Ayunar

“Is this not, rather, the fast that I choose” (Isaiah 58:6).

One of my favorite passages from the books of the Prophets is today’s reading from Isaiah. The first time I heard this Scripture proclaimed and preached was in August 2007 in Williamsburg, Va., by the Rev. Dr. William Barber, today the national co-chair of the Poor People’s Campaign. I was a graduate student at Boston University School of Theology and a summer seminarian intern at Interfaith Worker Justice. I had joined hundreds of religious leaders and activists to picket a shareholder’s meeting of Smithfield. For 15 years, the company had refused to allow the meatpacking workers at its North Carolina plant to organize a union. Poor wages and debilitating injuries, butchering human lives and human families: none of this mattered to Smithfield. I was electrified as Reverend Barber thundered the words of the prophet: “See, on your fast day you carry out your own pursuits, and drive all your laborers.” I never saw or heard the Word of God take flesh like that before in a preaching event. I was filled with a thrill. Our march and picket was about to become a prophetic sign-act, a word from God! Though I was feeling hungry and sleep-deprived, having been up since maybe three in the morning to catch a couple of flights from Massachusetts to Virginia, I was exhilarated: win or lose, our witness for worker justice would not be in vain. And all the works leading up to this shareholders’ protest—the capstone of a summer of boycotting bacon and ham, of sending petitions, phone calls, and prayers—would not be in vain. (Eventually, by the end of 2007, the workers formed a union that was recognized by Smithfield.)

Whenever the Church comes around to this reading, I return to that galvanizing day in Williamsburg. And as we encounter this reading at the head of Lent, I ask myself, to be accountable, to examine my consciousness: what fast does God choose for me now? Here in Cochabamba, Bolivia, what opportunities does God reveal to me to release those in bondage, to untie the thongs of the yoke, to share my bread with the hungry, to harbor the homeless? I asked this question before in an earlier post as I begin to read the signs of the times here—the poor look indigenous, not Hispanic; the water that brings life also brings hazard to those living in the campos to the south. On this International Women’s Day, I am conscious that violence against women (and girls) is encoded in the culture, and so is a distorted, unhealthy masculinity. (Several couples and individuals representing community organizations from all over Bolivia came to Maryknoll yesterday for a conference on reforming, or rebirthing, masculinity so as to reduce violence, transform conflict, and promote integral development of the family and society.) In the five months I have left here, how might I hunger and thirst for righteousness in real solidarity with my neighbor?

A fast such as this, such as Isaiah proclaims as an oracle of God, as God’s will, requires more than personal austerity. It requires holy activity, guided by the Holy Spirit. So you won’t be reading about me skipping meals. On the advice of others who have lived the immersion experience, I will do what Holy Mother Church prescribes, but I will not be imprudent with my health. Besides, if I miss meals, then I miss opportunities to listen, to speak, and to grow into conversation. As I write this, I hear a marching band, their brass and drums leading from downtown to the Revolution. While I may not storm the barricades any time soon (if you are reading this, Father Provincial, relax!), I will seek the fast that God chooses, the fast of righteous works. So, yes, Lord, give me your hunger; give me your thirst; and show me how to satisfy these, gladly, generously.