We live in a world that has declared war on the idea of objective truth. Not quietly—but loudly and with brazen cultural authority. The prevailing message is that truth is personal and subjective; … that truth is whatever is true --- to and for you. To some, it may sound like freedom; however, it is truthfully the sound of tolerance. To some, that ‘personal truth’ may sound generous and open-hearted. But it is, in practice, the loneliest possible place to build a life. A truth that belongs only to you cannot rescue you, cannot outlast you, and cannot comfort you when the world falls apart around you. And it will. Jesus even told us we would have trouble in this world. We can be assured of moments of struggle and suffering.

Jesus made the most audacious claim in human history when He said, “I am the truth.” Please note what He actually said. He said, “I AM the truth” -- Not … “I teach truth.” Not … “I point toward truth.” ---- “I AM the truth.”

C.S. Lewis identified the logical problem with dismissing that claim: someone who says what Jesus said is either exactly who He claims to be, or He is a deliberate liar, or He is dangerously deluded. There is no intellectually comfortable middle ground of “Jesus was a good moral teacher who said some helpful things.” Jesus’ claim itself doesn't allow for that.

The beauty of absolute truth is not that it restricts—but that it rescues. When you know that reality is grounded in something that does not shift with culture, with politics, with your emotional state, or with popular opinion, you have something solid to stand on when everything else is moving. This fast is an invitation to re-anchor yourself to that foundation. Every day you choose to fast is a day you’re saying: I am building my life on something that will still be standing long after the world’s version of truth has shifted again.