When Fasting Becomes Theater: The Heart Behind the Ritual
What’s Zechariah 7 about?
God confronts his people about their performative fasting and mourning, asking whether their religious rituals were actually about honoring him or just keeping up appearances. It’s a gut-punch reminder that external religious activity without internal transformation is just spiritual theater.
The Full Context
Picture this: It’s been about seventy years since Jerusalem fell, the temple was destroyed, and God’s people were dragged into exile. Now they’re back, the temple’s being rebuilt, and life is starting to feel normal again. But there’s this awkward question hanging in the air – should they keep fasting and mourning for the destruction of the temple that’s now being restored?
This question arrives in the fourth year of King Darius (518 BC), when a delegation from Bethel comes to Jerusalem asking the priests and prophets whether they should continue their traditional fast in the fifth month – the one commemorating the burning of Solomon’s temple. It seems like a reasonable religious question, but God uses it as a launching pad to address something much deeper: the condition of their hearts. The passage fits perfectly within Zechariah’s broader message of restoration and renewal, but here the focus shifts from future glory to present spiritual authenticity. This isn’t just about calendar management – it’s about whether their religious practices had become empty traditions divorced from genuine devotion to God and care for others.
What the Ancient Words Tell Us
The Hebrew here is particularly striking. When God asks, “When you fasted and mourned… was it really for me that you fasted?” the word for “for me” (לי) is emphatic – it’s positioned for maximum impact. It’s like God saying, “Was this actually for ME, or was it just something you did?”
Grammar Geeks
The Hebrew verb for “fasted” (צום) appears five times in just a few verses, creating this drumbeat effect that emphasizes how central this practice had become to their religious identity. But notice how God never once uses the verb “worship” or “honor” in connection with their fasting – that’s intentional.
The contrast becomes even sharper when we get to God’s alternative vision in verses 9-10. Instead of fasting rituals, he lists concrete actions: “Execute true justice, show mercy and compassion to one another, do not oppress the widow, the fatherless, the sojourner, or the poor.” These aren’t abstract spiritual concepts – they’re boots-on-the-ground ways of living that demonstrate genuine heart change.
What Would the Original Audience Have Heard?
Put yourself in the sandals of that delegation from Bethel. They’ve traveled to Jerusalem – probably a multi-day journey – with what seems like a perfectly legitimate religious question. Temple’s being rebuilt, things are looking up, so maybe it’s time to stop the mourning fasts?
But then Zechariah drops this bombshell: God’s not impressed with their fasting. In fact, he’s questioning whether any of their religious activity over the past seventy years was actually about him at all. Can you imagine the uncomfortable silence?
Did You Know?
Archaeological evidence shows that Bethel was becoming an important regional center during this period. The delegation wasn’t just asking for personal guidance – they were likely representing a significant community’s religious practices. This makes God’s response even more pointed.
The audience would have immediately understood the weight of God’s counter-examples too. Widows, orphans, foreigners, and the poor weren’t abstract categories – they were the vulnerable people in every community who served as the litmus test for whether society was functioning according to God’s heart. When God says, “Don’t oppress them,” he’s using language that recalls both the Exodus (where Israel learned what it felt like to be oppressed) and the social justice passages of earlier prophets.
But Wait… Why Did They Fast in the First Place?
Here’s where things get interesting. These weren’t fasts that God had commanded – they were traditions the people had created during the exile to commemorate various disasters. The fifth month fast marked when the temple burned, the seventh month fast remembered the assassination of Gedaliah, and so on.
Wait, That’s Strange…
God never actually tells them to stop fasting. Instead, he questions their motives and redirects their focus to justice and mercy. It’s as if he’s saying, “If you’re going to have religious practices, make sure they’re producing the right kind of people.”
This raises a fascinating question about human nature and religious practice. When traumatic things happen, we naturally create rituals to process them. But over time, those rituals can become ends in themselves rather than means to genuine spiritual growth. The people had turned their grief into a religious performance.
Wrestling with the Text
The most challenging part of this passage might be God’s alternative vision in verses 9-10. It’s easy to read this and think, “Oh, God just wants social justice instead of religious ritual.” But that misses the point entirely.
Look carefully at the structure: God doesn’t say “instead of fasting, do justice.” He’s showing them what genuine spiritual life looks like – it’s internally motivated devotion to God that naturally flows into external care for others. The fasting had become disconnected from both love for God and love for neighbor.
“True spirituality isn’t measured by the intensity of our religious activities, but by how those activities shape us into people who reflect God’s character in ordinary relationships.”
The Hebrew word for “compassion” (רחמים) comes from the word for “womb” – it’s the kind of deep, protective love a mother has for her child. That’s the kind of heart transformation God is looking for. External religious practices should cultivate internal change that shows up in how we treat the most vulnerable people around us.
How This Changes Everything
This passage demolishes any notion that we can compartmentalize our spiritual life from our social responsibility. The question “Was it really for me that you fasted?” applies to every religious activity we participate in – not just fasting.
When we sing worship songs, is it really for God, or are we just going through motions? When we pray, read Scripture, or participate in communion, are these activities drawing us closer to God’s heart for justice and mercy, or have they become spiritual muscle memory disconnected from actual transformation?
Did You Know?
Recent archaeological work in post-exilic Judah shows evidence of significant economic disparity. The very communities asking about fasting protocols were likely dealing with real widows, orphans, and poor people who needed practical help, not more religious ceremonies.
The beautiful irony is that God doesn’t condemn religious practice itself – he wants it to be authentic and transformative. The goal isn’t to eliminate ritual but to ensure that our rituals are forming us into people who naturally care about the things God cares about.
Key Takeaway
God is less interested in our religious performance and more interested in whether our spiritual practices are making us the kind of people who instinctively protect and care for those who can’t protect themselves.
Further Reading
Internal Links:
External Scholarly Resources:
- The Minor Prophets: An Exegetical and Expository Commentary by Thomas McComiskey
- Zechariah: The Coming Prince of Peace by Richard Phillips
- A Commentary on the Minor Prophets by Charles Feinberg
Tags
Zechariah 7:5, Zechariah 7:9, Zechariah 7:10, fasting, social justice, religious hypocrisy, true worship, caring for the poor, authentic faith, post-exilic period, spiritual transformation, mercy, compassion
