Almsgiving is giving money or help to the poor. During fasting seasons, it’s the third leg of a stool that won’t stand without all three: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.
You can’t fast properly without it. That’s not my opinion. It’s what Christ taught in Matthew 6, where He talks about “when you give alms,” “when you pray,” and “when you fast” as three parts of the same spiritual life. The Church has never separated them.
Here’s why. Fasting without almsgiving turns into a diet. You’re just not eating cheese for a while. Prayer without almsgiving becomes words in the air. But when you fast and then take the money you would’ve spent on steaks and shrimp and give it to someone who needs it, something shifts. Your fast becomes about someone else, not just your own spiritual progress.
The Fathers were blunt about this. The Triodion, our Lenten service book, puts it plainly: “Let us feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty.” Not as a nice addition to fasting. As part of what fasting is.
What it looks like practically
During Great Lent, you’re eating simpler food. Beans instead of brisket. Rice instead of ribeye. Your grocery bill drops. That difference? That’s your alms. Some people calculate it precisely. Others just know they’re spending less and make a point to give more.
But almsgiving isn’t only money. The tradition includes visiting the sick, welcoming strangers, clothing people who need clothes, and spending time with prisoners. In Southeast Texas, that might mean helping a coworker whose family got hit by a hurricane, or buying groceries for someone between paychecks, or volunteering at the food bank on a Saturday you’d normally spend fishing.
The point is active generosity. Fasting makes space in your life, less time cooking elaborate meals, less money on fancy food, less energy spent on comfort. Almsgiving fills that space with love for your neighbor.
Why the Church insists on this
We’re not Gnostics. We don’t think the body is bad and the spirit is good. Fasting isn’t about punishing your body or proving how tough you are. It’s about reordering your loves, and you can’t reorder your loves while ignoring the guy who’s hungry.
St. John Chrysostom said it better than I can: you’re wasting your time fasting if you’re not feeding the poor. The money you save belongs to them. When you fast, you’re joining your physical discipline to your spiritual growth to your love for others. All three together.
This is why your priest will ask about almsgiving when you go to confession during Lent. He’s not being nosy. He’s checking whether you’re actually fasting or just dieting.
How to start
Talk to your priest about what makes sense for your situation. If you’re working rotating shifts at the refinery and money’s tight, your almsgiving might look different from someone else’s. That’s fine. The Church isn’t legalistic about the amount.
But do something. Set aside five dollars a week during Lent and give it to someone who needs it. Cook a meal for a family going through a hard time. Spend an afternoon helping an elderly neighbor with yard work. The specific act matters less than the habit of turning your fast outward.
Some parishes collect alms during Lent for specific causes. St. Michael’s might have a box for a local need or for Orthodox missions. That’s an easy place to start. You’re fasting anyway. Now you’re fasting with purpose.
The beauty of this is how it changes fasting from a burden into a gift. You’re not just giving up meat. You’re participating in Christ’s love for the world, and that participation includes the widow, the orphan, the stranger, and the guy at work who just lost his job. Your empty stomach and your open hand go together. That’s how the Church has always done it.
