A Call to Christians

By Metropolitan Georges [Khodr] of Lebanon

This article, translated (2013) by Archpriest Alexis Vinogradov, appears in a collection of talks and essays titled L’Appel de l’Esprit, Église et Société, les Editions Cerf, Paris 2001.  The text originally appeared in “To Christians of My Nation,” Lissan-ul-Hal, January 14, 1968.

“Metropolitan George was elected to the episcopate on February 15, 1970. In addition to his duties within his diocese, he has been involved deeply in the education field, working as a professor of Arab Culture in the Lebanese University and of pastoral theology in St. John of Damascus Institute of Theology of the University of Balamand. Metropolitan George has been active in the ecumenical movement and in dialogue with Islam, as well as representing the Church of Antioch in pan-Orthodox and ecumenical meetings.  He has been a prolific writer with many articles, sermons, and books to his credit.” (orthodoxwiki.org)

You are bearers of a great vocation; you are a leaven of salvation. This is so on account of the One whose name you bear, and in whom you have been baptized. You are mistaken, however, in thinking that without him you can maintain some usefulness. You also make the mistake of thinking that others can make no progress, as if labels had some meaning in themselves; as if Christ could not, with or without the aid of water, baptize in God anyone to whom he would grant his grace. Certainly, all comes from the Savior whom you worship: all truth, all purity, all greatness, all that is ideal. There is nothing good in this world that is not in some manner upheld by Christ. But the Lord acts wherever he pleases and you have no say in limiting his work. He promised to shower you with his gifts, but he never told you that you would be the sole beneficiaries. I admonish you: do not be more regal than your King, him who can “from mere stones, raise up children for Abraham” (Mt.3:9).

You are not the end-all of this world! The world was not created to serve you; rather, it is you who are called to be servants. For, the servant listens attentively to the will of his master, and strives to realize his plans. All notions of domination are alien to your faith; such ideas are replaced by the ideal of service. All responsible persons among you find legitimacy in your authority only in its abnegation. And this authority wanes to the extent that its bearer allows himself to revel in it; it loses its reason for being, often long before it vanishes in reality. Neither the Lord in whom you believe, neither those for whom you are responsible can tolerate an authority that is not founded on service. Moreover, the cultural dominance in which you see your advantage, and by which you wish to justify a manner of superiority, is in process of becoming a myth, if it has not become such already. Learning is no longer your exclusive property, and knowledge—in its character of openness to the good, of refinement, the sense of taste and discernment, spreads more and more among peoples. If civilization is largely connected to women, who form half the human population, and who are its inspiration and teachers, it is clear that non-Christians, as well as Christians, share equally in all the gifts of nature.

Nothing else is as dear to the heart of Christ as this development. Since, Christ’s desire is for all; he is not, in any event, the property of anyone. He responds to the needs of all as, during his earthly ministry, he acted independently of the beliefs of any one individual. All the progress achieved by the faithful of other religions, gives him as much joy as that of his own disciples. He is the Savior of the world, not merely of his followers. He grants salvation to all by diverse paths, among them: culture, technology, and legitimate social struggles. Why do we not rejoice with Him in the success of others?

I would go so far as to say that the Lord is connected with ethical, artistic and scientific revolutions currently taking place in the world; in one or another manner they reveal his presence in the universe. Contemporary Christian thinking takes this position and begins to discover that God’s presence is not restricted to attitudes of humility, of good works or charity. If manifesting his presence God desires the good of all, it is a given that he will vary the means of expression. The spiritual life, with all that it can bring of inspiration and personal transformation, cannot exhaust the spiritual energy in the world.

Of course, the world is transformed by holiness. When the world was yet small, without great complexity, and still free of the confrontation with problems of a universal order, holiness had a simpler face. But in a world open and in process of unification, more and more complex in globalization and its attendant problems, there is no doubt that holiness has also to find new forms. And these forms should not exclude the exploration of objective and technical solutions to the difficulties of mankind. The creativity, by which today’s man succeeds and surpasses himself, bears a presence of Christ hidden from the world. The day will come when this presence is revealed, but for now it must remain concealed. Their duty of love towards the world imposes on Christ’s disciples the responsibility to participate in its development and radical transformation. Their love can no longer remain on an individual level; it must show itself on the level of community action and historical change.

Christians must achieve this transformation of the world with others, for the good of all. This can no longer be the business of one group or one country, whatever its advantages. No, it is no longer tenable for this transformation to occur as a result of action in one direction; it must be the result of an exchange, of participation. For, every assistance provided by an entity with power towards another less developed one, exposes the powerful to the risk of subordinating the weaker one, of imposing its needs and thus ending in a politic of supremacy. The believer must give not only with generosity, but he must learn to receive with the same simplicity and the same humility, as do those who are recipients of his gift.

If that is the Christian vision today, then you who are Christians, wherever you are, must be at the same time ready to give and to receive, that is to say, in a state of participation. Ready to give because you have been given by Christ; ready to receive not because of any reward, but because therein lies also a grace given you by Christ through others.

The contribution of our nation on the world stage can be the inauguration of this idea of participation that the great powers seem not to have yet discovered. It happens, moreover, that an awakening is engendered by those who seem insignificant. But that which ought to concern you more directly, that which is more important, is that the true life of man lies in his abandonment of himself, that it is through this abandonment and in the encounter with the other in truth, that a human being ends up in finding himself. Until now you have not known the other in the Lord. You have only seen his ugliness. Naturally, aside from his weaknesses and contradictions, no man is exempt from childishness, artificiality, and egocentricity. But the ugliness of the creature cannot overwhelm in him the imprint of his Creator. Every human being, by virtue of his vocation, by the charisms given him by God, and by his aspirations towards infinite horizons, participates in Christ. It is only in this light that you must see the other; in doing so you will help that person bring to life in himself that divine personality he is called to become. More importantly, you must also realize that you will not simply remain neutral, that you will in fact become strangers to Christ if you refuse to regard the other in this way.

Thus, what is the point of striving to affirm some sort of superiority, and desiring at all costs that it should be acknowledged by others? Christ makes himself present only in love; if you are not replete with it yourselves, you will contribute nothing to the edification of your country and to the well-being of humanity. It is in love that you will find meaning within yourself and in your life; it must therefore be everything for you. Without it you battle with the void and return to a primitive barbarism.

Essentially, you are the core that is called to die so that others may live. You hold the secret of life because someone has taught you to accept death. All your success lies in this self-effacement, in this perpetual élan that opens to you the boundaries of the Church towards new horizons of your sacrificial witness. It is precisely in not advertising this secret that you confirm your identity. Your entire particularity rests in the fact that you neither try to define it, nor impose it. You will only be saved to the measure that you are not preoccupied with your own salvation. On the contrary, you ought to plunge into the mêlée, into the very heart of the world’s problems. You won’t seek to dominate for: “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them.　It must not be so with you” (Mt.20:25,26). You, you are not of this world. Each time you take pride in the fact that you hold certain power according to the world’s reasoning, or gain honors according to common convention, you cease to have an active spiritual presence. For, “God chose the lowly things of this world and the things despised—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are” (1 Cor.1:28).

Do you believe in all this? (oca.org).

Facing our (Worst) Fears

Archpriest Steven Kostoff

“For I am sure that neither death, nor life, not angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, not height, nor depth, not anything else will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Rom. 8:38-39)

I cannot find the exact citation at the moment, but I recall that St. John Chrysostom once said/wrote that, as human beings, we have three major fears: 1) poverty; 2) illness: and 3) death. And what we fear we do our utmost to avoid.  We are surrounded by this fearful triad in such a way that we cannot ignore, try as we might, the dangers to our well-being that they persistently threaten us with. Poverty and illness can be thoroughly debilitating, but both can be overcome. Yet the finality of death is inescapable, and for this reason it remains the greatest of our fears, with only its postponement as our most realistic goal. For this reason, we all maximize our capabilities and strategies so as to hold these three fears at bay. Now, as a Christian pastor, preacher and theologian, St. John went on to say that through our faith in Christ, we need to always remember that none of these three fears - or perhaps we should say “realities” -  can keep us from God. The poor person can still believe in and trust God. The one who is ill can turn to God with patience and prayer. Even death itself is not a barrier between ourselves and God because the death and resurrection of Christ have removed the “sting of death,” and transformed death into a passage to God. All this leads St. John to the conclusion that there is only one thing to actually fear - and that would be sin! And for this reason: it is sin that creates the barrier that keeps us away from God. If, therefore, you come to the realization that the supreme good in life is closeness with God, then you realize that there is nothing in this world that can undermine that relationship but sin itself, that “missing of the mark” that frustrates our relationship with God. Poverty, illness and death itself cannot keep us from God, but sin can and will. Ultimately, a profoundly encouraging insight by a deep Christian thinker and pastor.

I should add that in no way did St. John brush aside the terrible effects upon living human beings of poverty, illness and the fear of death. He tirelessly preached to his flock about its responsibility to alleviate the crushing burden of poverty that others are suffering from; or to deeply sympathize and assist those who are struggling with any kind of illness or physical defect. He knew firsthand about the harsh environment of a sprawling cosmopolitan setting and how the well-to-do and healthy members of that society can coldly ignore the sufferings of others - even among his Christian flock. He knew the grip that the fear of death terrorized his same flock with. Poverty, illness and death were daily realities that he contended with when both a presbyter and then bishop in the cities of Antioch and Constantinople. All the more so, then, as a preacher would he exhort and seek to keep the image of Christ alive and burning within the minds and hearts of his flock. For St. John, only faith in Christ could dispel, or at least weaken, those fears.

As to our fears today, the same is true for us as there is “nothing new under the sun.” What is different in our immediate present is just how these three fears have been so forcefully - if not brutally - brought to our attention with the spread of the coronavirus. This global pandemic has brought these three realities to the surface in a way that most people have probably not experienced in their lives before today. Life goes on in our homes and families, but our conversations, the news that we hear, and our very thoughts are fixated on the things we are contending with - poverty, illness and death. These fears that we can more-or-less hide from within the quotidian events of “normal life” have been thrust before our troubled and anxious gaze. Unexpected unemployment is afflicting a huge segment of our society, to the point that it is being compared to some of the great recessions of the past.  This raises the specter of poverty, even with the social programs and government assistance that are meant to alleviate the pressures of that possibility. We know further of how unemployment undermines self-confidence and self-worth leading to depression over the uncertainty of the future. Hence, the eagerness to re-establish normalcy so as to “get back to work.” As over a million Americans have been infected with the coronavirus, and as we hear some of the horrific stories of people who have been ill, we then all the more fear our own exposure so that now our “neighbor” is the very person that must be avoided and kept at a distance. We can no longer invite other persons into our “space.” And with over sixty thousand American deaths as of this writing, the reality of death is no longer a remote inevitability postponed for a far-distance future; but something brought to our attention on a daily basis. Thus, as St. John Chrysostom taught centuries ago, we are indeed facing our worst fears today.

There may exist a misplaced piety among Christians that claims that any fear in the face of any danger is somehow indicative of a lack of faith. The person who believes in Christ should be fearless, according to this approach. And there is support for such a position found in the Scriptures: “that through death he (i.e. Christ) might destroy him who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those through fear of death were subject to lifelong bondage” (Heb. 2:14-15). A firm belief in Christ’s victory over death is our path to freedom for its fearful grip. And yet, in that same Epistle to the Hebrews, we hear of Christ’s agony - and fear - in the Garden of Gethsemane in deeply moving terms: “In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him who was able to save him from death, and he was heard for his godly fear” (Heb. 5:7). Even the Son of God agonized over his messianic ministry of passing through “the valley of the shadow of death.” There is apparently an inevitable tension between a stance of fearlessness before the reality of death; but also of a genuine fear of death while “in the flesh.” I would think that most Christians live within that tension. Christians believe that Christ has “trampled down death by death.” This is the faith that we live by and which we proclaim in our liturgical assemblies, especially when receiving the Eucharist.  But we will face our own “agony” and fear when faced with the prospect of death. Perhaps we all share that poignant cry from the Gospel:  “I believe, help my unbelief!” (Mk. 9:24). Those Christians who attempt to intimidate “weaker” Christians into “proving” that they have faith even when fearful, are clearly lacking in charity. 

St. John Chrysostom was right: we fear 1) poverty; 2) illness; and 3) death. We can call this (fallen) human nature or the human condition.  Any such terms are applicable. If our anxieties and fears have been heightened to a greater or lesser degree during this coronavirus pandemic, it need not cause us further anxiety concerning our faith, or a debilitating discouragement that we are not being faithful enough. To see our weaknesses is not meant to discourage us. In fact, it should encourage us to be honest about ourselves, so as to face and wrestle with our fears. Perhaps like the patriarch Jacob in that mysterious event when he wrestled with an angel, that is how we can overcome them. We know our weaknesses, now we need to avail ourselves of those “tools” from within the Church which, when humbly turned to, can build up our faith - prayer, the Scriptures, Repentance, Confession and the Eucharist (when available again!). Otherwise, our social isolation will only create spiritual fatigue and emptiness. We cannot afford to wait until life returns to normal to then resume our “religious lives” in church. On the contrary, St. Paul exhorts us: “Behold, now is the acceptable time; behold now is the day of salvation” (II Cor. 6:2). And elsewhere: “I can do all things in Christ Who strengthens me” (Phil. 4:13). I believe being brought face-to-face with our fears is a painful lesson in humility. The French Orthodox theologian, Jean-Claude Larchet says this with great insight:  “Illness is an opportunity for each person to experience his ontological fragility, his dependence, and to turn to God as the one who can help overcome it: if not physically (for there do occur, in response to prayer, miraculous healings), then at least spiritually, and give it a meaning by which one builds oneself up, and without which one only allows oneself to be destroyed.” To be humbled is not to be discouraged. To put that another way: I do not believe that God works through discouragement. But I do believe that strengthened by the grace of God, we can work through discouragement in any form that it may assail us. Realizing our dependence on Christ - “For apart from Me you can do nothing” (Jn. 15:5) - teaches us to be humble. We therefore cannot judge anyone else - including all of those “unbelievers” who live in our midst.

There is something to learn about ourselves, the world around us, and “life” itself, as we face a multitude of fears during this coronavirus crisis in which we are immersed. The process may be painful, but the results are positive. We are learning to care for and to love each other, to more fully appreciate the “little things” in life, to take nothing for granted - including tomorrow - and to deeply sympathize with the sufferings of others. On the pastoral level I am hoping that this includes a deeper awareness of our dependence on God. St. John Chrysostom knew our fears, but he also knew how liberating it is to believe in Christ. We may realize this today never before: “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and for ever.” (Heb. 13:8).

COVID-19, Anxiety and Prayer

Fr. Basil Zebrun

(Within this article are thoughts on prayer by Metropolitan Anthony Bloom, as well as recommended disciplines that may prove useful during these difficult times.)

Introduction:

Major, unforeseen difficulties force people inevitably to reassess priorities while making important observations about human behavior, as they witness the reactions of others – and take note of their own reactions – to various crises.  The present widespread concern, and in many cases panic, over the Coronavirus is a unique situation that brings to light human tendencies: the strengths and weaknesses of individuals, local communities and our nation as a whole.  In the long run these revelations can be quite edifying. They may in fact lead to meaningful life-changes in those who have, “eyes to see and ears to hear.”

On the one hand, fist fights at grocery stores in front of near-empty shelves, along with the hoarding of toilet paper, hand sanitizer and other supplies (at times for personal profit) remind us that despite social progress “looking out for number one” is still a basic rule of life in this world.  Fallen Man is largely driven by his appetites and fears. He has yet to acquire that perfect love “which casts out all fear” (1 John 4:18).

At the same time, we see numerous examples these days of that “greater love” spoken of by Jesus (John 15:13), demonstrated by individuals serving on the front lines of the war against COVID-19.  It is a love to which all can aspire, witnessing sacrifices by others on behalf of the neighbor.  

Perhaps one of the most significant take-aways from the present situation is a profound awareness of life’s fragility, a sense of one’s own mortality. Quarantines and social distancing have had a sobering effect on the general populace. People are anxious and maybe for the first time are having to address ultimate questions regarding life and death. Even if the Coronavirus is not a primary concern with specific groups (reportedly with a number of college students), there exist other related sources of anxiety:  the deaths of loved ones, an unsteady economy and job furloughs, as well as the closures of popular businesses, entertainment venues and parks, relied on for “personal escape.”  Such forced changes are unavoidable reminders that we are not really masters of our own universe, that life as we know it and want it, is never set in stone. 

We have all heard the countless reports about COVID-19, its effect on various countries and cities. Depending on the source it is estimated that over 170 countries have been hit by the pandemic.  The one constant seems to be that people want their lives to return to normal. The waiting and the politicizing of this issue, as well as uncertainties about the future, are unbearable for many.  In the midst of the crisis, personal faith may be weakened by doubts and fears.  People ask, “how and for what, can a person pray at times like these?”

In terms of the what, the bottom line of all prayer is, “Thy Will be done…” Believers continually appeal to God’s wisdom and providence, giving thanks, “always and for everything” (Ephesians 5:20).  Inner peace is sought, as well as clarity of mind so that the present challenges may be addressed effectively.  Family members and “the neighbor” are certainly remembered both in prayer and through charitable acts.  Medical professionals, civic leaders and Church hierarchs are foremost in everyone’s thoughts, working as they are on the front lines.  And perhaps most importantly, Christians continue to see prayer not only as a series of requests, but as the main means by which they commune with one another through Jesus Christ our Lord, sharing in His divine life.  

Thoughts by Bishop Bloom:

In terms of the how of prayer, Metropolitan Anthony Bloom in his classic, Beginning to Pray, has pertinent thoughts in a chapter entitled, Managing Time.  To paraphrase greatly a few of his points:  much of the anxiety that prevents individuals from living and praying as they should derives from living in a past that no longer exists, while projecting desires and fears into a future that has yet to arrive.  It is a future in fact, which may never arrive, at least not in ways that people envision.  His Eminence directs readers to live in the moment, to discover the how’s of “stopping time” as he puts it, so that each moment acquires intensity and purpose.  Learning this technique brings a desired focus to personal prayer.  His concern is that people often view the present as almost non-existent.  They slide from the past into the future very quickly and nervously, with “the present” experienced as an extremely thin line. He suggests ways in which this approach to life may be altered.     

The Corona Crisis is a good example of how decisive, unexpected experiences are capable of driving home the above realizations.  Metropolitan Anthony – as he describes it – had his own pivotal experience while under interrogation during WWII.  Others have learned from illnesses, accidents and various hardships through which they faced death: the value and power of each minute was made clear. Unfortunately, such lessons are often short-lived.  Man has a tendency to quickly forget important revelations.  He falls back easily into former ways of thinking and behaving.     

His Eminence offers simple techniques that may teach believers to live in the moment, thereby impacting their ability to pray and to live life more fully.  “I think,” he says, “we must do exercises in stopping time and in standing in the present, in the “now” which is my present, and which is also the intersection of eternity with time.” 

One such exercise – he explains – is to sit, only with yourself, and say, ““I am seated, I am doing nothing, I will do nothing for five minutes,” and then relax, and continually throughout this time…realize, “I am here in the presence of God, in my own presence and in the presence of all the furniture that is around me, just still, moving nowhere.”” 

Bloom emphasizes that you must also, “decide that within these two minutes, five minutes, which you have assigned to learning that the present exists, you will not be pulled out of it by the telephone, by a knock on the door, or by a sudden upsurge of energy that prompts you to do at once what you have left undone for the past ten years…” Once you learn to do this with, “lost moments of your life…then extend the few minutes to a longer time and then to a little while longer still…”

A person will eventually have to apply this technique not only during moments where, “time drags…but at moments when it rushes,” when one is busily engaged with work or other responsibilities. In all honesty, people know that they often stop whatever they are doing for brief periods, out of “sheer laziness,” or according to “how they feel.”  At these times they come to realize that, “the world does not falter and that the whole world…can wait for five minutes while (they) are not busy with it…”  Through practiced techniques the same lesson may be learned intentionally with regard to prayer and the whole of life.

Depending on the nature of personal responsibilities, His Eminence suggests the use of a pre-set alarm throughout the day, as a signal to initiate periods of stillness.  “Try not to anticipate the alarm,” he says, but work diligently until you hear it ring. Time moves neither faster nor slower while watching the clock.  With the sound of the alarm a person should stop whatever he or she is doing and, “know that for the next five minutes the world (in a sense) has come to an end and you will not move from (your) spot.  It is God’s own time and you settle back in His own time quietly, silently and peacefully…you will discover very soon that you can very well postpone (whatever you are doing) for three, five or even ten minutes and nothing happens.  And, if you are doing something that requires attention, you will discover (after a while) how much better and more quickly you can do it.”

You will also discover, he states, that, “the moment you overcome the inner tension, the inner agitation, the fidgeting and the anguish, (at that moment) time passes perfectly well.” You experience more powerfully the value of time, that, “every minute counts as much as the next minute, every hour as much as the next hour…” and so on.  With this discovery you realize that, “you can pray in every single situation in the world, that there is no situation which can prevent you from praying…”  In addition, the temptation presents itself with less frequency, to project fears into a non-existent future. All of one’s love, faith and thoughts can then be brought into the present moment of life that is given.  

Just a few thoughts from an Orthodox Christian hierarch, known for his insights.  His works on prayer are easy reads, and may prove useful, especially during these difficult times. A few of his more popular books are: Beginning to Pray, Courage to Pray, Living Prayer, and God and Man.

Great Lent

Protopresbyter Thomas Hopko

The season of Great Lent is the time of preparation for the feast of the Resurrection of Christ. It is the living symbol of man’s entire life which is to be fulfilled in his own resurrection from the dead with Christ. It is a time of renewed devotion: of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. It is a time of repentance, a real renewal of our minds, hearts and deeds in conformity with Christ and His teachings. It is the time, most of all, of our return to the great commandments of loving God and our neighbors.

In the Orthodox Church, Great Lent is not a season of morbidity and gloominess. On the contrary, it is a time of joyfulness and purification. We are called to “anoint our faces” and to “cleanse our bodies as we cleanse our souls.” The very first hymns of the very first service of Great Lent set the proper tone of the season:

Let us begin the lenten time with delight…let us fast from passions as we fast from food, taking pleasure in the good words of the Spirit, that we may be granted to see the Holy Passion of Christ our God and his Holy Pascha, spiritually rejoicing.

Thy grace has arisen upon us, O Lord, the illumination of our souls has shown forth; behold, now is the acceptable time; behold, now is the time of repentance (Vespers Hymns).

It is our repentance that God desires, not our remorse. We sorrow for our sins, but we do so in the joy of God’s mercy. We mortify our flesh, but we do so in the joy of our resurrection into life everlasting. We make ready for the resurrection during Great Lent, both Christ’s Resurrection and our own.

Pre-Lenten Sundays (February 2 thru March 1):

The Paschal season of the Church is preceded by the season of Great Lent, which is itself preceded by its own liturgical preparation. The first sign of the approach of Great Lent comes five Sundays before its beginning. On this Sunday the Gospel reading is about Zacchaeus the tax-collector (this year, February 2). It tells how Christ brought salvation to the sinful man and how his life was greatly changed simply because he “sought to see who Jesus was” (Lk 19.3). The desire and effort to see Jesus begins the entire movement through lent towards Easter. It is the first movement of salvation.

The following Sunday is that of the Publican and the Pharisee (February 9). The focus here is on the two men who went to the Temple to pray—one a pharisee who was a very decent and righteous man of religion, the other a publican who was a truly sinful tax-collector who was cheating the people. The first, although genuinely righteous, boasted before God and was condemned, according to Christ. The second, although genuinely sinful, begged for mercy, received it, and was justified by God (Lk 18.9). The meditation here is that we have neither the religious piety of the pharisee nor the repentance of the publican by which alone we can be saved. We are called to see ourselves as we really are in the light of Christ’s teaching, and to beg for mercy.

The next Sunday in the preparation for Great Lent is the Sunday of the Prodigal Son (February 16). Hearing the parable of Christ about God’s loving forgiveness, we are called to “come to ourselves” as did the prodigal son, to see ourselves as being “in a far country” far from the Father’s house, and to make the movement of return to God. We are given every assurance by the Master that the Father will receive us with joy and gladness. We must only “arise and go,” confessing our self-inflicted and sinful separation from that “home” where we truly belong (Lk 15.11–24).

The next Sunday is called Meatfare Sunday since it is officially the last day before Easter for eating meat (February 23). It commemorates Christ’s parable of the Last Judgment (Mt 25.31–46). We are reminded this day that it is not enough for us to see Jesus, to see ourselves as we are, and to come home to God as his prodigal sons. We must also be his sons by following Christ, his only-begotten divine Son, and by seeing Christ in every man and by serving Christ through them. Our salvation and final judgment will depend upon our deeds, not merely on our intentions or even on the mercies of God devoid of our own personal cooperation and obedience.

…for I was hungry and you gave Me food, I was thirsty and you gave Me drink, I was a stranger and you took Me in, I was naked and you clothed Me, I was sick and in prison and you visited Me. For truly I say to you, if you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to Me (Mt 25).

We are saved not merely by prayer and fasting, not by “religious exercises” alone. We are saved by serving Christ through his people, the goal toward which all piety and prayer is ultimately directed.

Finally, on the eve of Great Lent, the day called Cheesefare Sunday and Forgiveness Sunday, we sing of Adam’s exile from paradise (March 1). We identify ourselves with Adam, lamenting our loss of the beauty, dignity and delight of our original creation, mourning our corruption in sin. We also hear on this day the Lord’s teaching about fasting and forgiveness, and we enter the season of the fast forgiving one another so that God will forgive us.

If you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will forgive you; but if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your heavenly Father forgive you your trespasses (Mt 6.14–18).

(Taken from The Orthodox Faith, Volume II, Worship, published by the Department of Christian Education of the Orthodox Church in America).

The Existence of Many Faiths: Some Orthodox Thoughts

by Fr. Dimitri Dudko 

(Fr. Dimitri was a Russian Orthodox priest who reposed in Moscow, on June 28, 2004.  Born in 1922, he embraced the Christian faith at the age of 16.  After serving in the military during WWII, he entered seminary.  During his studies he was arrested for “anti-Soviet agitation” and sentenced to ten years of hard labor.  Released from prison, he then married, was ordained, and was subsequently harassed by civil authorities throughout his priestly ministry.  Nevertheless, he brought thousands to Christ living in an atheistic society.  Fr. Dimitri became known through his unique and powerful sermons, delivered in a Q & A format.  The following is a small portion of his words to a Moscow flock in 1973.  His thoughts herein are pastorally sensitive, and can prove helpful for anyone living in a pluralistic society, coming in close contact with people of many faiths.)

QUESTION: We have just one God; all men have just one.  So why are there so many faiths? Even among Christians there are various faiths:  Orthodox, Catholic, Protestant, etc.  So which faith is the most correct?

ANSWER:  Yes, all of us have just one God, but we believe in Him in different ways.  This is because we are sinful and have gone astray.  When people go astray, they seek out their own path in various ways. But there’s only one way out:  to God.  That they seek God is good.  It’s bad when they don’t.  Every search of this sort has its own truth, and happy is the man who finds the surest way out, the truest faith.  This is great joy.

We can’t look down upon those of other faiths.  Anyone who grows conceited about his faith is faithless.  The believer who asked this question is respectful and loving towards others.

Atheists often try to reproach believers: “If you have so many faiths, it means there’s no God because everyone understands God in his own way.” But they don’t take into account the fact that when people are searching, they always go in various directions.  They come out on the true path only when they sense the approach of the One Whom they seek.  If we sense God as we should, then we’ll confess the true faith.   We have the good fortune of confessing the Orthodox faith.  We must rejoice in this and value our faith.  Anyone who doesn’t value his own faith is, in general, weak in his faith in God.  We must value our Orthodox faith.  For us it’s the most correct.  God will judge the others; we must think about ourselves. When there’s no longer sin and error among us, we’ll have one faith. But until then there will be many.  

All faiths indicate that we seek a way out, that we seek God, the source of life.  Only lack of faith fails to seek a way out, because in fact lack of faith is a way out. But that means to perish.  The atheist doesn’t understand that sin is the major unhappiness, and he perishes in this sin.  He seeks a way out, freedom not from sin, but from secondary causes: poverty, etc. But just because a person has been freed from poverty doesn’t mean he’ll be happy. Today we see that the most well-to-do people are becoming hooligans, profligates, drunks.  What happiness is there in this?  It’s perdition! Only God gives happiness.

Our faith is true when we live correctly.  You can confess any faith you want externally and still not know God as you should.  Let’s live as Christians should.  Then the faith we confess will be the most correct.   (Taken from “Our Hope,” published by SVS Press.)

Justifying Genocide: Building a Better World

by Archpriest Lawrence Farley

I have just finished watching a brief ten minute video on Youtube from 2008 entitled, “The Unbearable Lightness of Being a Nazi”, originally entitled “Happy Nazis”. It is a chilling documentary which compares two photo albums received by the US Holocaust Museum. One set of photos shows some of the upper level leaders and some women workers at Auschwitz in happy and light-hearted moments of fellowship and camaraderie, such as sing-alongs. Another set of photos shows the inmates of Auschwitz during the “selections” made after the trains pulled into the camp, some of the photos taken just moments before those in the photos were killed. It is the juxtaposition of the two sets of photos, all of them taken around the same time, which makes the documentary so chilling.

The documentary also features the words of a survivor of the camp, Regina Speigel. Looking at the pictures of the leaders and workers in the camp, Regina was amazed. “You look at these pictures,” she said, “they look almost like normal people. They’re devils. They’re something in human flesh. Because how could you sit there and know what’s happening to people and enjoy [yourselves]?” Hers is a heartbreaking testimony; you can still see the pain that she endured when she was an eighteen-year-old prisoner there shining and damp in her now elderly eyes.

Yet it is important to state that in one particular Regina was mistaken. The workers and leaders in Auschwitz were not devils in human flesh. There were indeed normal people. That is the point and the lesson of Auschwitz. If they were inhuman devils then their crimes would contain no lessons for us, and have no more moral significance than do the actions of wild animals. If a wild animal such as a bear attacks, kills, and rips a man to shreds, this is tragic, but offers no moral lesson. Of course, wild animals kill; that is what wild animals sometimes do and why we call them “wild”. It is precisely because the leaders and workers at Auschwitz were people like ourselves that the tremendous evils that they committed and connived at contain lessons for all of us.

It is sadly the case that normal people, men and women who are capable of joy, kindness to family members and children, and light-hearted jokes and merriment, are also capable of committing great evil. One does this by justifying the evil action in some way and then by walling up this part of one’s life away from all the other parts. In Nazi Germany the State attempted to justify its extreme actions against Jews, Communists, Gypsies, and other dissidents by saying that Germany was fighting for its life with its back to the wall, and that these actions, though difficult, were necessary for national survival. They painted a picture of a noble and civilized Europe led by Germany fighting against the subhuman hordes of Asia led by a worldwide Jewish conspiracy. It was all nonsense, of course, but it was widely believed nonetheless, and for many people it provided the justification for doing what they felt needed to be done. Doubtless they looked forward to the end of the war when a German victory meant that such terrible things need no longer be done and they could sit back and enjoy the better world their hard actions had created.

Having such a justification in place, they could then compartmentalize their lives, and turn off their conscience whenever it might rebuke them during the “selections” and the subsequent murder of men, women, and children, keeping that terrible work in a hermetically-sealed part of their mind. Scripture is familiar with such a process; St. Paul calls it having your conscience cauterized or seared (1 Timothy 4:2). One becomes morally like a split-personality, the two parts of one’s life floating side by side like oil and water. One never allows the monstrous significance of some actions to trespass into the rest of one’s life. The people in such a state are not devils, for devils and demons have no such split in them that we know of. Demons are single-mindedly evil throughout, incapable of joy or kindness at any level.

The lessons for us are obvious, even if we have never found ourselves in situations where the thought that we were fighting for our very survival sounded plausible. We can see this perennial temptation to deny full humanity to others as a justification for our negative actions against them. This happens routinely in war: those whom our governments send us out to kill must first be dehumanized as much as possible. In fighting the Germans during the First World War, we were not trying to kill German men who were fathers, brothers, and sons like ourselves. We were (the enlistment posters told us) “hunting the Hun”. The Vietnamese enemy soldiers were not men like ourselves, but “Gooks”; the Japanese were “Japs”. This happened too in racist lynchings in America in past decades; the men lynched and killed were also called by other names, which I will not mention here.

The lesson therefore is that we must refuse to demonize or dehumanize our opponents. We can denounce their actions, but must still recognize that our opponents are men and women like us, and souls for whom Christ died. The end never justifies the means, and we must fight fair, striving to understand our opponents and agreeing with them when they speak the truth. In this age we must do whatever good we can, of course, but ultimately it is Christ alone who will build a better world. We must always live and act as if the world were ending tonight, and that tomorrow we will stand before the dread throne of the Lord of glory and give an account for what we have done. We cannot safely build barriers within our hearts to justify our actions, walling off one part of our life from the other parts. Our prayer must always be, “Unite my heart to fear Your Name” (Psalm 86:11).

(Fr. Lawrence Farley is the rector of St. Herman of Alaska Church in Langley, B.C. He is the author of many books including the Bible Study Companion Series, Let Us Attend: A Journey through the Orthodox Divine Liturgy, and A Daily Calendar of Saints. In addition, Fr. Lawrence has a podcast each weekday on Ancient Faith Radio and has given a number of parish retreats in the U.S. and Canada, as well as being a guest-lecturer yearly at Regent College in Vancouver.)

Icons as Teachers

Archpriest John Matusiak (+2019) 

(Fr. John Matusiak fell asleep in the Lord on August 15, 2019 (Feast of Dormition). He was a gifted preacher, author and educator, as well as an iconographer.  In his memory we offer the following edited article written by him for the Orthodox Church in America’s Department of Religious Education.  May his memory be eternal!)

There exists a certain temptation on the part of many to complicate and/or thoroughly misunderstand the Orthodox Church's liturgy.  Some non-Orthodox condemn it as something ancient, archaic, mystical, mysterious, exotic, eclectic, ethnic and esoteric. Others praise it because it transports them into the time-warp "before Vatican II changed everything."  Orthodox Christians often define liturgy as something which has been "handed down" as part of our "cultural heritage," to be "preserved" and "treasured" by "our people.”  And the media could not possibly pass it up without rave reviews which note how "colorful" and "symbolic" it is. (Not so) oddly enough, none of the above has anything whatsoever to do with liturgy. To the contrary. Orthodox liturgy is quite basic. It involves the gathering together of God's people who, in "laying aside all earthly cares" engage in worship while learning more about Him and His Kingdom.  Worship and education. Hardly exotic!

Liturgical Art

In many instances, the so-called "trimmings" of Orthodox worship are equally misunderstood. This is especially so in the case of iconography. Icons are more often than not viewed as "decorative alternatives" to modern religious art, bad religious art, or no religious art. Through the ages they have been condemned by iconoclasts, humanized by Russian Emperors, restored by atheists, prized by collectors, and "featured" at Bloomingdale's and Neiman-Marcus. Icons may be appreciated for their "folksy," "primitive" or "other-worldly" properties, but in the process their true purpose and meaning are trivialized at best.

Icons cannot be defined as "religious art." Nor can they be termed "decorative." They are, first and foremost, functional. By their very essence, icons are inseparable from prayer and worship. Consequently, icons might best be termed "liturgical art." Orthodox doctrine would go so far as to say that apart from liturgy icons have no function whatsoever. In this sense, they are the "windows of God's Kingdom."

Theology in Color

Icons are the "blackboards of God's Kingdom" as well. In addition to their functional use in worship, they serve to educate. Like the liturgy, they teach us about God, the Theotokos, the saints, and ourselves. They transcend and transfigure "all earthly cares" so that we might gain a glimpse of God's existence while considering (or reconsidering) our own. Icons are often referred to as "theology in color." They present the Church's teachings in line, form, chroma and hue rather than with words. This was especially important in the early days of the Church when books and widespread literacy were rare. Church walls became wordless textbooks with the introduction of frescoes, which served to transform the church's interior into "sacred" space while presenting the Christian message visually.

The traditional arrangement of frescoes, if faithfully adhered to, surrounds the worshipper with the central mysteries of salvation, not only aiding in the liturgical celebration of those mysteries but in their intellectual comprehension as well. The schematic arrangement calls for Old Testament scenes and personalities, from creation through the prophets, on the narthex walls. The nave is adorned with New Testament scenes, from the Annunciation and Nativity of Christ to His Crucifixion, Death and Burial. Within the altar one finds the victorious resurrected Christ, while on the altar ceiling the Theotokos, like the ceiling itself, literally unites heaven and earth. The central cupola, representing the space-less heavens, bears the icon of Christ the "Pantocrator," or All-powerful. And the pillars, which stand in the midst of the faithful, are generally adorned with individual martyrs and other saints who literally "join" the congregation before the throne of God. (St. Theodosius Cathedral, Cleveland, Ohio; St. Vladimir Church, Trenton, New Jersey; Ss. Peter and Paul Church, Syracuse, New York; and Three Saints Church, Ansonia, Connecticut, are among the…churches in America which follow this or similar schematic arrangement.)

Far from being decorative, this iconographic scheme transcends the very space in which it exists. Rather than "containing" space, the frescoes eliminate it. The faithful, regardless of the moment, are not so much surrounded by "events"; rather, they are placed into the very midst of these events as participants in Christ's timeless and space-less work of salvation.

 Teach with words, write with letters, paint with colors, all in conformity with the tradition. Painting is as genuine as the content of the books; it is a work of divine grace because what is represented is holy. 

Symeon of Thessalonica

From the moment the divinity united itself to our nature, our nature was glorified as by lifegiving and wholesome medicine, and received access to incorruptibility: this is why the death of the saints is celebrated, temples are built in their honor, and their icons are painted and venerated.

St. John of Damascus

Lessons in Images

Individual icons, whether they be frescoes or portable wooden panels, not only educate through placement and use; their content also serves to enlighten the faithful.

When one thinks of the "Last Supper," Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece usually comes to mind. It may be found everywhere-religious shops, black-velvet-paint-by-number kits, Aunt Helen's dining room wall. It's title accurately describes its content: Christ and the apostles are gathered (curiously, they are all sitting on the same side of the table!) for their last meal together.

From an iconographic point of view, da Vinci's work, for all its artistic excellence and emotional strength, leaves out the "punch line." The main point of the event was the institution of the Eucharist, not the opportunity to get together for one last meal. If anything, this was the "First Supper," not the last, inasmuch as it was different than any other meal shared previously.

(In Orthodoxy, this same event is depicted) in a totally different manner. Christ is pictured in the center, distributing His Body to six awe-struck apostles to His right, while sharing His Blood with another six to His left. The icon emphasizes the essential "event within the event." Appropriately, Orthodoxy refers to this as the "Mystical Supper" or the "Institution of the Eucharist."

The birth of Christ brings to mind countless Christmas cards "manger scenes." The traditional Nativity icon…while…accurately recalling the key elements surrounding Christ's birth - the Virgin, child, animals, shepherds, Magi, angels - is radically different than anything produced by the folks at Hallmark.

Perhaps the most noticeable differences are the positions of Mary and Joseph. Rather than kneeling on either side of Christ, Mary rests while Joseph ponders whether or not to "put away" his betrothed. Above, angels hover in adoration. To the viewer's right they announce the Saviour's birth to the startled shepherds, while to the left they offer warnings to the Magi. The bottom right corner shows two women servants bathing the newly-born Christ.

Why is the Nativity icon so different from the usual manger scene? Again, it serves to awaken within the faithful an appreciation for Who was born rather than how He was born. Comparing the icon to the gospel narratives, one discovers that the icon faithfully reproduces the scriptural accounts in every detail. Yet the icon goes even further by visually teaching that the newly-born child is also the pre-eternal God. This is accomplished by the very composition itself.

Christ is depicted in the center of the icon. The Creator of all is surrounded by His creation, angels, humans, earth, sky, light, darkness, animals and plants. The top half of the icon teaches that the child is indeed God. The angels proclaim Him, as does the star, which pierces the earth with Heaven itself. Yet the bottom half of the icon teaches that Christ is also man. He is bathed like every other new-born; Mary rests, as every new mother must; and Joseph, not fully comprehending the event, is faced with a very human decision. Not one aspect of the Saviour’s birth or the doctrine of Christ is missing in this icon.

"The Virgin of the Sign," (often placed in the Church’s apse, just behind and above the altar):  Unlike the famous Renaissance Madonnas which depict little more than maternal emotion, this icon instructs the viewer in a number of other ways.

First and foremost, the Theotokos is not holding Christ. Rather, He appears to be suspended in front of her in a circle. The mother-child relationship is presented, yet it is not the most important statement made by the icon.  Christ is not suspended in front of the Virgin. He is depicted within her and coming forth from her, surrounded by the same uncreated light which surrounds Him in the Transfiguration icon. The Church proclaims Mary as the Theotokos, the one who literally bore God in her womb. This vital theological point is accurately expressed in this icon.

Learning by Doing

Icons, like liturgy, exist for worship as well as education. That which they impart, however, does not simply satisfy the intellect. Icons, as we have seen above, also serve to educate by experience. While they relate events and the people involved in them, they also invite the faithful to "lay aside all earthly cares" and become participants as well.

Mystical Supper Icon CC BY-SA 2.0 Fr. Ted Bobosh @ https://www.flickr.com/photos/frted/5713012090

Cultivating the Image of Divine Beauty

Archpriest Steven Kostoff

(On August 6 we celebrate) the Great Feast of the Transfiguration of Our Lord, which we will continue to celebrate through Sunday, August 13, the Leave-taking of the Feast.  The mysterious presence of Beauty is revealed on Mount Tabor in an overwhelming manner as Christ is transfigured, resplendent in divine glory.  This is the beauty of the first-formed human creatures, created to reflect the beauty of the divine nature, for by grace they—and we—were created in the image and likeness of God.  And they were placed in a world that also reflected this divine beauty.  That is why God, after completing the creation process, declared that it was all “very good.”

Yet, the presence of sin marred that beauty.  This lost beauty was restored to humanity when the Son of God assumed our human nature, uniting it to His divine Person and revealing the glory of God in a human being.  Thus, on Mount Tabor, Christ reveals the beauty of His divine nature and the beauty of our created human nature.  This is why the Transfiguration is often referred to as a “Feast of Beauty.”

The Russian novelist Dostoevsky [+1881] famously and somewhat enigmatically once said, “Beauty will save the world.”  Yet, Dostoevsky also realized that in a world filled with sin, beauty can evoke responses that fall short of any saving value.  In fact, beauty can even degenerate toward sin and sensuality, as one of Dostoevsky’s greatest creations, Dmitri Karamazov, acknowledged with great anguish.  Therefore, for Dostoevsky beauty itself had to be “saved” and linked to Truth and Goodness.  Thus, for the Russian novelist, beauty is not simply an aesthetic concept, but one that must have a moral, ethical and spiritual dimension for it to be rightly perceived and experienced.  And for Dostoevsky—as well as for not only great artists, but for the great minds of the Church—beauty is not an abstract concept or Idea.  Beauty is a Person, and this Person is Christ.  In Christ, Truth, Goodness and Beauty are harmoniously united.  This is why Dostoevesky also spoke of the “radiant image of Christ.”

In another famous passage from his pen, found in one of his letters, Dostoevsky articulated his personal “creed” as he writes, “I have constructed for myself a symbol of faith in which everything is clear and holy for me.  The symbol is very clear, here it is:  to believe that there is nothing more beautiful, more profound, more sympathetic, more reasonable, more courageous and more perfect than Christ, and not only is there nothing, but I tell myself with jealous love that never could there be.”

It is these qualities that make Christ such an attractive figure that a well-disposed mind and heart not unduly influenced by the marks of a fallen world will almost naturally turn to as an “ideal,” but again as a concrete living Person.  There is a passage from the personal diary of Father Alexander Elchaninov [+1934] that captures that same intuition as found in Dostoevsky:  “It is impossible not to love Christ.  If we saw Him now, we should not be able to take our eyes off Him, we should ‘listen to Him in rapture;’ we should flock around Him as did the multitudes in the Gospels.  All that is required of us is not to resist.  We have only to yield to Him, to the contemplation of His image—in the Gospels, in the saints, in the Church—and He will take possession of our hearts.”

Here, again, there is an inherent moral, ethical and spiritual dimension from that beauty that flows outward from Christ.  This is rendered in the form of very practical and concrete advice in the words of Vladimir Solovyov [+1900], for many the greatest Russian philosopher known to us: “Before any important decision, let us evoke in our soul the image of Christ.  Let us concentrate our attention upon it and ask ourselves: Would He Himself do this action?  Or, in other words: Will He approve of it or not?  To all I propose this rule: it does not deceive.  In every dubious case, as soon as the possibility of a choice is offered to you, remember Christ.  Picture to yourself His living Person, as it really is, and entrust Him with the burden of your doubts.  Let men of good will, as individuals, as social factors, as leaders of men and peoples, apply this criterion, and they will really be able, in the name of truth, to show to others the way toward God.”

This concreteness is all the more interesting, for Solovyov was often a highly speculative thinker.  That which he wrote just over a century ago is hardly a public ideal any longer—to our great loss.  It is our role to maintain and cultivate the image of divine beauty in our lives as seen in the face of the incarnate and transfigured Christ as a sacred obligation. (Taken from the Orthodox Church in America’s website).