A few years ago we were searching Netflix for a family friendly show to watch on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I don’t remember the name of the show, but we settled on a reality show in which 8 or 10 “normal people” were dropped off in the middle of the South American wilderness. Their goal was to find their way back to civilization with nothing more than a few supplies and survival gear in order to receive a cash prize. A map provided a route with resupply points, and each contestant was given an emergency transponder. If they were injured or simply wanted to quit all they needed to do was activate the transponder and they would be evacuated by a helicopter. I found the show to be tedious and painful. What began as an adventure show about teamwork, problem solving, and the strength of the human spirit devolved within minutes, into a voyeuristic display of strangers trudging across barren landscapes in the cold and rain as they starved. Instead of something inspiring and motivation, the show became a spectacle of soul crushing meaning-less suffering.

It’s not uncommon for this to become our perspective on historic spiritual disciplines like fasting, solitude, intentional prayer, and meditation. We envision those experiences as pathways to enlightenment and spiritual awareness, but when we engage in them we only feel cold, wet, and hungry.

What place does fasting, or any discipline for that matter, have in the life of a Christian?