We live in a world shaped by “more”. More choice. More speed. More upgrades. More next-day deliveries. We’re surrounded by messages that tell us we deserve the newest, the fastest, the best – and ideally, we should have it right now. Want something? There’s an app for that. Need cheering up? Buy a treat. Feeling bored? Scroll, stream, order, repeat.
And yet, just as this article publishes, we find ourselves in a season that gently pushes against that way of living. Shrove Tuesday has come and gone – traditionally a day of using up rich foods before Lent begins – and now we are in the middle of Lent, a time when Christians have, for centuries, chosen to go without.
At first glance, that can seem odd. Why would anyone choose less in a world offering so much? Why deliberately say no when we’re told that happiness comes from having more?
Fasting, in the Christian tradition, is about choosing not to have what we want, in order to pay attention to what we really need. For some, that still looks like giving up certain foods. For many today, it’s more likely to be stepping back from social media, alcohol, online shopping, streaming, or habits that quietly take up more of our lives.
Interestingly, even outside faith, there’s growing recognition that “more” doesn’t always make us happier. Going without, for a while, can be surprisingly good for us. It can help our finances breathe again. It can break patterns that have become automatic rather than chosen. And it can cultivate gratitude – when you step away from something, you often realise how much you take for granted.
There’s also something deeply human about learning to wait. We’re not very good at it. Waiting can feel uncomfortable. But it can also teach patience, self-control, and a quieter kind of joy – the joy of not being ruled by every impulse or advert that crosses our path.
For Christians, fasting isn’t just self-improvement. It’s about creating space. Space to notice what usually gets crowded out. Space to listen. Space to pray. It’s a way of gently saying: I don’t live by bread alone. There is more to life than what I consume. In going without, Christians seek to refocus on God – on trust, dependence, and the deeper hunger for meaning, hope, and connection.
And Lent doesn’t end in endless denial. It leads somewhere. The fasting and waiting move towards Easter – a season of celebration, joy, and new life. The story Christians tell is not one of permanent scarcity, but of hope beyond the waiting, and life beyond the letting go.
So whether you observe Lent or not, perhaps this season offers a simple invitation: to ask where “more” is quietly ruling your life – and what might happen if, for a while, you chose a little less.
