The Gate of the Year

The Gate of the Year

 + Metropolitan Anthony Bloom

     (Although Metropolitan Bloom makes comments that apparently refer to specific and contemporary events, his thoughts are most appropriate for us to dwell on, at the start of the New Year).

     Before we pray, I should like to introduce our prayers so that when we pray, we do it more effectively, with one mind and with one heart.  Year after year I have spoken of the New Year that was coming, in terms of a plain covered with snow, unspoiled, pure, and I called our attention to the fact that we must tread responsibly on this expanse of whiteness still unspoiled, because according to the way in which we tread, there will be (either) a road cutting through the plain following the will of God, or wandering steps that will only soil the whiteness of the snow. But a thing that we cannot and must not forget -- this year perhaps more than on many previous occasions -- is that, surrounding, covering this whiteness as with a dome, there is darkness, a darkness with few or many stars, but a darkness (that is) dense, opaque, dangerous and frightening.  We come out of a year when darkness has been perceived by all of us, when violence and cruelty are still rife.

How shall we meet it?  It would be naive, and it would be very unchristian, to ask God to shield us against it, to make of the Church a haven of peace while around us there is no peace. There is strife, there is tension, there is discouragement, there are fears, there is violence, there is murder.  We cannot ask for peace for ourselves if this peace does not extend beyond the Church, does not come as rays of light to dispel the darkness. One Western spiritual writer has said that the Christian is one to whom God has committed responsibility for all other men, and this responsibility we must be prepared to discharge.  In a few moments we will entreat for both the unknown and the darkness, the greatest blessing which is pronounced in our liturgical services,'Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit' - blessed in the kingship of God.

These words are spoken rarely:  at the beginning of services, at the outset of the Liturgy, as a blessing upon the New Year, and at moments when eternity and time unite, when with the eyes of faith we can see eternity intertwined with time, and conquering.  The Christian is one who must be capable of seeing history as God sees it, as a mystery of salvation but also as a tragedy of human fallenness and sin.  And with regard to both we must take our stand. Christ says in the Gospel, ‘When you will hear of wars and rumors of wars, be ye not troubled.’ Lift up your heads, there is no space in the heart and in the life of the Christian for cowardice, faintheartedness and fear, which are all born of selfishness, concern for self, even if it extends to those whom we love. God is the Lord of history, but we must be co-workers with God, and we are sent by Him into this world in order to make the discordant city of men, into the harmony which will be called the city of God.

And we must remember the words of the Apostle who says, whoever will wish to work for the Lord will be led into trial;  and the words of another Apostle who tells us not to be afraid of trial by fire.  In the present world we must be prepared, ready for trials and ready to stand, perhaps with fear in our heart for lack of faith, but unshaken in the service of God and the service of men.

And when we look back at the past year the words of the litany hit us and accuse us. We ask God to forgive us all that we have done, or left undone, in the past year.  We claim to be Orthodox.  To be Orthodox does not mean only to confess the Gospel in its integrity and proclaim it in its purity, but it consists, even more than this, in living according to the Gospel; and we know that Christ comes to no compromise with anything but the greatness of man and the message of love and worship.  We can indeed repent because who, looking at us, would say as people said about the early Christians, 'See how they love one another!' Who would say, looking at us, that we are in possession of an understanding of life, of a love, which makes us beyond compare, which causes everyone to wonder: Where does it come from?  Who gave it to them?  How can they stand the test of trial?  And if we want this year to be worthy of God, of our Christian calling, of the holy name of Orthodoxy, we must singly and as a body become to all, to each person who may need us, a vision of what man can be and what a community of men can be under God.

Let us pray for forgiveness, we who are so far below our calling.  Let us pray for fortitude, for courage, for determination to discount ourselves, to take up our cross, to follow in the footsteps of Christ whithersoever He will call us.

At the beginning of the war King George VI spoke words which can be repeated from year to year. In his message to the Nation he read a quotation: “‘I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown,’ and he replied:  ‘Go out into the darkness and put your hand in the hand of God; that shall be better to you than light, and safer than a known way.’”

This is what we are called to do, and perhaps we should make today a resolution, determined to be faithful to our calling and begin the New Year with courage.  Amen.

Fr. Schmemann, 30th Anniversary

Contextual and Pastoral

an Essay on the 30th Anniversary of the Repose of

Protopresbyter Alexander Schmemann

13 December 2013

 

Archpriest Michael Oleksa

As I consider not the details but the broad framework within which our beloved teacher, Father Alexander Schmemann lived, taught, wrote and lectured, I realize that he shared, with all the ancient Holy Fathers of the ancient Church, an approach, a vision, an experience of God, of Christ, of the Christian Faith and the life of the Church that was essentially contextual and pastoral.  I hope to explore briefly these two themes in this essay which I write today in his memory.

Father Alexander is often misunderstood and even maligned today as an "innovator" or "modernist" as if he were trying to change and violate the spirit of the Orthodox Tradition according to his personal tastes or prejudices. But anyone who knew him also recognized how fundamentally "conservative" he was.  While his academic and theological interests were essentially historical, he saw history as providing a wider context in which to understand and address contemporary issues.  History, for Father Alexander, is the continuing story, the next chapter for which we are now responsible, while remaining faithful to all that has gone before.  Precisely because of the depth of his historical understanding of the Church and her many struggles, he was able to draw on two thousand years of experience to highlight whatever was pastorally appropriate to the problems of 20th century America. He did not see the liturgical practices of any one era as determinative for all times and places but sought to understand the evolution of the liturgy over the centuries so as to apply what was best and most useful from this heritage to the pastoral concerns of today. His vision and criteria were absolutely pastoral, and one might add in North America, missiological as well.

With his broad knowledge of Church history and the history of liturgy, Father Alexander sought to examine and highlight those practices, authentically Orthodox, from whatever time or place, from any epoch or ethnic tradition that might help better to convey the Orthodox Tradition, the spiritual treasures of the ancient Church, to modern North Americans, both "cradle" Orthodox and potential as well as actual converts.  Applying this approach to the celebration of divine services, he recommended the extensive use of English, at a time when the vast majority of immigrant communities were still worshipping in their ancestral languages--rendering Orthodox worship unintelligible to any visitors or seekers who might attend a service.  If the Church is in North America for all the people of this continent, Father Alexander would argue, then it must be accessible to them. This may not be true for many jurisdictions who define their mission as preserving an ancestral Faith in tact, in the same condition as they remember it in their homeland, somewhere else. But if the Orthodox Church in America remains true to its own history,  as a mission to America for Americans (who were originally the indigenous tribes of Alaska) then it must translate and teach in the local language, continue an outreach to the local community, and focus on its situation, its needs, its heritage, its culture.  This was the genius of the Alaskan missionary saints who learned the various languages, developed writing systems for them, produced translations and opened schools, training an indigenous clergy to lead the Church in the first half-century of its existence.  The Church, as a mission, must adapt to the context into which it is sent.

But this is exactly what the Church has done through the centuries. What else was the adaptation of the Greek language necessary in the first centuries of Christianity? Why else did the Church spend seven centuries, struggling to find language adequate to God, adequate to her message, re-defining and virtually re-inventing Greek terms, bending them to the meaning the Church required to articulate and explain the Gospel to a Greek-speaking intelligentsia?  Every controversy that the Church entered, every heresy she confronted, arose from within the Greco-Roman classical worldview, a culture that radically separated the physical and spiritual worlds, making the incarnation of the Word of God "folly" to the Greeks. Christianity contradicted this basic axiomatic belief that the earthly, physical, material world was perishable and unimportant, while the heavenly, spiritual, intellectual world was eternal and of supreme value. Every heresy that arose during these centuries sought to "explain" Christ by minimizing either His humanity or His divinity and preserve the basic division between the the Spiritual and Material realms.  All Patristic theology, all the debates and intellectual struggles in which Christian thinkers engaged during the Age of the Councils, erupted in this cultural context, and the Fathers composed their theological response not as philosophical speculation, but precisely as a pastoral necessity within this context. The Fathers were pastoral and contextual.

Liturgy adapted to the pastoral needs of each culture as well.  One could write the history of the Orthodox Church precisely in these terms. "The Church," Father Alexander used to say, "always changes to remain the Same." Problems arose when later generations began approaching, understanding and explaining the writings and canons of the ancient church in an essentially fundamentalist way.  In other words, the text dictates the solution to the problem: whatever is written must be true, and preserved in tact, forever.  The difficulty with this approach is that it is fundamentally flawed. The Fathers never cited proof texts alone but were free to redefine and even invent new terms to meet the pastoral needs, which were always central to their thinking.  Why worry about the difference between homoousios and homoiousios, one iota different? Because the very essence of "salvation" was at stake. But whose salvation?  The salvation of Christians, the salvation of the world!  The ancient church debated these issues for decades until, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, the Fathers could announce, as the Holy Apostles had done in the beginning, "It seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us…" having arrived at a unanimous consensus on a particular issue.  These arguments often lasted for years, with conflicting and contradictory conclusions, the discussions becoming rather heated and even violent at times. But when the Truth is finally articulated, it becomes self-evident. It requires no further discussion or "proof." The Truth is what it is.

There is no external, or rather no empirical criterion, no guarantor of truth, either in the person of an infallible Pope, nor in the letter of Scripture.  We know the Truth when we encounter it. After this, we struggle to articulate  it as best we can in human language. The Church never has sought to define it, but has only sought to draw some boundaries, some perameters around the Truth so as to exclude certain distortions or misconceptions about it.  God cannot be defined or reduced to a philosophy or system.  A God who could be so comprehended by human thought would not be God but an idol. Anyone who claims to have figured God out has fallen into grave and dangerous delusion. "Never assume a rational universe!" was one of Father Alexander's memorable warnings.

If our focus in North America is to be pastoral and contextual, we need to know what our context--21st century Western Civilization--is. Then we need to know thoroughly our Faith Tradition. And finally our "mission" is to apply the Orthodox Vision, to articulate it and celebrate it in a way that communicates the Eternal Truths of our Faith, to these people at this time and this place.  Once we accept the pastoral imperative of our mission in this context, certain adjustments become reasonable and even necessary.

For example, if we accept the pastoral and contextual criteria, how should we best celebrate the Divine Liturgy? Should the Royal Doors (as in modern Russian practice) remain shut? Should the mystical prayers that render the Anaphora intelligible be read silently? Should we insist on worshipping in unintelligible languages? Should we refrain from any lengthy or meaningful preaching? Should we discourage the Faithful from participating in the Holy Mysteries except perhaps a few times a year?

Or should we rather allow the Royal Doors to remain open through all or most of the celebration? Should we read or chant the prayers aloud so that all may prayerfully participate? Should we use the language of the community in which we live? Should we explain our faith in thoughtful, well-articulated and challenging sermons? Should we encourage the Faithful to join in the celebration, singing, praying and participating in the Eucharistic banquet?

Father Alexander encouraged the latter, not because he was trying to stir up trouble, not because he enjoyed being an "innovator" or because he was a "modernist," but because he was essentially a pastor concerned for the salvation of the people of this continent, this society. He was a contextualist, which means he was essentially Traditional, in the best Orthodox sense of the word, and not a fundamentalist,  focused on a fixed text (as the ultimate criterion) and an attitude alien to the authentic Orthodox Tradition, alien to the mind of the Fathers.

His concerns extended to the language of translation.  The original poetic masterpieces of Byzantine hymnography often do not translate well into modern English. The particular "genius" of the English language is its concision, its focus on expressing, in a minimum number of words, a concept with clarity and precision, while the medieval and ancient Greek texts may come across as clumsy, wordy and even unintelligible. Once again applying the missiological and pastoral criteria, "accurate" "word-for-word" translations often fall short of the goal.

Returning to Elizabethan English in no way guarantees pastoral or missiological "success." In fact, literal translations usually fail in this regard. To be open and accepting of all who attend, isn't it time to make the language of our services more inclusive, rather than give the impression that men have any priority over women? Our latest translations return to an archaic use of the word man that is at least controversial if not insultng to women--and inaccurate. The original Greek pronouns were inclusive of both sexes and perhaps in centuries past, the world "man" could be interpreted to mean both men and women, But this is no longer true in modern English usage. Should not the Church take this into account. Context demands another approach to liturgical translations.

Idealizing a particular usage or translation does not solve the problem. The most recent translations, published by the OCA and others, in fact represent a fundamentalist return to a word-for-word approach that abandons the grammatical and syntactical norms of 20th century English. Why omit the "let us ask of the Lord" endings to petitions in the Liturgy because the phrase is absent in a Greek or Russian original, when doing so makes no sense in English? Why shift the texts of the mystical prayers in the published texts, where they were placed for pastoral and missiological reasons in the earlier 1967 publication, to the middle of litanies, where they cannot logically be read? Why drop the words "and love" as the chalice is brought forth because the modern Russian text does not have it, (but the modern Greek text does)? Is there a foreign criterion to the "correct" usage, or are we free, within the context of our own culture, to determine what is appropriate and necessary for our pastoral and missiological needs, here, in this country.  Can there be a foreign--from another time and place--"right" way of doing things, or are we not required, in the pastoral spirit of the ancient Fathers, to determine how best to address our needs in this country?

Certainly a fundamentalist approach is simpler. We are relieved of any responsibility to think about or reflect upon what we are doing and why we are doing it. But in that case, the Church does not need human pastors and teachers. A computer can do the job!  Or are we afraid to adjust to our context, afraid we might "get it wrong"? It seems to me, in the spirit of Father Schmemann that the only way to "get it wrong" is to forget where we are and why we are here. We have been, since the arrival of the Valaam mission in 1794, to bring the Truth to Americans in America, not to replicate or transplant an alien faith and nurture it in a foreign land.

Father Alexander loved America. He was dismayed at the way some students rejected and condemned "the West," knowing that you cannot teach, you cannot authentically bless, you cannot "save" what you do not love. Far from criticizing everything "Western" as in itself deficient, Father Alexander encouraged his students to appreciate and rejoice in whatever was good, wholesome, inspiring or beautiful in any culture, in any place, including the wonders of nearby Manhatten.  If we are truly patristic and Traditonal, we must be pastoral and contextual. That was Father Alexander's vision, faithful to the Holy Fathers while rejecting any fundamentalist approach to the creative and challenging task before us: to bring Orthodoxy to North America, not by copying or idealizing any former expression of the Faith, but by drawing on all that is beautiful, true and indeed eternal in it, and applying that, courageously to the pastoral needs of North America today.

Perhaps some of his students became archeologists rather than pastors, thinking that if some practice had been abandoned centuries before, it was now their duty to restore it. But the antiquity of a given practice was never Father Alexander's concern or agenda.  If he encouraged a return to certain usages,  his perspective was always pastoral and missiological.  In this he was fundamentally contextual and therefore traditional, following the pattern established by the ancient patristic tradition.  He did not write theology as an exercise in philosophical speculation, but as a pastor seeking to make the Truth known and comprehensible to people living in a new century on a new continent.

Let us now, on the thirtieth anniversary of his repose, renew our commitment to his vision, the Traditional vision of the Orthodox Church, according to the example of the Holy Fathers of the ancient Church, and in the context of this culture, this society, strive to articulate, proclaim and celebrate our Faith so that the Truth of Christ, the Truth of the Gospel, the Truth, the Reality, the Beauty and Glory of His Kingdom might be known, accepted and embraced by the people of this land, for their salvation and the salvation of the world.  Let us not fear to revive some ancient practices if they meet the needs of our mission in this challenging situation, but let us not experiment needless and foolishly either, trying to introduce change where pastorally and/or missiologically, none can be justified. Father Alexander would have cautioned us all against such inappropriate and potentially divisive tactics!

And let all of us who were blessed to know Father Alexander, on this anniversary of his falling-asleep, commend his soul, and ourselves and each other and all our life to Christ, our God.

Christ is Born!

Christ is Born!

(Implications of God's Incarnation)

Metropolitan Kallistos Ware

The Incarnation (God made Man)...is God's supreme act of deliverance, restoring us to communion with Himself.  But what would have happened if there had never been a fall (of man)?  Would God have chosen to become man, even if man had never sinned?  Should the Incarnation be regarded simply as God's response to the predicament of fallen man, or is it in some way part of the eternal purpose of God?  Should we look behind the fall, and see God's act of becoming man as the fulfillment of man's true destiny?

To this hypothetical question it is not possible for us, in our present situation, to give any final answer.  Living as we do under the conditions of the fall, we cannot clearly imagine what God's relation to mankind would have been, had the fall never occurred.  Christian writers have therefore in most cases limited their discussion of the Incarnation to the context of man's fallen state.

But there are a few who have ventured to take a wider view, most notably St. Isaac the Syrian and St. Maximus the Confessor in the East, and Duns Scotus in the West.  The Incarnation, says St. Isaac, is the most blessed and joyful thing that could possibly have happened to the human race.  Can it be right then, to assign as cause for this joyful happening something which might never have occurred, and indeed ought never to have done so?  Surely St. Isaac urges, God's taking of our humanity is to be understood not only as an act of restoration, not only as a response to man's sin, but also and more fundamentally as an act of love, an expression of God's own nature.  Even had there been no fall, God in His own limitless, outgoing love, would still have chosen to identify Himself with His creation by becoming man.

The Incarnation of Christ, looked at in this way, effects more than a reversal of the fall, more than a restoration of man to his original state in Paradise.  When God becomes man, this marks the beginning of an essentially new stage in the history of man, and not just a return to the past.  The Incarnation raises man to a new level;  the last state is higher than the first.  Only in Jesus Christ do we see revealed the full possibilities of our human nature;  until He is born, the true implications of our personhood are still hidden from us.  Christ's birth, as St. Basil put it, is "the birthday of the whole human race,"  Christ is the first perfect man:  perfect, that is to say, not just in a potential sense -- as Adam was in his innocence before the fall -- but in the sense of the completely realized "likeness."

The Incarnation, then, is not simply a way of undoing the effects of original sin, but it is an essential stage upon man's journey from the divine image to the divine likeness.  The true image and likeness of God is Christ Himself;  and so, from the very first moment of man's creation in the image, the Incarnation of Christ was in some way already implied.  The true reason for the Incarnation, then, lies not in man's sinfulness, but in his unfallen nature as a being, made in the divine image and capable of union with God (The Orthodox Way, pp. 70-71).

Motivated by Fear

Motivated by Fear

Fr. Basil Zebrun

Following His Resurrection Jesus said to the apostles, "peace be unto you" (John 20: 19,21,26).  Furthermore, He distinguishes the peace He bestows from that which is given by the world (John 14: 27).   St. Paul describes it as, "...the peace of God which passes all understanding" (Philippians 4:7).  Christians experience this peace as not merely the absence of fear or strife, but the presence of Christ in the lives of the faithful.

Additionally, during a storm at sea Jesus offered His disciples these words of comfort, "fear not" (Matthew 14:27, Mark 6:50, John 6:20), and prior to raising Jairus' daughter from the dead He said to the father, "Do not be afraid" (Mark 5:36).  At the Annunciation and at the announcement of the Baptist's conception, the angel also reassured both Mary and Zacharias that there was no need for trepidation (Luke 1).

The statements, "peace be unto you" and "fear not," were meant to allay the personal anxieties of those whose lives were radically changed by divine grace, freely received.

Christ's words of peace are repeated at each liturgical service in the Orthodox Church.  On occasion one is tempted to say that "fear not," should be added as well.  Our society in general is far too acquainted with fear, and unfamiliar with the peace of Jesus Christ.  We live daily in fear of crime, terrorism, war, an uncertain economy, as well as apprehension from urban isolation, from not knowing -- and thus not trusting -- family and neighbors.

Beyond this, fear is used as a powerful tool, driving personal, political and corporate agendas.  Those with agendas often find it easier to motivate people out of fear, rather than out of concern for doing the right thing;  to unite people against a perceived enemy -- real or imaginary -- rather than to rally them around peaceful, constructive goals.  People who otherwise have nothing in common find mutual ground against a shared opponent. An ancient proverb comes to mind:  "the enemy of my enemy is my friend."  Knowledge of such predictable behavior serves as a basis from which to evoke desired responses from select individuals.

As part of the fallen human experience, fear is also a reality in the life of the Church.  Christians face the aforementioned anxieties, in addition to the common fear of human interaction, acceptance and/or rejection by others;  fear of change, of "letting go," i.e. divesting oneself of non-essentials for the Gospel's sake;  an overwhelming fear of God's wrath in churches where divine retribution is a constant theme;  fear of persecution and martyrdom for Christ;  and fear of death generally, with no expense or effort being too great to delay the inevitable, or to make death as painless as possible.

There are those, however, who have risen above personal insecurities, suspicions, threats from non-believers, and anxieties over death.   Many who conquered their fears through love and faith, we call saints.  They provided examples of courage that we strive to emulate.  They knew, as well, a healthy "fear of the Lord" that is "the beginning of wisdom" and which leads to life. (Proverbs 1:7; 9:10; 19:23).

Fear, however, creeps into the Church's life in other ways.  Tragically, as with society at large, it can be used in varying degrees to drive agendas -- personal and political -- even within the Body, to divide one Christian from another.

Additionally, fear is brought in from the outside, as a vestige from the past in the lives of many who convert from other faiths.  In such cases fear may lead to "going on the defensive," assuming that Orthodoxy is easily susceptible to trends adversely affecting non-Orthodox churches.  Thus, at times one encounters knee jerk reactions -- personal efforts to guard the Church -- against legitimate threats, but also against what could be considered normal, healthy activity within the life of the Body.

A few specific examples of the latter readily come to mind, but we will cite only one.

Approximately two decades ago one of our seminaries held a conference concerning, "The Role of Women in the Church."  The theme seemed innocent enough and useful.  People have questions about parish ministries, as well as Orthodoxy's understanding of both men and women serving the Body of Christ.  Thus, a conference devoted to such a topic appeared quite beneficial.

That year a guest editorial was printed in an Orthodox paper, written by a member of the Orthodox Church in America.  His former faith had gone through major changes, among which was the "ordination" of women to the priesthood. The article was somewhat harsh, but primarily defensive.  He emphasized that the seminary gathering, with its focus on women, was an example of activities that could open the floodgates for women's ordination in the Orthodox Church.

Although to some extent I understood his mindset, I disagreed with his predictions of doom.  His words constituted a warning based on prior experiences in another Christian group.   In response to similar situations a friend of mine used to remind people, "Yeah, but that isn't  the Orthodox Church;"  a significant comment, surrounded as we are by countless faiths from which we receive many into Orthodoxy.

His reasoning was that the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church is unique and unrepeatable.  It is the Body of Christ, and strictly speaking, cannot be equated with other churches.  Furthermore, having survived two thousand years of every imaginable persecution and hardship, the Church itself has nothing to fear, particularly from sincere questions by the faithful, and open (reasonable) dialogue.  While regretting what happens outside the Orthodox Church, its members should never deny, out of fear, the power of a living Tradition to address contemporary issues in a forthright manner.  They should never limit the work of the Holy Spirit  as the One Who guides the faithful into all the Truth.

It is a great blessing that we are free and possess the means in this country to convene conferences devoted to "Women in the Church," or to other worthwhile topics, having ready access to knowledgeable theologians, clergy and laymen.  Education and open (reasonable) dialogue on theological, moral, even political issues, are to be encouraged and not feared.

"Airing out" the Faith, letting it breathe and speak to life, allows it to challenge and guide contemporary culture.  Constructing non-essential walls around the Church out of fear, isolating its members from non-existent threats, only serves to harm the Body, placing obstacles to spiritual growth where they need not exist, diverting our focus from the real enemy.  The Apostle's words in his letter to the Ephesians are a continual reminder of where the true danger lies: "we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places" (Ephesians 6:12).

For two millennia the Truth has triumphed over falsehood.  Christ bestowed the gift of peace and promised that, "the gates of hell shall not prevail" (Matthew 16:18).  Individuals may fall and lose sight of the Truth.  The Church of Jesus Christ, however, cannot die.   As an Orthodox nun once commented:  "...even if it is in the heart of one person, the Orthodox Church will always exist."

Admittedly some of these thoughts may be viewed as  simplistic, as perhaps ignoring the great theological controversies of the past, the profound concerns of the Church Fathers as they fought against heresies, as well as the persecutions and strong emotions that accompanied their efforts.  Our intention, however, is not to minimize threats, or serious spiritual consequences resulting from error and delusion.  We merely wish to distinguish between perceived and actual dangers for the Church, and to emphasize the uniqueness of Orthodoxy among the Christian faiths, a distinction which should give courage to the faithful by instilling within them trust in a living Tradition, guided by the Holy Spirit.

We also wish to discourage, within the Church, paralysis brought on by fear, and to encourage a certain openness that is reflected in Church history, as the Church sought to speak creatively to surrounding cultures, bringing into its life, elements of local culture that were worthy of being blessed and baptized.

St. Paul instructs that "fear" -- specifically fear of the "ultimate enemy" -- is something from which Jesus came to deliver mankind (Hebrews 2:15).  Society at large, as well as religious groups, may be prompted or paralyzed by fear and delusion, or may use these things as tools driving agendas of all sorts.  But certainly within the Orthodox Church, its faithful should find courage,  be driven by devotion to Truth and motivated by love, perfect love which "casts out all fear"  (1 John 4:18).

A Man from Texas

A Man from Texas

Fr. Basil Zebrun

Every now and then we meet a person who makes a strong first impression, in either a positive or negative way.  On a recent deanery trip, I had such an experience when I met Thomas from a small town in Texas.  Thomas was the manager of a motel: The Timber Lodge.  On repeated occasions I had the opportunity to watch him enthusiastically answer the motel phone and greet people making their way into the lobby.

Thomas apparently managed alone, so whenever the phone rang he would quickly rush to the counter and answer:  "Good morning, this is Thomas of the Terrific Timber Lodge.  How may I help you?"  As potential guests stepped out of their vehicles he would meet them at the door, shake their hands and ask what he could do to assist them.  In addition, he faithfully informed guests that the breakfast area and snacks were available free of charge, fourteen hours a day, from 8 am to 10 pm.  And if visitors were in doubt as to local "must see" sites, Thomas was all too happy to point them in the right direction.  He proved to be a storehouse of information.

Many people in the retail, entertainment and hotel/motel industries display a degree of friendliness;  they are, we would say, "good salespeople."  The best are those -- like Thomas -- whose enthusiasm and helpfulness are extensions of their natural character:  "it's just who they are."  They believe in their product and are genuinely sensitive to the needs of others.

My impressions of Thomas, however, were shaped by more than his zeal as manager of an inn.  He obviously possessed a fair amount of religious knowledge and was never shy while referring to his practice of the Christian faith.

As examples, when we walked into the lobby and he saw our cassocks Thomas asked if we were Roman Catholic or Orthodox priests.  He apparently knew about the Orthodox Church, and was definitely familiar with the local Orthodox community and some of its members.  When asked about his own Church, he identified himself simply as, "Christian," not mentioning a particular denomination.

In addition, his normal routine required him to be at the motel by 7:30 am.  But during our conversations he stated that many mornings he would awake at 4:30 or 5:00 am.   Prior to leaving the house he naturally would shower, get dressed and eat.  He also had what Orthodox Christians call, "a personal rule of prayer."  If time allowed Thomas would read brief passages from the Bible, both Old and New Testaments, and sing "songs of praise," before departing for the office.

Thomas's enthusiasm for work, and practice of his faith, were impressive.  As one might expect, while watching him manage the lobby my thoughts turned to our own efforts as Orthodox Christians to greet visitors and to be sensitive to their needs when they come through the doors of the Church.

Whenever we meet someone like Thomas who makes a strong first impression it can be a revelation.  For instance, sensing something admirable in Thomas, worthy of emulation, one adult guest said to him lightheartedly during breakfast, "Thomas, when I grow up I want to be like you."  That is quite a statement -- even when said in jest -- coming from someone who only met Thomas the previous night.  On a more serious note, the history of the Church contains examples of those whose lives were changed radically by first impressions, by the sight of Christians observed for the first time, suffering valiantly for the faith, offering forgiveness to their persecutors.  More consistent, though, with our own experiences, are people we know who returned to the Orthodox Church a second time and eventually converted, partially as a result of first impressions: i.e. warm, sincere Church members displaying interest in their initial visit.

My point in all of this, is to encourage us to reflect upon Thomas's dedication to both his job and faith, in terms of Church life generally.  Thomas  was certainly in no danger of suffering or dying immediately for Christ.  In fact, one could say that he had a pleasant career and was merely practicing Christian "bare essentials" within that context:  prayer, hospitality and respect for others. Perhaps being impressed by the bare essentials is a bit revelatory in and of itself.

Be that as it may, imagine what life in the Church would be like generally if, like Thomas, Orthodox Christians  practiced their own rule of prayer more faithfully;  if we displayed more respect for others;  if we concerned ourselves strongly with the immediate needs of guests, welcoming newcomers with the same enthusiasm as this man from Texas.  He performed admirably -- even inspirationally -- within the context of a business: the "Terrific Timber Lodge."  We have something, however, infinitely more precious than a motel:  we have the Church, whose life is that of Christ Himself.  Through the life of the Church we have been united to Christ.  Through Him we have become children of God, citizens of the Kingdom here and now.  Part of our responsibility -- the bare essentials -- is indeed to welcome others into this Reality, this Body, which interestingly has been likened to the inn -- motel -- in the Parable of the Good Samaritan.

One can pray that our recognition of these precious gifts and our enthusiastic response, will perhaps lead others to say, even just in passing,  "When I grow up I want to be like you Orthodox Christians."  As for me, whether or not I am ever able to emulate the admirable qualities of Thomas, I certainly would like to stay at his motel again, if travels permit.   A large welcome and great service will most assuredly be waiting.

The True Worth of Man

The True Worth of Man

+Metropolitan Anthony Bloom

Two notions have come to the fore, since the war perhaps more than in the years that preceded it, the notion of the greatness of man, of his significance both for us men and for God; and the notion of human solidarity. And these are two points on which I wish to say a few words. In doing so we will have to measure how far we dare value the significance of men, and how far we dare go in our solidarity; that is, how great our daring can be and also what are its limits.

The Greatness and Depth of Man; The Third Dimension: For centuries, as it seems, within the Church we have tried to make our God as great as we could, by making man small. This can be seen even in works of art in which the Lord Jesus Christ is represented great and his creatures very small indeed at his feet. The intention was to show how great God was, and yet it has resulted in the false, mistaken, almost blasphemous view that man is small, or in the denial of this God who treats men as though they were of no value. And these two reactions are equally wrong. The one belongs to people who claim to be children of God, God's own chosen people, who are the Church. They have managed by doing this to make themselves as small as the image they have of men, and their communities as small and lacking in scope and greatness as their constitutive parts. The other attitude we find outside the Church, among the agnostics, the rationalists and the atheists; and we are responsible for these two attitudes and we shall be accountable for both in history and at the day of judgment. And yet this is not the vision of God about man.

When we try to understand the value which God himself attaches to man we see that we are bought at a high price, that the value which God attaches to man is all the life and all the death, the tragic death, of the only begotten Son upon the Cross. This is what God thinks of man, of his friend, created by him in order to be his companion of eternity. Again, when we turn to the gospel, to the parable of the Prodigal son, we see this man who had fallen away from the greatness of his sonship, of his vocation, coming back to his father. On his way he prepares his confession. He is ready to admit that he has sinned against heaven and against his father. He is prepared to recognize that he is no longer worthy of being called a son. And yet, when he meets his father, his father allows him to make half of his confession, to recognize that he is unworthy, that he is a sinner, that he has sinned against heaven and against him; but as to allowing him to ask a place in the kingdom on terms lower than those of sonship, 'let me be like one of thy hired servants', this he does not allow. He stops him at a moment when the young man has recognized his unworthiness, but he is not prepared to allow his son to establish new terms of worthiness, unworthy of the primeval, original and eternal relationship to which he is called. He can be an unworthy son; he can be a repentant son; he can come back to the father's house, but only "as" his son. Unworthy though he be as a son he can never become a worthy hireling.

And this is the way in which God looks at man - in terms of the sonship offered us in the Incarnation of the Lord Jesus Christ, implied in the act of creation and in our calling to become partakers of the divine nature, to become sons by adoption in the only begotten Son and in the only Son; to become, in the very words of Irenaeus of Lyons, the only begotten son in the total Christ.

This is our vocation. This is what we are called to. And nothing less than this is acceptable to the Lord. Now, this vision of man is something which is incompatible with the small vision we so often acquire from false teaching and from a slavish approach to the Lord. And this is why the outer world cannot receive our message because this message has become false, because no-one who knows the spirit of man within himself will ever be prepared to be treated as though he was lower than what he knows he is. Man is the point of encounter between the believer and the unbeliever, between the faithful and the man who is godless, provided we are prepared for an encounter and for a common thinking. You remember the passage in the Book of Acts in which we are told of St. Paul discovering in Athens an altar dedicated to the unknown God. Isn't this unknown God, man (himself)?  In our time he seems to be so more than ever. Those who have repudiated God and rejected Christ have made man their god, the measure of all things. And indeed they are right as against the falsified image which at times is offered them. They have made man into their god and they have put him on the altar; but this man whom they have made into their god is an idol. It is a two-dimensional man, a prisoner of the two dimensions of time and space. This man made into a god is not a man with depth. It is a man as we see him in practical, ordinary, empirical life before we discover that man has a depth. He is seized in these two coordinates, he has volume, be occupies space, he has shape; he is tangible and visible but he has no content. In a way one may say that he belongs to the world of geometry in which one can speak of volumes, but these volumes are empty; there is nothing to be said about what is within these volumes. And man considered only in terms of space and time in this two-dimensional system appears to us only as a shell, an outer shape. He is a presence and we are related to his presence. His presence may be pleasant or unpleasant. There is no depth to plumb, there is no depth we can investigate or even perceive, because the depth of man is neither within time nor within space; it cannot be found there.

When the Scriptures tell us that "the heart of man is deep," they speak of that depth which escapes geometry, which is a third dimension of eternity and immensity - that dimension which is God's own dimension. And so when man is put on the altar to be worshipped but only as a historic event developing in time and space, there is nothing to worship in him. He can be big; he can outgrow his stature. He may become one of those very fine idols of the early civilizations, but he will never have greatness, because greatness does not reside in size. It is only if man has this third dimension, invisible, intangible, the dimension of depth and of content, this dimension in infinity and eternity, that there is more to man than the visible, and then even in his humiliation man becomes great. Even defeated he may be greater than the one who seemingly defeats him.

The revelation of God in Christ, or the absolute dimension of eternity and immensity in Christ, is coupled with the revelation of defeat and humiliation. To those who either in the pagan world or in the Hebrew tradition thought of God as vested with all the imaginable greatness of man -- who saw in God the sum total of all their aspirations, all their goals, all they admired in the created -- (to them) the revelation of God in Christ was an insult and a blasphemy, something they could hardly bear because the great transcendental victorious God whom they had imagined and who is described with such beauty, for instance, and power by the friends of Job, that God appears to them as helpless, defenseless, vulnerable, defeated and therefore contemptible. And yet, in him we find final greatness because in all that, in his seeming defeat, we see the victory of love, a love which invested to the last point, to the last possibility, perhaps beyond possibility, if we think in our terms of reference, remains undefeated and victorious. No one, says Christ, takes my life from me. I give it freely. No one has greater love than he who will lay down his life for his friends. Apparent defeat, perfect victory of love, tested to the last limit.

This man, Jesus Christ, we also put on the altar. He is also the measure of all things for us. But he has a quite different quality than the poor idol which we are called to adore and to whom we are called to sacrifice ourselves and others by a godless world. So we Christians can meet the unbeliever; we can meet those who search and those who do not yet search, in the image of man. But we must be prepared to claim that man is greater than the wildest imagination of the unbeliever. Our pride in man is greater than the pride of those who want to make man as big as possible in the two-dimensional world out of which God is excluded. And yet, it is on this point, on the vision of man, that we can meet all those who claim that man has a right to be great and to be worshipped, because we worship one who is man; we bow down before him; he is our God.

God's Solidarity with Us;  Our's with the World: And now I come to the second point of our meditation. How far can we feel final, total, definitive solidarity with those who deny the existence of the very possibility of this dimension of greatness and depth? St. Paul in his time, speaking of the Jews, was prepared to be excluded from the presence of God, if only that could make it possible for the people of God to be saved in its entirety. Can we go further, and can we together with Christ and not against him, together with God and not against him, say, 'let our life be the ransom of the life of the world'. And when I say 'the life' I do not mean the temporary existence but all the total destiny of mankind. Can we be prepared to take the final risk of solidarity, either salvation together or lose all things together? A Christian can have no other attitude to things except that of Christ himself: of God revealed in Christ within human history, within the becoming and the tragedy and the glory of the destiny of mankind. And so let us cast a glance at the kind of solidarity which God in Christ accepts with men.

The solidarity begins at the moment of creation when the word of God calls all things into being and when man is called, not to a transitory ephemeral existence, not as an experiment, but is called to be, and to be forever, the companion of eternity of the living God. This is the moment when God and man find themselves linked together, if I may use this word, by and within the same risk, because it is at the creation that God takes upon himself not only the consequences of having created man but the consequences also of what man will make of time and of eternity. Throughout the Bible we see the way in which God never renounces either responsibility or solidarity with man; how he bears one after the other the various situations which man creates; how he adjusts himself to them in order to work out our salvation, which is the final fulfillment of man's vocation. But the essential event, the essential act of solidarity is the Incarnation of the Word of God. God becomes man. He enters into history. One may say, he acquires a temporal destiny; he becomes part and parcel of a becoming. But how far does this solidarity go? Usually in our sermons we underline, or we hear people say, that he became partaker of all that was man's condition except sin. And if we ask what are these things he became partaker of, we are told that it is the limitations of time and space and the conditions of human life, tiredness, and hunger and thirst and anguish and isolation and loneliness and hatred and persecution and in the end death upon the cross. But when we have said this we seem to overlook something which is subjacent to all this, something which seems to me more important than any of these things. Yes, Christ accepts finally not only human life but human death. But what does this imply? How far does this solidarity go?

If you turn to Scripture you will see that death and sin, that is death and severance from God, death and the loss of God, what one can call etymologically atheism, are inseparably linked. The fact of not having a God is at the root of death. St. Maximus the Confessor, in one of his writings, brings it out in a most striking way; speaking of the Incarnation, he says that in the very moment of the conception of Christ, even in his humanity Christ was immortal, because one cannot conceive of a human flesh united to the Godhead and capable of death. Further, when we speak of the crucifixion we are aware of the fact that the death of Christ upon the Cross was an impossible tearing apart of an immortal soul and an immortal body; it was not the fading away of life; it was a dramatic, an impossible event inflicted by the will of God on the one who was both equally and perfectly God and man. But then the words of Christ upon the Cross acquire a significance that is deeper and more terrifying than anything which we have made of them. When the Lord says 'My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?', it is a moment in which, metaphysically, in an unspeakable way, in a way for which we cannot account because we can account for nothing in the mystery of Christ, Jesus nailed to the Cross loses the consciousness of his union with God. He can die, because he, free of sin, becomes at that moment fully partaker of the destiny of man, and he also is left without God, and having no God he dies. This is also what is signified in the Apostles' Creed when it says 'He descended into hell'.  Hell in the Hebrew tradition was the place where God was not; he went into the depth of this absence of God and he died. Here is the measure of a divine solidarity with us, not only the shedding of blood, not only the death on the Cross, but the very condition of this death upon the Cross, of this death altogether, the loss of God.  And here we see that there is not one atheist in the world, whether ideological or, if I may put it this way, gastric - if you take St. Paul's word that some have made their belly into their gods - no atheist has ever gone into the loss of God, into atheism, in the way in which Christ has gone into it, has experienced it and has died of it - he, immortal in his humanity as in his divinity. This is far beyond any other form of solidarity. This is the full measure of Christ's and God's love for men in what God is prepared to do, and the measure of how far he is prepared to go in his oneness with us. But then again, when we think of men, of those men who are not of the Church, of those men who are outside of it, who have turned against it because of us, because the name of God is blasphemed among the nations for our sake, then we can see how far we dare to go, and how great our daring must be.

Our solidarity must be with Christ first, and in him with all men to the last point, to the full measure of life and death. Only then, if we accept this, can we, each of us, and can the congregation of all faithful people, the people of God, grow into what it was in Christ and into what it was in the Apostles, into a group of people whose vision was greater than the vision of the world, whose scope was greater than the scope of the world, so that the Church in the beginning could contain all these, could be partakers of all those things which were the condition of man, and therefore could lead mankind into salvation.

And this is not the state in which we are. We have grown small because we have made our God into an idol and ourselves into slaves. We must recapture the sense of the greatness of that God revealed in Christ and the greatness of man revealed by him. And then the world may begin to believe and we may become co-workers of God for the salvation of all things. Amen.

Reflection on 9/11

Reflection on 9/11

(The following talk was given by Fr. Anthony Hughes at the Islamic Center just outside of Boston, in Wayland, Massachusetts on September 11, 2003.  Fr. Anthony was one of many invited clergy speakers who offered thoughts on the horrific events of 9/11/01.  He is the priest at St. Mary's Antiochian Orthodox Church in Boston, Massachusetts.  As they remind us of God's humility and boundless love, we present Fr. Anthony's words on this solemn day for our country.)

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, One God. Amen.

Please allow me to reflect theologically for just a moment on the events of September 11, 2001 from the perspective of the Eastern Orthodox Faith.

We do not for a moment believe that the terrorists enacted the will of God on that terrible day. It was not God’s will these men performed, but their own. God’s will is not the same thing as His foreknowledge say the Orthodox fathers.  Simply because God knows something is going to happen does not mean that He has willed it to happen! Then, as fundamentalists in every religion do, they attempted to put their own face on the face of God and we all know what the end result is:  they make gods of themselves and idols in their own image.

Above all things God is limitless, incomprehensible, unconditional and inexhaustible love. As paradoxical as it may seem, God, the All-Powerful, the All-knowing has revealed Himself to be also the Humblest of All, the Most Merciful, the Most-Compassionate.

We speak lightly of justice in this world as the ultimate value.  But this is not so. It is not justice that heals the world, but mercy. St. Isaac of Syria, the great ascetical spiritual father has written these words:

"Do not say that God is just…God’s own Son has revealed to us that he is before all things good and kind. He is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Where is the hell that could afflict us or the damnation that could make us afraid to the extent of overwhelming the joy of God’s love? In the place of what sinners justly deserve, he gives them resurrection. In place of the bodies that have profaned his law, he clothes them anew in glory…See, Lord, I can no longer keep silent before the ocean of thy Grace!"

What remains for us then, as people of faith, is to live lives full of mercy, peace, light, and beauty in this world, lives resembling God. Living such a life is risky. It demands that we give our all to values many do not share. A wise rabbi once said, “The messiah will come when one person in the world says yes to God.” For Christians that person is the Virgin Mary who risked everything for the healing of the world by saying "yes" to God and giving birth to His Son. We too must say yes, my friends, so that light may shine more brightly in this present darkness.

Tithes and Firstfruits

Tithes and Firstfruits

Archpriest Dmitri Cozby

“Honor the Lord with your substance, and with the firstfruits of all your produce” (Proverbs 3:9).  In ancient Israel, the Church of the Old Testament, the Law of Moses instituted the “tithe”, also called the offering of the firstfruits. “Tithe” is merely the Old English word for “tenth”. Israel’s tithe was an assessment of one-tenth of all produce for the maintenance of the Temple, the support of the priesthood, and the sustenance of the poor (Num. 18:24; Deut. 12:11 and 26:12). Usually this portion was rendered from the first harvested of the crop, hence the title “firstfruits”.

These activities are still necessary parts of Church life. Parishes need suitable places for worship, education, and fellowship; we are still responsible for our priests’ livelihood; and the Lord continually reminds us of our obligation to the needy. Therefore, the practice of good stewardship, represented by the tithe, retains its importance.

The motive behind the Old Testament tithe, however, was not purely pragmatic. For the ancient Hebrews tithing was never merely an efficient way to raise money. Rather, they understood that their relationship with God required them to dedicate a substantial portion of the fruit of their labor to His purposes.

Our basic understanding as Orthodox Christians, derived from the Old Testament, is that everything comes from God. All that we have or hope to possess, beginning with life itself, is His gift. We acknowledge this fact in our spiritual life through prayer and fasting and through our struggle to follow His commandments. With regard to our material blessings, we confess that He is their true source by returning a portion to Him, to be used for His purposes in this world. These works include the maintenance of worship, the support of those called to His special service, and aid for the poor. By thus giving a portion of our wealth for His purposes, we sanctify the remainder. Through offering a part, we bring the whole of our lives into harmony with God’s will.

The Old Testament Law embodied this admission of God’s sovereignty in the tithe. Nothing in this is changed by the coming of Christ. Tithing is not a purely Old Testament observance revived by Protestants and, therefore, a thing we Orthodox Christians need not worry about. It is true that many Old Testament practices are now understood in a spiritual way fulfilled, transformed, or displaced by Christ’s coming, death, and Resurrection. It is also true that, in recent times, some Protestants have stressed tithing as the norm of giving. But in reality, neither of these objections applies to the tithe or denies its validity.

Our Lord criticized the way in which his opponents tithed, but in so doing, He confirmed the tithe itself: “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe your mint, dill, and cumin, but have omitted the weightier matters of the law judgment, mercy, and faith. These you ought to have done, without omitting the others” (Matthew 23:23).

Likewise, one of the earliest witnesses to Holy Tradition, The Teaching of the Twelve Apostles (sometimes called The Didache), applies the firstfruits to the Church. “Every firstfruit of the produce of the wine-vat and of the threshing-floor, of cattle and flocks, you will take and give as the firstfruit to your prophets; for they are your chief priests . . . . if you prepare food, take and give the firstfruit according to the commandment. Likewise, when you open a jar of wine or oil, take and give the firstfruit to the prophets. Take also the firstfruit of money and clothing and every possession, as it may seem right to you, and give according to the commandment.”

St Irenaeus, writing toward the end of the second century, notes that Christ Himself “gave directions to His disciples to offer the firstfruits of His own created things not as if He stood in need of them, but that they might be themselves neither unfruitful nor ungrateful.”

St John Chrysostom contends that the tithe is more binding on us than on the Jews. In one of his sermons, he notes that under the Old Testament tithing was the norm. Among Christians, however, it has become a cause for amazement;  we exclaim in wonder, “Why, so-and-so tithes!” St John finds this a sad reflection on our piety and ends with the warning, “if it was a danger to neglect the tithe then, imagine how serious it must be now!”

As we said, the Old Testament saints did not see the tithe merely as a way for organizing fund-raising for the Temple and clergy, but as part of their relationship with God. Similarly, we cannot regard our giving merely as providing for our parish’s material needs. We must appreciate the spiritual importance of tithing, as the return to the Lord of a portion of His blessings through which we sanctify the remainder for our own use. Thus we acknowledge the Lord’s claim upon the whole of our life and affirm that the focus of our existence is not this world but the Kingdom to come.

The tithe, one-tenth, is the ideal of stewardship set forth in Scripture in the Old Testament tithe, and in Tradition, represented by The Didache, St Irenaeus, and St John Chrysostom. At first, for those not used to the idea of tithing, this amount may seem staggering.  The best way to begin is to adopt a lower percentage and then increase it over time.  First, we should accept the underlying principle behind tithing: that we should not give an arbitrary amount, but that our contributions should represent a proportion, a percentage, of our income. Once we establish a certain percentage (for example 3%-5%) as our starting point, we can then increase it by one percent a year until we reach the tithe. From the beginning, however, we must adopt the idea that we give a percentage of our treasure;  we cannot base it on impulse, giving “a little something” from what we “have left over.” Instead, our offering should represent “the firstfruits of our produce” offered because we feel need to “honor the Lord with our substance”, because we want show our gratitude to Him for His blessings, and because we acknowledge our part in His work of redeeming the world.

(V. Rev. Dr. Dimitri Cozby, prolific author and long time missionary in the Diocese of the South, OCA, is currently the priest at All Saints Orthodox Church Church in Victoria, Texas.)

Sermon on the Cross

Sermon on the Cross

+  Metropolitan Anthony Bloom

(On Saturday, September 14, the Church celebrates the feast of The Universal Elevation of the Cross of Christ.  In anticipation we offer the following sermon which speaks of the Cross in terms of love.)

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. We have been keeping these days the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross. There is a passage in the Gospel in which the Lord says to us, "No one has greater love than he who gives his life for his neighbor."  And these words resolve the antinomy between the horror of the Cross and the glory of it, between death and the resurrection.  There is nothing more glorious, more awe-inspiring and wonderful than to love and to be loved.  And to be loved of God with all the life, with all the death of the Only-Begotten Son, and to love one another (as well) at the cost of all our life and, if necessary, of our death, (this) is both tragedy but mainly victory.  In the Canon (Anaphora) of the Liturgy we say:

"Holy art Thou and all-holy, Thou and Thine only-begotten Son and Thy Holy Spirit!  Holy art Thou and all-holy, and magnificent is Thy glory!  Who hast so loved Thy world as to give Thine only-begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life; who when He had come and had fulfilled all the dispensation for us, in the night in which He was given up -- or rather, gave Himself up for the life of the world -- took bread in His holy, pure, and blameless hands;  and when He had given thanks and blessed it, and hallowed it, and broken it, He gave it to His holy disciples and apostles....."

This is the divine love.  At times one can give one's own life more easily than offer unto death the person whom one loves beyond all;  and this is what God our Father has done.  But it does not make less the sacrifice of Him who is sent unto death for the salvation of one person or of the whole world.

And so when we think of the Cross we must think of this strangely inter-twined mystery of tragedy and of victory.  The Cross, an instrument of infamous death, of punitive death to which criminals were doomed -- because Christ's death was that of an innocent, and because this death was a gift of self in an act of love -- becomes victory.

This is why Saint Paul could say, "It is no longer I, it is Christ Who lives in me."  Divine love filled him to the brim, and therefore there was no room for any other thought or feeling,  any other approach to anyone apart from love, a love that gave itself unreservedly:  love sacrificial, love crucified, but love exulting in the joy of life.

And when we are told in today's Gospel, "Turn away from yourself, take up your Cross, Follow Me"  (Mark 8: 34) — we are not called to something dark and frightening;  we are told by God:  "Open yourself to love! Do not remain a prisoner of your own self-centeredness." Do not be, in the words of Theophane the Recluse, "like a shaving of wood which is rolled around its own emptiness." Open yourself up!  Look — there is so much to love, there are so many to love!  There is such an infinity of ways in which love can be experienced, and fulfilled and accomplished.  Open yourself and love (others) — because this is the way of the Cross! Not the way which the two criminals trod together with Christ to be punished for their crimes;  but the wonderful way in which giving oneself unreservedly, turning away from self, existing only for the other, loving with all one's being so that one exists only for the sake of the other — this is the Cross and the glory of the Cross.

So, when we venerate the Cross, when we think of Christ's crucifixion, when we hear the call of Christ to deny ourselves — and these words simply mean: turn away from yourself! Take up your cross! — we are called to open ourselves to the flood of Divine Love, love that is both death to ourselves and openness to God, as well as to each and to all.

In the beginning of the Gospel of Saint John we are told, "And the Word was with God"; in the Greek it says "Godwards." The Word, the Son, had no other love, no other thought, no other movement but towards the Beloved One, giving Himself to Him Who gave Himself perfectly to Him.

Let us learn the glory of crucified Love, of this sacrificial Love which is, in the words of the Old Testament, "stronger than death, stronger than hell," stronger than all things because it is Divine Life conquering us and poured through us onto all those who need to be loved in order to come to Life, to believe in Love, and themselves to become children of Love, children of Light, to inherit Life eternal. Amen.

No Greater Blessing

No Greater Blessing

(Holy and Righteous Parents:  Examples from History)

Protopresbyter Thomas Hopko

There is no greater blessing that a person can have than to be raised by righteous parents.  And there is no greater sorrow and source of sadness and harm than to be raised by the wicked and ungodly.

When we consider the greatest of Christians, and the Lord Jesus Christ Himself, we are struck by the fact that the holiest people were the children of the holiest parents.  Jesus was born of the most perfect human being who ever lived and will live, the blessed Virgin Mary.  He was raised by her, with the righteous Joseph;  was subject to His parents from childhood, and grew in wisdom and stature before God and man in obedience to them within the gracious atmosphere of their holy family.

Mary herself was the child of the righteous Joachim and Anna.  She was born as the answer to prayer, according to the promise of God, and was consecrated to the Lord from before her birth.

John the Baptist, the prophet and forerunner of Christ whom Jesus called "the greatest born of woman," was also conceived by God's gracious will to his aged parents, the priest Zacharias and his wife Elizabeth who were among the holy remnant of the righteous poor prepared to receive Christ at His coming.

The Three Hierarchs: Although there were saints who were persecuted and even killed by their parents, as for example, Saint Barbara, most of the greatest and most influential saints in the history of the Church were the children of holy parents.  A powerful example of this in church history is that of the Three Hierarchs:  Basil the Great, Gregory the Theologian and John Chrysostom.

Saint Basil's mother and grandmother were widows.  They built a chapel on their estate and dedicated their lives to the service of God and the care of their children.  Saint Basil wrote in this way about his mother at the time of her death:

"Now for my sins I have lost my mother, the only comfort I had in life.  Do not smile if, old as I am, I lament my orphan-hood.  Forgive me if I cannot endure separation from a soul with whom I can see nothing in the future which lies before me to compare."

Saint Basil's mother Emmelia, with his grandmother and his brother Gregory of Nyssa and his sister Macrina are all canonized saints of the Church.

Saint Gregory the Theologian's mother Nonna is also a canonized saint with his father Gregory, and with his brother the "distinguished physician" Caesarius and his sister Gorgonia.  Nonna was the cause of the conversion of her husband to Christ from a pagan sect, who later himself became a bishop of the Church.  About his parents, particularly his mother, Saint Gregory wrote:

"...she was consecrated to God...possessed of piety as her most precious possession, not only for herself, but also for her children...she (and her husband) were lovers of their children and lovers of Christ...their one joy was to see their children names and acknowledged by Christ."

Saint John Chrysostom's mother Anthusa is also a canonized saint of the Church.  Her son lived with her until he was well over thirty at which time he began his service in the Church first as presbyter in Antioch and later as bishop in Constantinople.  The pagan rhetorician Libanus was so impressed with the mother of his famous student John, that he uttered the often-quoted phrase about her:  "Heavens, what women these Christians have!"

Saint Augustine: One of the most blessed men of the Western Church, and its most influential theologian, was Saint Augustine.   His mother too is a canonized saint (as, incidentally, is the mother of Saint Gregory Palamas.)  When, after a profligate and wandering life of almost forty years, Augustine finally met Saint Ambrose, also the son of a holy mother, and was baptized, he wrote to his mother Monica:

"I believe without a doubt and affirm that it is because of you and your prayers that God gave me that mind to prefer nothing to the discovery of the Truth;  and to desire and think and love nothing else...to you I owe all which to me is Life."

And when Monica died, he recorded these as her last words:

"My son, I have no further pleasure in this life...there was one reason, and one only, why I wished to remain a little longer in this life, and that was to see you a catholic Christian before I died.  God has granted me my wish...All that I ask of you is that, wherever you may be, you should remember me at the altar of the Lord."

Thankful to God: I recently  participated in a spiritual renewal conference where a leading theologian of the Greek Orthodox Church was introduced to speak by the pastor of his parents.  The priest introduced the speaker by praising his parents.  When we look into the lives of many of our church leaders today, priests, bishops and lay persons, we discover that the great majority are children of righteous and godly parents and grandparents.  We are thankful to God for this, His most wonderful blessing.