I have a story to tell - one of those moments where God decides to communicate with me in the most mysterious and undeniable ways.
As Catholics, we have once again entered the season of Lent. It is a holy time of sacrifice, a season where we are called to fast, give alms, and repent for our wrongdoings through the Sacrament of Reconciliation. This year, I wanted to take it seriously.
It was the first Friday of Lent. As an adult Catholic, the rules were clear: abstain from meat and limit myself to one regular meal and two smaller ones. My personal plan was even more ambitious: I decided to skip lunch entirely and avoid any snacks in between. For me, this is incredibly difficult. Even on a normal day when I eat a full lunch, I struggle to make it to the end of the workday. My knees often buckle and my hands begin to shake from hunger - perhaps a physical reality of being obese and needing to lose weight. I admit that struggle freely.
That morning, I prepared myself. I stopped at Greggs for my small meal - a cup of coffee and a croissant. Every morning, it is my habit to pray, and read the daily Mass readings (the First Reading, the Psalm, and the Gospel) before sharing the Gospel of the day with my CFC (Couples for Christ) unit household chat group. For me, reading the Scriptures and meditation in my prayers are the primary ways God speaks to me.
I found a table, knowing I had only 15 minutes before my train arrived. I was just about to open my Hallow app when a man walked into the shop and caught my attention.
He wore a hoodie and looked weary, carrying the kind of exhaustion that goes deeper than just a lack of sleep. He approached the counter and quietly asked the staff for the prices of the pastries and coffee. When he heard the total, he paused. He didn’t order anything. Instead, he walked over to a table and sat down, empty-handed.
In that moment, my heart twinged. It was clear he didn’t have enough money for breakfast. I felt a nudge - the Lord touching my heart to approach him. Usually, I would ignore that voice. I’d be afraid he might take me for granted or react violently. I’d tell myself it’s better to just mind my own business.
But that day, the feeling was different. It was persistent.
I walked over and offered to buy him whatever he wanted. He looked at me, eyes wide with disbelief. He asked me twice if I was sure. Eventually, he chose a simple cup of coffee and a sausage roll. After I handed them to him, he shook my hand firmly. "It’s rare that someone offers a stranger breakfast," he said. He then called me "brother."
Feeling a sense of quiet joy, I returned to my table to finish my croissant. I had five minutes left before I had to run for my train. I opened my Hallow app to finally read the Word.
The First Reading was Isaiah 58:1-9a.
As I read, I felt the air leave my lungs. It was a powerful, uncomfortable, and direct call from God to move away from "rituals" and toward "justice." The words hit me like a physical weight:
"Is this not the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness... to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house?"
The Lord was telling me: You are fasting, but you are still procrastinating. You are abstaining from food, but are you abstaining from indifference? God’s message was piercingly clear: He isn’t impressed by how miserable I look during a fast or how loud my stomach growls. He is interested in how I treat my neighbour when the "general prayer assembly" is over. True fasting is justice. True fasting is empathy. True fasting is refusing to hide yourself from your own flesh by ignoring those who really needs our help.
I sat there on the brink of tears. The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence. I had been worried about skipping lunch to prove my devotion, but God showed me a better way. I had done more for my soul by feeding a weary stranger than I ever could have by bracing stressfully my way through hunger while keeping my heart closed.
Isaiah 58 reminds me that spiritual disciplines like fasting and prayer are not the finish line. They are tools meant to soften our hearts so we can actually see the world’s pain. If our spirituality doesn't make us more compassionate, it’s just a noise.
I realized that day that God would rather have you eat a fried chicken and treat people with kindness than skip lunch and remain indifferent to suffering.
Lord, thank you for your voice. I hear you.
By the way, I took the featured photo for this blog last year in Barcelona. It depicts 'Homeless Jesus' (or Jesus without a roof), a sculpture located in Santa Anna Square within the Ciutat Vella district, right in front of the Church of Santa Anna.
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