The Coat Closet at Grace Avenue

For three years, the congregation at Grace Avenue Community Church held a January fast. They posted their prayer schedules online, printed devotional booklets, and filled the sanctuary for midweek services. It felt holy. It felt right.

Then one February morning, Pastor Linda Nguyen found a teenager asleep against the church's back door, wearing a hoodie too thin for a Michigan winter. His name was Marcus. He was sixteen. He had been sleeping outside for eleven days, just thirty feet from where they had been praying about spiritual renewal.

That encounter broke something open. The next month, the church converted an unused coat closet into a warming station. Within a year, they had partnered with Washtenaw County social services to host a weekly resource hub — not just handing out canned goods, but connecting families to housing assistance, job training, and medical care. Members who had never spoken to their unhoused neighbors began learning their names.

"We thought fasting was about us and God," Pastor Nguyen told her congregation. "We missed the part where God said the fast He chose was to loose the chains of injustice and share our bread with the hungry."

Isaiah 58 does not condemn worship. It condemns worship that never walks out the front door. The Almighty tells His people that when they stop merely performing devotion and start breaking real yokes, then — and only then — will their light break forth like the dawn. The true fast always has a name, a face, and an address.