You go, you bring a side dish, and you eat what you can while you’re there. Fasting isn’t meant to make you rude.
Orthodox fasting surprises most people coming from other Christian backgrounds: it’s a spiritual discipline, not a law you break or keep. We fast to grow closer to God, to quiet our appetites, to make room for prayer. We don’t fast to prove anything or to earn points with God. And we definitely don’t fast in a way that turns us into judgmental hermits who can’t share a meal with our neighbors.
So when your cousin invites you to his Father’s Day cookout and you’re in the middle of the Apostles’ Fast, you’ve got options. None of them involve staying home and feeling superior.
What fasting actually is
Orthodox Christians fast a lot. Wednesdays and Fridays year-round, plus four major fasting seasons. That’s close to 200 days a year when we’re abstaining from meat, dairy, eggs, and usually fish (the traditional rule also excludes wine and oil, though at St. Michael oil and wine are allowed). It’s not a test you pass or fail. Your priest isn’t keeping score. God isn’t either.
Fasting is medicine for the soul. It’s a way to practice saying no to yourself in small things so you can say yes to God in bigger ones. When you skip the brisket, you’re training your will. When you eat simply, you remember the poor. When your stomach growls a little, you pray a little more.
But the Church recognizes that fasting has to bend sometimes. The sick, pregnant women, and children are not held to the fast the way healthy adults are. And when fasting would genuinely harm your health or damage an important relationship, your priest can tell you to ease up. This isn’t cheating, it’s called economia, pastoral discretion. The rules serve us; we don’t serve the rules.
The BBQ problem
So you’re standing in your cousin’s backyard in Vidor or Lumberton, and there’s a smoker going, and someone’s handing you a plate. What do you do?
First option: eat what you can. Load up on potato salad (if it’s the vinegar kind, not the mayo kind), grab some beans (check if they’ve got bacon, if they do, oh well, eat around it or take a small portion), fill up on bread and pickles and whatever vegetables are out. Most Texas BBQs have enough sides to feed you. Bring a fasting-friendly dish yourself, a good coleslaw with oil-based dressing, some grilled vegetables, a pasta salad. Nobody needs to know it’s a “fasting dish.” It’s just food.
Second option: explain briefly if someone asks. “I’m fasting right now for my church, it’s an Orthodox thing. But I’m good with all these sides, thanks.” Most people respect that. Some will be curious. Some will tell you about their aunt who’s Greek Orthodox. It’s fine. You’re not making a scene; you’re just living your life.
Third option, and this is important: if your host has gone to serious trouble and insists you try the brisket he’s been smoking since 4 a.m., and refusing would genuinely hurt him, that is a situation to bring to Fr. Michael. The Church teaches that fasting serves love of God and neighbor, and the priest can advise how to handle hospitality when it comes up.
The heart of the matter
Fasting is supposed to make you more loving, not less. If your fasting turns you into someone who can’t fellowship with others, who makes people feel awkward, who radiates judgment at family gatherings, you’re doing it wrong. The Pharisees fasted. Jesus ate with tax collectors and sinners, and the Pharisees criticized him for it.
This doesn’t mean fasting is optional or that you should blow it off whenever it’s inconvenient. It means fasting is a tool, and you have to use it wisely. Most of the time, you can handle a social meal just fine while keeping your fast. You eat the sides, you enjoy the company, you go home and pray. Easy.
But sometimes the situation demands flexibility. A wedding reception. A funeral meal. Your non-Orthodox in-laws hosting Thanksgiving and they’ve made everything with butter because that’s how they cook. In those moments, you make a pastoral decision. You eat lightly, you focus on the people rather than the food, and you remember that the goal is union with God and love for neighbor, not perfect adherence to a food rule.
Your priest is there to help you figure this out. If you’re not sure how to handle a particular situation, ask him. That’s what he’s for. He might tell you to keep the fast strictly. He might tell you to relax it for that occasion. He might ask you questions about your spiritual life that help you see what you actually need. This is normal. This is how the Church works.
Living it out here
Southeast Texas isn’t Constantinople. Your family isn’t Orthodox. Your coworkers aren’t Orthodox. You’re going to be the only person fasting at most meals you attend, and that’s fine. You’re not trying to convert people by refusing their potato salad. You’re trying to become more like Christ, and Christ ate with people.
Bring good food to share. Be cheerful. Don’t make a big deal about what you’re not eating unless someone asks. When they do ask, keep it simple and positive. “It’s a spiritual discipline in my church, kind of like Lent but we do it several times a year. Helps me focus on prayer.” Then change the subject.
And when you get home from that BBQ, having eaten your coleslaw and your beans and (with Fr. Michael’s guidance for such a situation) maybe even a bite of brisket, say your prayers. Thank God for your family. Ask him to help you grow in love. That’s what fasting is for.
