You go, and you do your best. That’s the short answer.
The longer answer is that fasting is a spiritual discipline meant to help you, not a law meant to trap you at home during crawfish season or make your mama cry because you won’t eat her brisket. We fast to grow closer to God through prayer and self-denial. But we’re also called to love our neighbors, and sometimes that means sitting at a table where everything has bacon in it.
Here’s what you need to know. Orthodox fasting means abstaining from meat, dairy, eggs, fish, wine, and oil on certain days and during certain seasons. Wednesdays and Fridays year-round. The four major fasting seasons. If you’re new to this and you grew up in Southeast Texas, you’re looking at a calendar that conflicts with every church potluck, every family reunion, every offshore crew cookout, and definitely every holiday between Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Start by talking to your priest. I can’t say that enough. The Church has something called economia, which is pastoral discretion. It means the rules aren’t one-size-fits-all. Your priest knows your situation. He knows if you’re working a turnaround at the plant with no control over what food is available. He knows if you’re the only Orthodox person in a family of Baptists who already think you’ve joined a cult. He’ll help you figure out what’s actually possible for you right now.
When you’re at someone else’s house, you have options. You can eat beforehand and then have a small portion of whatever’s served. You can focus on the sides, there’s usually something. Salad, bread, vegetables if they’re not swimming in butter. You can bring a fasting dish to share. Black-eyed peas cooked with vegetables instead of ham hock. A good pasta salad with olive oil. Nobody needs to know it’s a “fasting food.” It’s just food.
Some people tell their hosts ahead of time. “I’m fasting from meat right now, but I’ll be fine with whatever sides you have.” Some don’t mention it at all and just navigate quietly. Both approaches work. It depends on the relationship and how much explanation you want to get into.
What you don’t do is make a scene. You don’t lecture your uncle about the spiritual benefits of abstaining from barbecue. You don’t refuse to sit at the table. You don’t act like you’re holier than everyone else because you’re eating green beans while they’re eating ribs. That defeats the whole purpose. Fasting is supposed to make you more humble, more patient, more loving. If it’s making you prideful or divisive, you’re doing it wrong.
There will be times when you break the fast. Maybe you’re at your grandmother’s house and she made her one dish specially for you and she’s 89 and you’re going to eat it. Maybe you’re at a work event and there’s literally nothing but meat and you need to eat something. Maybe you just mess up because you forgot what day it was. That happens. Confession exists for a reason. God is merciful. The fast isn’t magic, and breaking it doesn’t undo your salvation.
The goal is progress, not perfection. Metropolitan Kallistos Ware talks about levels of fasting. You start where you can. Maybe that’s just no meat on Wednesdays and Fridays. Then you add dairy. Then you work up to the full fast during Lent. If you’re three months into Orthodoxy and you’re trying to keep a strict monastic fast while living with your non-Orthodox family in Beaumont, you’re probably going to burn out.
Some practical things that help: Keep fasting snacks in your car or your work bag. Nuts, fruit, crackers, peanut butter. If you know you’re going to a cookout on Friday, eat a good fasting meal before you go. Bring something to share that you can eat. Hummus and vegetables. A bean dish. Fasting food doesn’t have to be sad food.
And remember that fasting is paired with prayer. If you’re keeping a perfect fast but you’re not praying more, not reading Scripture, not going to services, you’re just on a diet. The point is to create space for God. The physical hunger is supposed to remind you of your spiritual hunger. When you’re at that cookout and you’re hungry and everyone else is eating and you’re not, that’s when you pray. That’s when you remember why you’re doing this.
The Church has been doing this for 2,000 years in every culture imaginable. Early Christians fasted in the Roman Empire where every social event involved meat sacrificed to idols. They figured it out. You can figure out how to fast in Texas. It takes some creativity and some humility and some conversations with your priest. But it’s doable. And when you do manage it, when you make it through that family gathering or that work lunch and you kept your fast without being weird about it, there’s a real joy in that. A quiet sense that you chose God over comfort, and it was worth it.
