A strict fast day means you’re abstaining from meat, dairy, eggs, fish, wine, and oil. That’s it. That’s the definition.
But let me back up, because if you’re coming from a Baptist or non-denominational background here in Southeast Texas, the whole concept of fasting levels probably sounds foreign. Most of us grew up thinking fasting meant skipping lunch before a youth rally or maybe giving up chocolate for Lent if you had Catholic friends. Orthodox fasting is different. It’s not about skipping meals entirely, it’s about what you eat and when.
What You Can and Can’t Eat
On a strict fast day, you’re eating plant-based foods. Vegetables, fruits, bread, beans, nuts, grains. Some traditions allow shellfish since they don’t have backbones. You’re drinking water, juice, coffee without cream. What you’re not eating: anything that comes from an animal with a backbone. No chicken, no beef, no fish filets, no milk, no cheese, no eggs, no butter.
And here’s where it gets more specific, no wine and no olive oil either. Those aren’t animal products, but they’re considered luxuries, things associated with celebration. A strict fast day isn’t a celebration. It’s a day of mourning or preparation or repentance.
The traditional practice also involves eating later in the day. Not a full breakfast at seven. Maybe nothing until afternoon, or just a small amount of bread and fruit to keep you going if you’re working a twelve-hour shift at the refinery.
Which Days Are Strict Fast Days?
Every Wednesday and Friday throughout the year, with some exceptions during feast periods. Wednesdays because that’s when Judas betrayed Christ. Fridays because that’s when He was crucified. We’re fasting in solidarity with that suffering.
Then there are specific single days: the Eve of Theophany (January 5), the Beheading of John the Baptist (August 29), and the Exaltation of the Cross (September 14). These commemorate martyrdom or preparation for a major feast.
The first week of Great Lent is particularly strict. According to the full observance, you’re eating only two full meals that entire week, one on Wednesday, one on Friday, both after the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts. I’m not going to tell you that’s what you need to do as a catechumen. But that’s the monastic standard, and it shows you how seriously the Church takes this season.
Holy Week ramps up even more. From Thursday evening through Holy Saturday, the traditional rule is no full meals at all, just small amounts of food to sustain you.
How This Differs from Regular Fasting
Here’s where it gets confusing for newcomers. There are levels.
A regular fast day, what most parish Orthodox Christians observe on Wednesdays and Fridays, usually means no meat, dairy, or eggs, but you might have fish, wine, or oil depending on the day. You’re eating normal meals at normal times. It’s doable if you’re packing lunch for work.
A strict fast day removes those allowances. No fish. No oil in your cooking. No wine with dinner. You’re going simpler, eating less, eating later.
The strictest observance, which you’ll find in monasteries, adds the dimension of xerophagy, uncooked or minimally prepared foods. That’s not the norm for laypeople, especially not for someone working offshore or raising kids.
Why We Do This
Fasting isn’t about earning God’s favor. We don’t believe you can rack up enough fasting days to tip the scales at judgment. That’s not how salvation works.
We fast because our bodies and souls are connected. What we do with our bodies affects our spiritual state. When you’re not thinking about what restaurant to hit for lunch or whether there’s ice cream in the freezer, you have more mental space for prayer. When your stomach is a little bit empty, you remember your dependence on God.
St. Basil the Great said that if you can’t fast completely, then fast until evening. If you can’t do that, at least don’t eat to excess. The point isn’t the rule itself, it’s what the rule is trying to produce in you. Humility. Self-control. Compassion for people who are actually hungry not by choice but by poverty.
Strict fast days also unite us to the Church across time. Christians have been fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays since the first century. Justin Martyr wrote about it. When you skip the breakfast taco and pack a peanut butter sandwich instead, you’re doing what your spiritual ancestors did.
A Word for the Newcomer
Don’t start here.
I mean that. If you’re inquiring or you’re a catechumen, don’t read this article and think you need to jump straight into strict fasting. You’ll burn out, or you’ll get self-righteous, or you’ll just be miserable and hungry and resent the whole thing.
Start with the basics. Try giving up meat on Wednesdays and Fridays. See how that goes. Talk to Fr. Nicholas or whoever your priest is. Fasting is something you grow into with guidance. It’s not a test you pass to prove you’re serious.
Your health matters too. If you’re diabetic, if you’re pregnant, if you’re nursing, if you have an eating disorder history, these things change what fasting looks like for you. The Church is a hospital, not a gym where we’re all competing to see who can do the most reps.
And here’s something else: the spirit of the fast matters more than the letter. If you’re fasting strictly but you’re irritable with your kids and judgmental toward the person at coffee hour who’s eating a donut, you’ve missed the point entirely. Better to eat the fish and be kind.
When you do start observing strict fast days, you’ll probably find them harder than you expected. That’s normal. You’ll also find that they teach you things about yourself, how much of your day revolves around food, how often you eat out of boredom rather than hunger, how little you actually need to feel satisfied.
The goal isn’t perfection. The goal is conversion, slowly, over a lifetime. Strict fast days are one tool the Church gives us for that work.
