Putting My Mouth Where My Writing Is
Having now written quite a number of posts on fasting, I found myself asking the age-old question: “What lack I yet?” (Matt 19:20) And the answer seems quite obvious. The internet is chock-full of pastoral advice on any number of issues, including fasting. Yet, it is not always apparent whether the pious blogologians (блогословы) themselves follow their own advice. Sadly, Christ’s warning still applies to too many of us: “all therefore whatsoever they bid you observe, that observe and do; but do not ye after their works: for they say, and do not” (Matt 23:3).
The reason for this uncertainty is very much understandable. In Orthodoxy, we are conditioned to be not “as the hypocrites” who “disfigure their faces, that they may appear unto men to fast” (Matt 6:16) or as the Pharisee who went to a public place and prayed: “‘O God, I thank Thee,’ and then some foolish words” (Great Canon, Wednesday, Ode 9). There is great danger in publicly advertising one’s accomplishments–whether real or imagined–and equally one’s struggles and weaknesses. But there is also a danger in turning Christianity into an exercise in hypothetical theoretics, when on the one hand people split virtual-reality hairs over “mint and anise and cumin” and omit the “weightier matters” (Matt 23:23), and on the other hand they talk about the path which they have not walked and do not know. And if one leads another along a path that he does not know himself, it may just happen that “both fall into the ditch” (15:14).
If I wanted to learn to play a violin, I would look for someone who knew how to play to teach me. I would not look for someone who merely knows about great players or can regurgitate good advice read from a book on playing. Likewise, if I want to learn to fast, I should look for someone who actually fasts. Because I did write a number of posts on fasting, there may be an erroneous presumption that I am an expert and, like Saint Seraphim of Sarov, eat only grass and nothing at all on Wednesdays and Fridays. Alas!–this is not the case. However, I will share my personal experience with some forms of fasting. For some, this will help put my posts into a proper context and not give them more credence than they deserve. Others may find helpful tips to try and mistakes to avoid. But what is most important, I think, is the principle that if someone is giving me advice to do something, my natural reaction is, “How do you do this?” This is in no way flippancy but genuine interest in the practical application of that advice. In other words, if a preacher is saying that I should pray more, my immediate question is, “Father, how do you pray more?” and if it is to fast, then my question is, “Father, how do you fast?”
This is only biblical. Jesus did not say “Pray more!” or “Fast more!” Rather, “When you pray, [do this]” (Matt 6:5, 6, 7; Mk 11:25; Lk 11:2) and “When you fast, [do this]” (Matt 6:16, 17). For three years, Jesus seemingly spent almost every minute of His life with His disciples who observed how He prayed, how much He slept, and what He ate. This is why the disciples are called ‘disciples’ and not ‘readers’ or ‘adult distance learners.’ Of course, most of us will never have an opportunity to be anyone’s disciples in any real sense of this word. This is why it is important to ask the simple practical question: “How do you do it?”
Fasting and Spirituality
It is not immediately obvious how abstaining from food is connected to spirituality. It is certainly possible to periodically abstain from food for any number of health and other reasons, just as it is possible to do a hundred burpees without calling them bows or prostrations. And yet it is precisely by prayer and fasting that some kinds of unclean spirits go out (Matt 17:21). To say this even more precisely, by prayer and abstaining from food–because surely, Christ did not mean that unclean spirits come out by prayer and walnut shrimp, tofu, and hummus.
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As a side note, Canon 56 of the Council in Trullo appears to imply that dieting is not fasting when it mandates a vegan diet on Saturdays during Lent immediately after Canon 55 of the same Council forbids fasting on Saturdays. Moreover, in the Gospels, there is very little evidence that Christ and His disciples indulged much in meat and dairy dishes. Most of the references are to bread and fish (Mk 6:36, 38; John 21:9; et passim)–foods that the modern Orthodox consider to be “fasting.” When Jesus fasted in the wilderness, the tempter urged Him to turn stones into bread and thus break the fast (Matt 4:3). In the Lord’s Prayer, Christ teaches us to ask for our daily bread (Matt 6:11)–hardly a request to allow us to fast more. And in the Eucharist, the Feast of the Lord, we partake of holy bread (άγιος άρτος), not meat or cheese (Matt 26:26). To be sure, each one of these points deserves its own complex treatment, but it suffices to say that our modern way of “fasting” by merely switching to a vegan or pescatarian diet may not be fasting according to Scripture or the canons of the Church.
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So, perhaps, it is prayer that turns fasting from an abstinence from food into a spiritual exercise in Christian asceticism, just as it is specifically prayer that turns burpees into prostrations. I think that this is very important to understand as we focus this discussion only on abstaining from food.
No matter how strictly we fast, we can never beat the devil who, as we know, does not eat at all. Obviously, fasting cannot be a competition. It would be improper to think that he who does not eat for more days during the year is more spiritual or closer to God because of that. Yet, fasting seems to have been an integral practice of many if not most Christian saints. If we do not fast and only diet instead, we deprive ourselves of a connection to the essential ascetic tradition of the Fathers and Mothers of the Church and of Christ Himself.
What I Have Tried
Over the past two decades, I have done different things under different circumstances, and there is not one thing I have done at all times and under all circumstances. In my late 20’s, for example, I spent the first week of Lent and much of Passion Week not eating anything at all. In my 30’s, I had some very serious health issues, and most of my physical and mental energy was spent dealing with those, leaving me with very little willpower to devote to strict fasting. Of course, I still observed a strict fast on the Eves of the Nativity and Theophany, and on Holy Friday, and other days of strict fasting, but otherwise I mostly slid into the typical vegan diet we usually call “fasting.” Now in my 40’s, I have found a renewed appreciation for strict fasting and typically fast for 48 hours most weeks. I am still battling against some health issues including some that required a surgery in the first half of 2019, and over time, as I am getting older, there are sure to be more and more of them. But strict fasting now seems to simplify rather than complicate things in many ways.
Here is what I do not do. I do not go into a wilderness or even a closet. I do not “disfigure my face” nor do I necessarily “anoint my head with oil.” I do not abstain from family meal times or outings inasmuch as my family manages to have them–I simply do not eat. I do not change my life in any way because of fasting. I do not work in construction or agriculture, but I do go to work like most other people and work my regular shifts. I am not a competitive athlete–and I would guess that most people are not competitive athletes–but I do try to exercise on most days and do not change my routines because of fasting: I run my usual distances at my usual pace and lift my usual weights for the usual number of repetitions and sets. Also, I do not yet abstain from food on Wednesdays. I do follow the vegan diet or whatever diet is prescribed in a published calendar and normally have two meals. I do believe that it is important to actually fast on Wednesdays–at least, until evening–and hope to move toward that soon, but this is what works for me at this time in my life. Finally, I do not think that my approach to fasting is “the Correct one.” There can be, have always been, and are nowadays many variations. Patriarch Theodore Balsamon (12th cent.), for example, mentioned Great Lent as the only 40-day fast (actually called “Τεσσαρακοστή”–” Четыредесятница” or the “Forty-day-er”), and the other three main fasts as lasting only one week each. Of course, he meant actual fasting–one simple meal (xerophagy) per day after vespers–not dieting, and thus, his practice was closer to that of the Early Church. But my present approach to fasting is more meaningful to me right now than some things I have tried in the past. Above all, life is always a work in progress.
One-Day Fasts
Most Orthodox Christians are familiar (or should be familiar) with one-day or 24-hour fasts. There is a tradition, for example, of fasting until the first star (or until after vespers or vesperal Liturgy) on the Eve of the Nativity and also the Eve of Theophany. In practice, this means eating supper in the evening of January 5th and then waiting until the evening of January 6th to eat the next meal, and then fasting some more until the conclusion of the Liturgy on January 7, the Feast of the Nativity of our Lord. The meal on Christmas Eve is to consist of wheat berries cooked with dried fruit and honey, also food with oil, and wine. Compare this to the strict fast on Great and Holy Saturday before Pascha, when we eat only bread with dried fruit and wine at the conclusion of the vesperal Liturgy which is to be the latest of the whole year. Properly, this means that this Liturgy is to be started around 4 p.m. (see Typikon, ch. 49), so that it constitutes a part of the vigil and is followed by the reading of the Book of Acts and then by Paschal services.
During all of the Nativity Fast, the Typikon (see ch. 33) prescribes a 24-hour fast on Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays, when one simple meal without oil or wine is allowed after 3 p.m. On Tuesdays and Thursdays of the Nativity Fast, oil and wine are allowed, and likely, two meals on those days are presumed. In the last week of the Nativity Fast, fasting is to become stricter still.
Historically, this is perhaps the clearest glimpse we now have into the fasting practice of the Early Church. Fasting meant either a complete abstinence from food or a very simple meal, such as bread and dried fruit, in the evening or after sunset. The meal serves not as a means of breaking the fast, but as a means of giving some strength to those keeping a long vigil and continuing to fast until after the main festal Liturgy.
When I was first assigned to a parish almost two decades ago, there was definite pressure to adjust all services to the least possible amount of fasting: to schedule Liturgies of Presanctified Gifts for mornings instead of evenings in order to avoid having to fast all day, the bringing-out of the Shroud for earlier in the day, and the vesperal Liturgy on Great Saturday for the usual or only symbolically-later time of the morning. This created a number of silly problems. For example, it felt silly to “complete our evening prayer unto the Lord” at 7 or 8 o’clock in the morning. It also felt silly to normalize a “tea break” between taking Christ off the Cross symbolized by the bringing-out of the Shroud, and His burial symbolized in the service of the matins–only because someone came up with the idea that “we fast until the bringing-out of the Shroud,” and so everyone wanted to drink tea and eat peanut-butter sandwiches while Christ was just lying there waiting to be buried. Finally, it felt utterly ridiculous to keep announcing year after year that the Liturgy of Great and Holy Saturday is supposed to be served in the evening, but that we do not do that anymore, and that is why we symbolically start it at 10 a.m. instead of 9:30 a.m. Why do we not do that anymore? Do we all work so much harder and longer hours than the slaves, serfs, and subsistence farmers did a thousand years ago that we can no longer skip a few meals, and the entire Church has to adjust Her liturgical life around our self-proclaimed weakness? Is it even true that we cannot fast, or is it that we will not fast?
Eventually, I realized that there was no reason to eat at all on Great and Holy Friday, whether after the bringing-out of the Shroud or after the matins service. A tall glass of water in the morning and more tea or water later in the evening was perfectly sufficient. (Yes, I choose to drink some water, green tea, or weak coffee while fasting, unless it is a Eucharistic fast.) For most of the years that I observed a strict fast on Great Friday, I worked a secular job until lunchtime and then went to church in the afternoon, so it is perfectly possible to work, go to church, and fast.
For quite some time now, I have been fasting almost every Friday with very few exceptions. I eat supper on Thursday evening and then eat nothing at all on Friday. I usually have some coffee in the morning and then green tea and water the rest of the day. I work ten-hour shifts on Fridays and run, or go to the gym, or both before work. I do not usually abstain from food on Wednesdays (yet), but merely follow a “fasting” diet.
Two-Day Fasts
Additionally, nowadays, I almost always abstain from food for half of Saturday. That is to say, I eat supper on Thursday evening, fast on Friday, and eat supper on Saturday after work. Essentially, this is somewhat similar to what would happen During Passion Week if we were to schedule the Saturday Liturgy in the evening where it properly belongs.
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As a side note, the idea of eating until noon and then fasting from noon until the vesperal Liturgy, like some have proposed for Presanctified Liturgies, for example, seems quite silly to me. The entire reason for serving a Liturgy in the evening, and more specifically a Presanctified Liturgy, is to allow for fasting during the day (see, for example, Typikon, ch. 32 and Canon 49 of the Synod of Laodicea). And if we are not going to fast, then why play these games? Why noon and not 11 a.m., or 1 p.m., or from the “fourth watch” (Matt 14:25), or from the “third hour” when Jesus was crucified (Mk 15:25)? What is the significance of noon?
It is asserted that historically, the Presanctified Liturgy was established because regular Liturgies are not served on weekdays during Lent, and Christians who were accustomed to partaking of Communion almost every day, were saddened that they had to wait for Saturdays and Sundays to take Communion. I do not know whether this is true, but it does not seem to be of any relevance nowadays. Most Orthodox faithful today are not accustomed to receiving Communion every single day. In some traditions, the faithful normally receive Communion every week (once a week). In other traditions, it is less frequent. Perhaps, an argument could be made that during Lent, even those who normally do not take Communion more than once a week should have the opportunity to partake more often–four or more times every week. If such an argument were to be made, then the argument in favor of doing this correctly and scheduling the services at their proper times in order to allow for proper fasting must also be made.
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Normally, I abstain from food for approximately 48 hours, work ten-hour shifts and exercise on both Friday and Saturday. Presently, I work a late shift on Fridays and an early one on Saturdays, which conveniently allows me to have a simple meal when I get home from work on Saturday. The reason I eat a meal on Saturday instead of waiting until Sunday is two-fold. On the one hand, fasting is not allowed on Saturdays, and I will not go into the theological reasons or the nature of the Orthodox-Catholic debate on this issue here. This does not mean, however, that one is obligated to feast. One simple meal, even just a piece of bread, to mark the day as non-fasting is perfectly sufficient–see, for example, instructions in chapter 48 of the Typikon concerning the fast on the Eve of the Nativity when it falls on a Saturday or a Sunday. (To lay to rest any lingering doubts, should the pious reader have them, one could have a glass of wine with the said piece of bread.) Additionally, it is easier for me to sit down for a quiet meal on Saturday evening than it is on Sunday after the Liturgy when I am usually quite busy, and I really like quiet meals. Thus, this is my usual week, at least most of the time.
As a recent example, here is what I did the week of Western Christmas. Sunday through Thursday, I observed the typical fasting diet, but not a strict fast. I worked ten hours after church on Sunday and another ten hours on Monday. Before work on Monday, I went to the gym. I went running on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. On Thursday evening, I ate supper between 4 and 5 p.m. and then began my usual fast. On Friday, I did not go running but went to the gym and did a workout after fasting for approximately 15 hours. On Saturday, after approximately 41 hours of abstaining from food, I ran 6.5 km (4 miles) outdoors at -4°C (24°F) and then did a workout at the gym. I also worked my normal 10-hour shift on that day. When I came home from work shortly after 4 p.m., I had a simple meal. So, the total time without food was approximately 48 hours, and I did everything that I would normally do during that time.
This approach to fasting resolves several pesky problems at once. It allows me not to worry about what or how much to eat on Fridays, or what is being served at the cafeteria at work, and whether it is vegan or not, or whether oil is allowed, etc. I do not have to spend time and effort packing meals to take to work or eating them. On Saturdays, I do not have to keep puzzling over the nature of fasting in preparation for Communion. On the one hand, we all know that this preparation must include fasting (see, for example, Canon 29 of the Council in Trullo). On the other hand, to the best of my knowledge, the clergy who partake of Communion every single week have a difficult time figuring out precisely what to do on Saturdays in that respect, since fasting on Saturdays is not allowed. Thus, having one meal on Saturday afternoons or evenings seems to simplify the issue in my mind.
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As a side note, the complication of fasting on Saturday often comes up in the form of a complaint from those who are urged by their pastors to observe a fast before Communion, while the pastors themselves observe no fast at all. This complaint, to the best of my knowledge, is never addressed to any degree of satisfaction. In one diocese, I am told, the ruling bishop advised his priests to abstain from meat on Saturdays. I do not have first-hand knowledge of this practice, but what I have personally observed over the past two decades is that priests do not fast on Saturdays in any way. The explanation for this disregard of fasting that I have often heard has been that the clergy partake of Communion every single week, and if they had to fast, this would mean fasting for at least three out of every seven days of the week–Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Of course, this explanation is but nonsensical, since one is merely asked to forego meat and cheese in exchange for the Body and Blood of God Himself. There is absolutely no canonical basis of which I am aware for granting dispensations from fasting based on the frequency of Communion. How often is too often?
It seems to me that this complication in terminology is a rather recent phenomenon, and that the Church simply never truly had to contend with it until now. In 2018, Americans consumed more than 220 pounds of meat per person, and this figure includes infants, vegans, and Orthodox Christians during Great Lent, so the actual number per meat-eating adult is higher. While the ancients certainly ate meat, it is likely that they ate less meat than does the modern man, and that a day or few days without meat would neither be uncommon nor necessarily seen as periods of fasting. Properly, fasting would therefore mean, in the first approximation, abstaining not from meat or cheese but from food in general for certain periods of time.
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Fasting seems to resolve many problems and create none. It is free. It does not take any time away from anything else. It does not affect my daily life in any way that I can notice. I work, commute, exercise, write, read, study, go to church, and do everything else that I would normally do. This summer, I went on a two-day canoeing and fishing trip without having to haul any food at all. To be honest, we ended up roasting a couple of bass over the fire in the evening, and my 48-hour fast was broken up into two 24-hour segments with one roasted bass in the middle. But I fully expected to fast for 48 hours straight and not to worry about food at all. I work 10-hour-long shifts, serve two mission parishes 120 miles apart, and try to enjoy the great outdoors of Wisconsin in my free time. For me, the simpler the better, and fasting is incomparably simpler than dieting. Naturally, when there is no fast, such as from Christmas to Theophany, for example, I do not fast (and do not diet) in celebration of the festal season. Of course, all of these are not truly spiritual but mostly practical considerations. Incorporating them as a part of spiritual practice should not be the stuff of internet posts, and one should consult one’s parish priest, not a blogologian.
Fasts Longer Than Two Days
Fasting longer than 48 hours is something that is described in the Typikon with respect to the first week of Great Lent. It states that we abstain from food on Monday and Tuesday, and also on Wednesday until the conclusion of the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts which is served in the evening. In other words, we eat supper in the evening of Forgiveness Sunday and then again supper on Wednesday, making it a three-day or 72-hour fast. On all of the other weeks of Lent, one simple meal is served once a day after vespers, meaning that every day of Lent is a 24-hour fast (see also the instructions in ch. 33 for the Nativity Fast). The Typikon presumes that vespers are served at their proper time and not artificially moved to morning or early afternoon. Thus, the Typikon does not require a strict fast that is longer than three days. Moreover, if one were to attend all of the services at their proper times and fully participate in them, the fast would be naturally broken by the partaking of Holy Communion at the Presanctifieds on Wednesday and Friday (or other days).
However, when Presanctified Liturgies are not served for whatever reason, or when one does not attend them (think of Saint Zosimas of Palestine who spent all of Lent until Palm Sunday in the desert away from his monastery), or when it is not Great Lent but a different fast, it is possible to fast strictly–for example, from Sunday evening until Saturday evening, or from Tuesday evening until Saturday evening. Obviously, this is not something that most people will do every week throughout the year. I do not do this every week. But this is something that can be done, if one were so inclined, during the first and/or last week of every major fast. I mentioned that I used to fast during the first week of Great Lent two decades ago. We did not always have Presanctified Liturgies then, so it was possible to fast. Since moving to Wisconsin at the beginning of 2018, I have been serving at mission parishes, and we also do not schedule Presanctified Liturgies. But here is the most recent example.
In the last full week of the Nativity fast of 2019, Wednesday fell on New Year’s Day, and we like to mark the occasion as a family, which includes eating meals together. Fasting is perfectly possible while enjoying family time–there is absolutely no need to “disfigure” one’s face (Matt 6:16)–but I do not always find it necessary. Thus, I had supper on Wednesday evening, January 1st, and then began my fast. The next meal I had was about 72 hours later, on Saturday evening, January 4th. I had lunch and supper on Sunday, and then fasted until the partaking of the blessed bread during the vigil on Christmas Eve. Then, after the Liturgy on Christmas Day, January 7th, we all broke fast.
In addition to the services at church, I worked my usual 10-hour shifts on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night (January 3-5), including responding to several emergencies (a regular occurrence in my line of work), ran 5.5 km (3.4 miles) on Thursday the 2nd at 18 hours since my last meal, exercised at the gym on Friday the 3rd at 38 hours of fasting, ran 6.5 km (4 miles) on Saturday the 4th at 62 hours since my last meal, and then did a workout at the gym after the run (at 63 hours since the last meal). It is true that I do not work in construction or pick lettuce all day in 100-degree heat. But this is true of most people in the U.S. Only about 6.5% of all adults who have a job (approximately 50% of the total U.S. population) work in construction. Even fewer work in agriculture–only about 2.5%. This means that at most, only 4.5% of all people in the U.S. have anything to do with construction or farm work–only 4 or 5 people for every 100 parishioners. This was not the case two thousand, one thousand, or even just two hundred years ago when most people (85-95%), including most Christians, engaged in physical labor. So, what is it really—precisely and specifically–that we think makes us less capable of fasting compared to the previous generations?
“Whiles it remained, was it not thine own? and after it was sold, was it not in thine own power?” (Acts 5:4)
I decided quite a long time ago that when I write, I will only write that which is meaningful to me personally. If it happens to be meaningful to someone else, this is encouraging and provides the reason for continuing to maintain this blog. Life, including Christian life, is a work in progress, and each one of us must take personal responsibility for this work. We need to stop using some hypothetical “modern people” who are too weak to fast and too busy to pray as our excuse for why we do not fast and do not pray.
At least in the developed world, we have the best medical care, the best access to nutrition, and the longest life expectancy of any human society at any time in human history. We have invented machines and devices that assist us in many tasks that used to require physical labor–from running water to washing machines, and from tractors and backhoes to pneumatic nail guns and power screwdrivers. Evolutionarily, if one were inclined to think in those terms, we are the descendants of the strongest and healthiest people, every single one of whom had to survive at least long enough to produce offspring in order for us to be here. What is it specifically and precisely that we think makes us so much more incapable of fasting compared to the early Christians? Whatever our particular answer may be, I think it is important to ask this question and truly wrestle with the answer.
Do people have to not eat for two or three days? No, of course nobody has to. Nobody has to fast, or pray, or go to church. Christianity is a fundamentally voluntary pursuit. If it were not so, Christ would have prayed to the Father and received “more than twelve legions of angels” (Matt 25:53) to enforce the kingdom of God with all of its rules and regulations. OK, but does it have to be so strict? Can there not be some “Orthodoxy lite”? Sure. There is a wide gate and a broad way (Matt 7:13). But jokes aside, we all have different talents. Some, like Saint Seraphim of Sarov or Sergius of Radonezh, do not write books or blogs but keep vigil, pray, and fast. Others help the poor and the needy. Others conduct divine services for their community. Others teach Sunday school. Yet others start missions and build temples.
Having then gifts differing according to the grace that is given to us, whether prophecy, let us prophesy according to the proportion of faith; or ministry, let us wait on our ministering: or he that teacheth, on teaching; or he that exhorteth, on exhortation: he that giveth, let him do it with simplicity; he that ruleth, with diligence; he that sheweth mercy, with cheerfulness. (Rom 12:6-8)
Not everyone is interested in fasting just as not everyone is interested in theology or mission work, but everyone must have some purpose in the Body of Christ.
For the body is not one member, but many. If the foot shall say, Because I am not the hand, I am not of the body; is it therefore not of the body? And if the ear shall say, Because I am not the eye, I am not of the body; is it therefore not of the body? If the whole body were an eye, where were the hearing? If the whole were hearing, where were the smelling? But now hath God set the members every one of them in the body, as it hath pleased him. And if they were all one member, where were the body? But now are they many members, yet but one body. And the eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee: nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of you. Nay, much more those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary: and those members of the body, which we think to be less honourable, upon these we bestow more abundant honour… (1 Cor 12:14-23)
All of us have different gifts. But whatever the gift may be, we all must take responsibility for something and do it diligently. Being responsible for nothing and merely going with the flow will surely put us downstream; but is downstream our chosen destination? If one wanted to practice fasting–today, in the 21st century, in the United States or anywhere else, while having a job and a family and obligations–it is very much possible, despite the prevailing modern lax approach to fasting, replacing it with “not eating one’s neighbor.” Jesus did not eat His neighbors, and He still fasted. He also did not go with the flow, neither did His apostles, and neither did the Fathers and Mothers of the Church. So, why do we think that floating downstream is our way? Surely, there has to be a better way, a more meaningful way, a way of taking personal responsibility for our life in Christ.
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