soil.
For there is One who sees beyond the veil,
whose gaze pierces chambers locked and dark,
who knows the motive wrapped in every deed.
The Father watches in the place concealed,
counts every moment offered silently,
and gathers what is given without show.
His reward is not the echo of applause
but deeper union, strength to face the day,
peace that settles like a steady rain
upon the thirsty ground of waiting heart.
So let the fast be yours alone with Him,
a conversation carried on in silence,
a stripping back of all that crowds the soul
until the only hunger left is pure—
for righteousness, for presence, for the bread
that comes from heaven's hand and satisfies
beyond the body's need or fleeting want.
In secret offered, in secret received,
the act becomes a bridge from earth to throne,
where God Himself draws near to meet the one
who seeks no witness but His knowing eye.
Thus in the ordinary hours that follow—
the meal declined with calm, untroubled smile,
the conversation flowing as it should,
the work accomplished without hint of strain—
the hidden fast continues, thread by thread,
weaving a garment of humility
that clothes the spirit warmly through the years.
No trumpets sound, no banners lift on high,
yet in the quiet courts of heaven's gaze
a treasure grows, imperishable, bright,
awaiting the day when all is brought to light.
And when the fast is done, the table spread,
the body strengthened, mind and heart renewed,
remember still the lesson softly taught:
the greatest acts of love and sacrifice
are often those no human eye can trace,
performed before the Audience of One
who sees, who knows, who never turns away,
and crowns the secret offering with grace.
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