One of the characters in Dicken's Dombey and Son, Mr. Dombey's sister, often comments that people would not suffer as they do if they would only put forth a little more effort.
I am afraid that I too am sometimes tempted to reduce the suffering and failings of others to such a simplistic condemnation: If only they'd make an effort.
Can you imagine the outcry if someone said publicly, "Terry Fox would have made it across Canada if he had only put forth a little more effort"? What a justified outcry we would hear! Terry had only one leg; he was dying from Cancer; he did more than most perfectly healthy people ever do. It is ridiculous to say that he should have or could have put forth more effort. Terry gave 110%, but it was not enough. The deck was stacked against him.
Perhaps we can easily see how unjust it is to say Terry should have tried harder because we could easily see both how hard he did try and how serious his handicaps were. However, what about those whose handicaps and valiant efforts cannot be seen. There are lots of ways the deck is stacked against people.
In the Church we have to always remember that we are a community of the poor, the blind, the maimed and the lame. The handicaps differ widely. Some are obvious, most are hidden. In fact, most of our handicaps are even unknown to ourselves. It takes great spiritual struggle to come to see one's own weaknesses as they really are. And yet whether we see it or not we are handicapped. It is evidenced in our inability to live the lives we long to live, to love the way we long to love, to show kindness, generosity and faith the way we really do want to--when we are in our right minds and being our best selves.
Telling a lame person to try harder to walk does no good and only showcases your own blindness. Telling someone whose life is falling or has fallen apart to try harder manifests the same blindness.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Christians and Halloween
I have been on all sides of this. I have advocated both a Christianizing strategy and an ignore it strategy. The ignore it strategy is based on the reality that no matter what Halloween may or may not have been in the past, it is certainly not a Christian holiday today. Therefore, it should be treated like all other non-Christian holidays: ignore it. When I have adopted a Christianizing strategy, I have tried to give a Christian focus to it, usually harkening back to Halloween's partial origins in All Saints Day Eve. Using this strategy, I have had my kids dress up like saints to attend a church sponsored All Saints Day Eve/Harvest party; or, if no church party is available, I have even taken my kids on a limited Trick or Treat canvas of known and trusted neighbours. This Christianizing strategy did not come into play until my children were in public school. Before that, I pretty much had an ignore it strategy. And once I began to home school my children (when my oldest was in fifth grade) we gradually returned to ignoring Halloween.
I think ignoring Halloween is ideal, if you can ignore it without causing your children to suffer more than they are able to endure with joy. Yes, I said with Joy. The hymn to St. John the Baptist says, "... and after suffering with joy on behalf of the truth..."
It is easy for parents to impose ideals on their children, ideals for which the parents suffer very little and for which the children suffer a great deal. Parents must be aware of what their children may be suffering--especially at school out of their presence, and realize that suffering without grace will result in bitterness, not saintliness. Certainly if the children are home schooled, it is easy to ignore Halloween. However, if the children are in public school and everyone in the school dresses up, then discernment and perhaps compromise is called for.
Of course there is more than one way to deal with this problem. My main concern is that Christian parents not, for the sake of their own piety, unnecessarily cause their children to suffer. If a parent is very convinced that their child should not participate in any Halloween activities in the public school, then perhaps it would be a good day to take off work and spend with your child(ren) doing something they enjoy. Go to the zoo. Take a picnic. Visit a natural history museum. Take the suffering on yourself by losing a day's work for the sake of your piety. Don't force the suffering unnecessarily on your children.
I realize not everyone can take a day off work for their children (although many could who do not admit it to themselves--just thinking about your children's suffering may be enough to make you ill enough to call in sick). Some may just have to compromise--for the sake of their children's salvation. What exact compromise will be life-giving depends on the family and the circumstances. And I imagine each year will be different--it certainly was in my case.
One thing is certain. Those of us who ignore Halloween should not judge those who compromise with it. In 1 Corinthians 13, St. Paul says that "Love believes all things." I think that means that love believes the best in and of others. I believe that those who ignore Halloween and those who don't are doing the best they can in the circumstances they find themselves in. Perhaps it is a lot like the meat-sacrificed-to-idols issue St. Paul deals with elsewhere in 1 Corinthians. Compassion and concern for the other is called for.
I think ignoring Halloween is ideal, if you can ignore it without causing your children to suffer more than they are able to endure with joy. Yes, I said with Joy. The hymn to St. John the Baptist says, "... and after suffering with joy on behalf of the truth..."
It is easy for parents to impose ideals on their children, ideals for which the parents suffer very little and for which the children suffer a great deal. Parents must be aware of what their children may be suffering--especially at school out of their presence, and realize that suffering without grace will result in bitterness, not saintliness. Certainly if the children are home schooled, it is easy to ignore Halloween. However, if the children are in public school and everyone in the school dresses up, then discernment and perhaps compromise is called for.
Of course there is more than one way to deal with this problem. My main concern is that Christian parents not, for the sake of their own piety, unnecessarily cause their children to suffer. If a parent is very convinced that their child should not participate in any Halloween activities in the public school, then perhaps it would be a good day to take off work and spend with your child(ren) doing something they enjoy. Go to the zoo. Take a picnic. Visit a natural history museum. Take the suffering on yourself by losing a day's work for the sake of your piety. Don't force the suffering unnecessarily on your children.
I realize not everyone can take a day off work for their children (although many could who do not admit it to themselves--just thinking about your children's suffering may be enough to make you ill enough to call in sick). Some may just have to compromise--for the sake of their children's salvation. What exact compromise will be life-giving depends on the family and the circumstances. And I imagine each year will be different--it certainly was in my case.
One thing is certain. Those of us who ignore Halloween should not judge those who compromise with it. In 1 Corinthians 13, St. Paul says that "Love believes all things." I think that means that love believes the best in and of others. I believe that those who ignore Halloween and those who don't are doing the best they can in the circumstances they find themselves in. Perhaps it is a lot like the meat-sacrificed-to-idols issue St. Paul deals with elsewhere in 1 Corinthians. Compassion and concern for the other is called for.
Saturday, October 08, 2011
Preaching the Gospel
In my last post about the movie "Arranged," I wondered out loud about how I as an Orthodox convert might be like the principal who, as an old warrior in the feminist battle, thought she knew what was best for two young women. Someone has asked me how such a reticence to speak to others about matters of faith squares with Christ's command to preach the Gospel.
There are two factors that I consider very important in preaching the Gospel, factors that I think are often overlooked. First, when we preach the Gospel, we must say as Jesus did, "He who has ears to hear, let him hear." Not everyone has ears to hear the Gospel every time it is preached. Those who do not, should not be coerced into some kind of outward show of acquiesce just because we have the power, money, clout, political will or charisma to coerce it. And there are lots of ways we coerce those who do not yet have ears to hear. We coerce through guilt (as opposed to conviction), through fear (and not godly fear), through bribery; we coerce in all sorts of ways because we are convinced that we know what is best for the other. But we don't.
Think about it. Saul of Tarsus was alive while Christ was preaching. He may even have heard Him. Certainly he heard about Jesus of Nazareth. Yet Saul of Tarsus did not have ears to hear until he was confronted by Christ on the road to Damascus. Had no one preached the Gospel to him before? He had been arresting Christians left and right. Certainly someone had told him the basics of what this sect called the Way believed. He may have even heard Christ Himself during His earthly ministry. Yet it wasn't until many years later that he had ears to hear.
And speaking of Saul of Tarsus, once he became St. Paul, he wrote a letter to the Jewish Christians in Rome, and in the second chapter of that letter he makes an interesting statement (quoting Isaiah), "The Name of God is blasphemed among the nations because of you." Why did the nations blaspheme God? "Because of you." What had they done? Beginning in verse 17, St. Paul explains that they sought to teach others God's Law even though they were not living it well themselves. And this is the second factor that must be considered when preaching the Gospel. Perhaps the reason some people reject the Gospel and blaspheme God is because I do not myself very well live according to the Gospel. Maybe like the Jews Isaiah was speaking to and the Roman Christians St. Paul was speaking to, maybe I myself--my lazy lifestyle, my unwillingness to control my selfish habits, my ungenerous attitudes toward others--maybe I am the reason those around me do not yet have ears to hear the Gospel of Christ.
"Preach the Gospel," St. Frances of Assisi is reported to have said, "use words only when necessary."
I am an Orthodox Christian. I am 100% convinced that Orthodox Christianity is the True Faith (not a true faith). However, that does not mean that everyone else will see what I see as soon as I point it out to them. Furthermore, it may be that they do not see it precisely because I point it out to them. I have a lot of repenting yet to do.
Also, God's love for mankind is such that He is able to save anyone, anywhere, any time they are ready. He can even save Moslems, Jews, Atheists, Hindus, and murderers of Christians like St. Paul. In fact, He is even able to save those who murdered His Son: St. Loginous, the centurion at the Cross. I think my job is to follow St. Frances' advice and do my best to live in such a way that the "nations" will ask for an account for the hope they see evidenced in my life.
There are two factors that I consider very important in preaching the Gospel, factors that I think are often overlooked. First, when we preach the Gospel, we must say as Jesus did, "He who has ears to hear, let him hear." Not everyone has ears to hear the Gospel every time it is preached. Those who do not, should not be coerced into some kind of outward show of acquiesce just because we have the power, money, clout, political will or charisma to coerce it. And there are lots of ways we coerce those who do not yet have ears to hear. We coerce through guilt (as opposed to conviction), through fear (and not godly fear), through bribery; we coerce in all sorts of ways because we are convinced that we know what is best for the other. But we don't.
Think about it. Saul of Tarsus was alive while Christ was preaching. He may even have heard Him. Certainly he heard about Jesus of Nazareth. Yet Saul of Tarsus did not have ears to hear until he was confronted by Christ on the road to Damascus. Had no one preached the Gospel to him before? He had been arresting Christians left and right. Certainly someone had told him the basics of what this sect called the Way believed. He may have even heard Christ Himself during His earthly ministry. Yet it wasn't until many years later that he had ears to hear.
And speaking of Saul of Tarsus, once he became St. Paul, he wrote a letter to the Jewish Christians in Rome, and in the second chapter of that letter he makes an interesting statement (quoting Isaiah), "The Name of God is blasphemed among the nations because of you." Why did the nations blaspheme God? "Because of you." What had they done? Beginning in verse 17, St. Paul explains that they sought to teach others God's Law even though they were not living it well themselves. And this is the second factor that must be considered when preaching the Gospel. Perhaps the reason some people reject the Gospel and blaspheme God is because I do not myself very well live according to the Gospel. Maybe like the Jews Isaiah was speaking to and the Roman Christians St. Paul was speaking to, maybe I myself--my lazy lifestyle, my unwillingness to control my selfish habits, my ungenerous attitudes toward others--maybe I am the reason those around me do not yet have ears to hear the Gospel of Christ.
"Preach the Gospel," St. Frances of Assisi is reported to have said, "use words only when necessary."
I am an Orthodox Christian. I am 100% convinced that Orthodox Christianity is the True Faith (not a true faith). However, that does not mean that everyone else will see what I see as soon as I point it out to them. Furthermore, it may be that they do not see it precisely because I point it out to them. I have a lot of repenting yet to do.
Also, God's love for mankind is such that He is able to save anyone, anywhere, any time they are ready. He can even save Moslems, Jews, Atheists, Hindus, and murderers of Christians like St. Paul. In fact, He is even able to save those who murdered His Son: St. Loginous, the centurion at the Cross. I think my job is to follow St. Frances' advice and do my best to live in such a way that the "nations" will ask for an account for the hope they see evidenced in my life.
Arranged
Bonnie and I saw the movie "Arranged" last night. It is a semi-autobiographical story based on the experience of the film's producer. The movie deals with themes of religious tolerance and choice in the context of a growing friendship between an Orthodox Jew and a practicing Moslem who are both teaching in a public school in Brooklyn, and who both are having marriages arranged for them according to the tradition of their religions.
The aspect of this film that strikes me most strongly--and there are many aspects of the film that could inspire hours of interesting discussion--is that the old soldier of the last campaign for freedom becomes the persecutor of the next generation's expression of freedom. That is, the principal in the school where they teach is an older feminist who repeatedly encourages Rochel and Nasira to drop their religious way of dress and the "superstitions" of their fathers, whom she assumes are forcing them to dress the way they do. The principal condescendingly declares to them, "There has been a woman's movement, you know. I went through it." She does not seem realize that she has become the oppressor.
As an Orthodox Christian convert who fought hard to find the "True Faith" in the Holy Orthodox Church, I wonder if I am sometimes like that principal. How often do I assume that I know what is good for someone else? How often do I assume that someone else's life needs fixing and I know how to fix it? How often do I assume that the Holy Spirit is guiding me when in reality I just want to re-create someone else in my own image?
I recommend the film. It is on Netfix.
The aspect of this film that strikes me most strongly--and there are many aspects of the film that could inspire hours of interesting discussion--is that the old soldier of the last campaign for freedom becomes the persecutor of the next generation's expression of freedom. That is, the principal in the school where they teach is an older feminist who repeatedly encourages Rochel and Nasira to drop their religious way of dress and the "superstitions" of their fathers, whom she assumes are forcing them to dress the way they do. The principal condescendingly declares to them, "There has been a woman's movement, you know. I went through it." She does not seem realize that she has become the oppressor.
As an Orthodox Christian convert who fought hard to find the "True Faith" in the Holy Orthodox Church, I wonder if I am sometimes like that principal. How often do I assume that I know what is good for someone else? How often do I assume that someone else's life needs fixing and I know how to fix it? How often do I assume that the Holy Spirit is guiding me when in reality I just want to re-create someone else in my own image?
I recommend the film. It is on Netfix.
Friday, October 07, 2011
Ungodly
Every time I read in the Bible the word "ungodly," I have to tell my self, "That does not mean someone without God."
For some reason, the Greek word asebes got translated into English as ungodly instead of impious. But perhaps many of us have no idea what impious means either--it's not a word you are likely to run into in the newspaper.
Piety, godliness and eusebeia, all mean to live or act in a way that is pleasing to God. Therefore, to be ungodly is not to live in a way that pleases God. And while the Bible often uses absolute language (one is either godly or ungodly), the Church teaches us that godliness is actually something we grow in. Therefore, even as we are growing in godliness, we have not yet quite left all ungodliness behind. St. Paul's exhortations to the Churches often include warnings to flee ungodliness. It's a process.
It's a transformation.
For some reason, the Greek word asebes got translated into English as ungodly instead of impious. But perhaps many of us have no idea what impious means either--it's not a word you are likely to run into in the newspaper.
Piety, godliness and eusebeia, all mean to live or act in a way that is pleasing to God. Therefore, to be ungodly is not to live in a way that pleases God. And while the Bible often uses absolute language (one is either godly or ungodly), the Church teaches us that godliness is actually something we grow in. Therefore, even as we are growing in godliness, we have not yet quite left all ungodliness behind. St. Paul's exhortations to the Churches often include warnings to flee ungodliness. It's a process.
It's a transformation.
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
Orthodox Worship
Fr. James Bernstein has done a great video series on Orthodox worship. They are short, three minute videos (well edited). This is a perfect introduction for anyone interested in why Orthodox worship is the way it is.
Here is a link http://stpaul-orthodox.org/video-divine-liturgy.php
The first video is below.
Here is a link http://stpaul-orthodox.org/video-divine-liturgy.php
The first video is below.
Monday, October 03, 2011
Princess and Curdie Transcript
Hello, this is Fr. Michael Gillis and I’m speaking of books…
Today I will be talking about George MacDonald's children’s fantasy, “The Princess and Curdie.” This is the sequel to “The Princess and the Goblin,” but you don’t have to read that first to enjoy "The Princess and Curdie."
However, before you enjoy any tale by George MacDonanld, you must first let go of your 21st century sensibilities and be willing to enter an imaginary world more glorious and more severe than what most of us would call good. In the world of Curdie and the Princess, virtue, loyalty and truth are more important than this transient life--either losing it yourself or taking it from others. In other words, it is a world that we might call brutal, although it is an honest brutality. It is a brutality in which an honest and true person must personally confront that which is wicked and selfish--and the consequent injury to life or limb is merely a natural part of the exchange.
It is certainly a far cry from our politically correct culture which cannot stand the personal pain of an angry slur, but nonetheless enjoys the impersonal violence of video games and movies--and through technology can keep real violence far away through bombs triggered from a distance and hospitals that keep the dying out of our sight. For us (in North America) today, violence is seldom personal, and when it is personal, we consider it an unusual tragedy, not a normal part of life and death in a sin-filled world. But in the world of Mac Donald’s fairy tales, violence is always personal. The wicked and the righteous confront each other personally.
In The Princess and Curdie, the fairy tale at hand, Curdie is growing through his early teen years and beginning to disbelieve in the angel-like Great Great Grandmother of Princess Irene, the young princess whom Curdie had saved from the goblins in the previous novel. Curdie is beginning to care more about what his fellow miners think of him than of what his parents think of him. He is beginning to doubt what he had known so clearly to be true within himself just a short while ago, simply because it is not being confirmed by his peer group.
However the Great Great Grandmother has not forsaken him, and through a random act of violence in which Curdie shoots a white dove with the bow he had made, She reveals the softness of Curdie’s heart in that he is sorry for the harm he has done. In seeking to heal the wounded dove, Curdie reencounters the Great Great Grandmother. She confronts him for allowing himself to be led into cynicism by his peers and calls him to a dangerous mission to serve the King. Really it is just what every teenage boy needs: a noble purpose bigger than himself that will require discipline, suffering, and recognition in the eyes of those in power.
Perhaps the most powerful theological theme of the book is introduced early. The Great Great Grandmother explains to Curdie that many human beings are becoming like animals and many people with apparently wicked or ugly qualities are actually becoming more human. But you cannot always tell from the outside which way people are going. She uses the example of two men walking up or down a hill side. Viewed quickly from a distance, you cannot easily tell which one is ascending and which is descending. Similarly, from the current appearance of one’s life’s circumstances, you cannot easily tell whether or not the person is becoming more human or more animal.
Curdie receives two gifts from from the Great Great Grandmother for his mission. The first gift is the ability to discern by shaking hands whether one is becoming more human or more animal--and which animal too. And the second gift is an extremely ugly, dog-like creature to be his servant. Right away, Curdie touches the paw of this frightening creature only to discern the beautiful hand of a young woman.
Curdie and the creature, named Lina, journey together to the capital of the kingdom only to find its citizens in a state of deep selfishness (which as Mac Donald describes it sounds in many respects like what we today might call healthy capitalism). Curdie and Lina are thrown in prison for killing the dogs that attacked them--that it was an act of self-defense makes no difference, for the owners blame Curdie for being a stranger and Lina for just being ugly and frightening. However, in the prison they discover a secret passage into the King’s castle. There they uncover a plot to slowly poison the king, and with the help of 49 hideous creatures similar to Lina, (whom they recruited on their journey to the capital) they help the king win back his kingdom.
However, the fairytale ends on a bitter note. Although the king wins back his kingdom, it is largely populated by citizens who cooperated with those who betrayed him. Nevertheless, Curdie is able to go through the kingdom shaking hands and recommending people for the king’s new court--men and women who are becoming men and women. The Great Great Grandmother reveals that Curdie’s parents are of an ancient royal line, and this qualifies him to marry the princess--whom he saved in the first fairytale. You would think this is the final note of a fairytale happy ending, but it is not.
Mac Donald extends the final note to the king who follows Curdie, he and the princess not having any children. In the final passage of the fairytale, we find out that Curdie’s successor to the throne returns to capitalist ways, and driven by greed he exploits the mineral resources of the kingdom to such an extent that the kingdom collapses--literally. The gold mine over which the capital is build collapses and falls into the river.
The End.
Not a very happy note to end a children’s fairytale with. And yet, it is a note that rings very true, especially today, almost 150 years after it was written.
For those of you my dear listeners who have the courage to read real fairytales, I whole-heartedly recommend to you the work of George Mac Donald. The tale I spoke of today is called “The Princess and Curdie,” which is the sequel to “The Princess and the Goblin.” But perhaps my favorite George Mac Donald fairy tale is, “The Back of the North Wind,” but I give you fair warning: it may change your life.
For Speaking of Books, this is Fr. Michael Gillis
Saturday, October 01, 2011
Prayer and the Fear of Enemies
A friend of mine sent me a posting from a certain well known Orthodox leader in the U.S. The posting quoted Orthodox prayers that harken back to the Byzantine wars against the Turks and Saracens--often referred to as "Hagarenes" and "Ishmaelites" in the prayers. The "alarmism," as my friend put it, of this Orthodox leader's reading of these prayers bothered him, and he asked me to comment.
'Let our nation speedily overcome the abominations and blasphemies of the Hagarenes, and submit them to our civil authorities; establish Orthodoxy and raise up the race of Christians, and send down upon us they rich mercy.'
'Bend thy bow and proceed prosperously and be King, O Son of the Mother of God, and by the intercession of her that conceived Thee without knowing a man subject unto our Christ-loving king the Ishmaelite people that warreth against us, we pray, since Thou are God and the Friend of man.'
.... The days of the martyrs is not a time of the distant past, but is upon us....
[Most of the original comments on the texts has been omitted]
Below is my response to my concerned friend.
I, also find such a reading of these prayers hugely unhelpful. Yes, when the (Byzantine/Russian/whatever) empire was Christian and whoever came against the nation was considered evil by the Church, such language was appropriate from a church as state/state as church perspective--of course that only reflects the irony of a "Christian nation." (But then, when has life in a sinful world not been full of irony?) Such political prayer language--common in the Bible too--has always been interpreted on at least two levels. On a national level, it expresses the real fears of those who were really threatened by an attacking army; and those in fear will use whatever weapons they have--including religion as they conceive it in their fear-- to fight the enemy.
However, such prayers have also been understood by those more spiritually minded, who have already died (or are dying) to the world, as a cry to God to destroy the evil within themselves, the infidel, Ishmaelite, Hagarene in their own hearts. It grieves me to hear those who lead the Church succumb to the first interpretation, but I cannot judge them too harshly for I do not experience what they experience. The level of fear that is whipped up by the U.S. media and political system is so high that very few can resist it.
Certainly these are the days of the martyrs. Since the beginning of the world (remember Abel's blood?), it has been the days of the martyrs. Perhaps some in their alarm are just noticing. However, alarm will not help us face martyrdom. (Neither will using prayer as a weapon to smite the enemy outside of us, the neighbour whom we are to love, the ones who crucify us not knowing what they do.) What will prepare us for martyrdom is to begin dying today, to smite the enemy within us with prayer.
Fighting fire with fire only burns up the world.
Nevertheless, some people are alarmed. Some cannot see the infidel within because fear of the infidel without has captured them. And God loves the frightened ones too.
Therefore, Let us together pray, "Subject unto our Christ-loving king the Ishmaelite people that war against us, we pray, since You are friend of man [philanthropos]." Each will pray according to his or her inner state, and God will answer according to His love for mankind, all mankind. Certainly it is better that frightened people pray; it is better that they open themselves in some way to God's saving action--even if they misunderstand the prayer. But who can say that he or she truly understands any prayer? Who of us truly knows what it means that God is the friend of man? Who has known the mind of God? We all need to repent.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Modern Biblical Studies
[an excerpt from an e-mail response to a graduate student in biblical studies]
For the Orthodox Church, the West has generally been asking the wrong questions. The Orthodox have always read the Bible Spiritually, not literally; so questions of inerrancy--as it has come to be understood in the context of the Liberal-Fundamentalist debate of the 20th century--have been almost completely irrelevant to us. For example, whether or not St. Paul wrote Ephesians (historically) is not very relevant to the received tradition that St. Paul wrote it. Ephesians is "pauline" whether Paul himself, one of his helpers, or someone with the same "rule of faith" wrote it. The Church received it as pauline. Similarly, that Moses actually wrote very little in the Pentateuch (the "Books of Moses") is irrelevant. The Church (and Judaism) has received them as The Books of Moses.
Having said this, I think modern scholarship should be understood and then set on a shelf (in my experience modern scholarship is not completely bereft of insight, just mostly bereft). The rules of modern Biblical criticism assume no God, assume modern scholars know more about the ancient texts than those who actually shared the culture and language of those who wrote the texts, and-most importantly-have removed the texts from the worshiping community where they have any meaning at all. Outside of the communities that have preserved and given meaning to these texts, the bible is only so many words to be speculated on.
For example, in the Gospel of Luke, the Archangel greets Mary with the words that her Son would sit on the throne of David. Now tell me, historical-critically, when did that happen? The Bible has never been read by Christians historically. Sure, most Christians have assumed that the historical events recorded actually happened when and how they were recorded, but that has never been the gist of the Bible. For Christians, the Bible is a spiritual book to be read spiritually by spiritual people. The Bible is eschatological, and only those who have begun to experience the eschaton can have any clue as to what the Bible says, can have any clue what "the throne of David" that Mary's Son will sit on refers to.
For the Orthodox Church, the West has generally been asking the wrong questions. The Orthodox have always read the Bible Spiritually, not literally; so questions of inerrancy--as it has come to be understood in the context of the Liberal-Fundamentalist debate of the 20th century--have been almost completely irrelevant to us. For example, whether or not St. Paul wrote Ephesians (historically) is not very relevant to the received tradition that St. Paul wrote it. Ephesians is "pauline" whether Paul himself, one of his helpers, or someone with the same "rule of faith" wrote it. The Church received it as pauline. Similarly, that Moses actually wrote very little in the Pentateuch (the "Books of Moses") is irrelevant. The Church (and Judaism) has received them as The Books of Moses.
Having said this, I think modern scholarship should be understood and then set on a shelf (in my experience modern scholarship is not completely bereft of insight, just mostly bereft). The rules of modern Biblical criticism assume no God, assume modern scholars know more about the ancient texts than those who actually shared the culture and language of those who wrote the texts, and-most importantly-have removed the texts from the worshiping community where they have any meaning at all. Outside of the communities that have preserved and given meaning to these texts, the bible is only so many words to be speculated on.
For example, in the Gospel of Luke, the Archangel greets Mary with the words that her Son would sit on the throne of David. Now tell me, historical-critically, when did that happen? The Bible has never been read by Christians historically. Sure, most Christians have assumed that the historical events recorded actually happened when and how they were recorded, but that has never been the gist of the Bible. For Christians, the Bible is a spiritual book to be read spiritually by spiritual people. The Bible is eschatological, and only those who have begun to experience the eschaton can have any clue as to what the Bible says, can have any clue what "the throne of David" that Mary's Son will sit on refers to.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Money and Betrayal in the Church
In St. John's Gospel we get the clear impression that Judas betrayed Jesus for the money. The Gospel tells us that Judas was particularly upset at the "waste" of the woman who poured ointment on Jesus. Judas calculates the value of the ointment--about a year's wages--and complains that the money could have been given to the poor. St. John tells us, however, that Judas was not really concerned for the poor because he was accustomed to helping himself from the collective money box. Indeed, the hymns of the Church during Holy Week repeatedly tell us that greed was the primary motive for Judas' betrayal of Jesus.
I confess that it is hard for me to believe that Judas would betray Jesus merely out of greed, and for such a small amount--30 pieces of silver, a little more than a month's wages, one tenth of the value of the ointment that was freely "wasted" on Jesus. I'm not the only one who struggles intellectually here. Many have speculated on what Judas' real motives were. Speculations range from political to personal to even pious motivations (e.g. Judas thought he could force Jesus' hand to publicly manifest Himself as Messiah). However, very few "intellectuals" theses days seem to be able to buy the Church's explanation: greed. Why? What's our problem?
Well maybe my problem is that I am too much like Judas myself. It too count the value of what others give to the Church in the form of expensive liturgical items and consider whether or not the money might have been "better" spent elsewhere. I too make my living out of our little church community's collective money box. I too fail to give freely, like the generous woman, but rather count my pennies and consider what is enough, rather than what is generous. I too easily, oh so easily, take offence when someone else seems to be "wasting" church resources: "Why does Fr. X drive such a nice car?" "Why does His Grace Y have to stay in such an expensive hotel?" Why does His Eminence Z take so many trips to the Old Country?" Yes, there are times when the Judas demon would feel right at home in my mind.
The parallels between Judas' relationship with money and mine are frightening. And if others have these same greedy tendencies, then it is no wonder we have a hard time accepting the Church's testimony that Judas' betrayal was a matter of mere greed. To admit that is to admit that we too could betray Christ, for we have a similar greed at work in us.
But things are not as frightening as they appear.
While St. John focuses on Judas' motivation for betrayal, St. Mark (14: 3-9) points out that some were indignant, not just Judas; and St. Matthew (26: 6-13) says the disciples generally were indignant. It seems that Judas was not the only greedy one. It seems that we who struggle with generosity and are quick to call waste any expenditure that we do not agree with, it seems we are in good company. Well, good and bad company.
Perhaps the difference between Judas and me, and between Judas and the other Disciples, was not that Judas experienced greedy thoughts and I and others do not. Rather the difference has to do with whether or not we let greed determine our actions, let greed motivate us, allow ourselves to be driven by fear or anger that has greed at it's root.
Of course, such an explanation should not lead us to breathe easy. That I am not generous, that I do "calculate the value of the gift" (as the hymns of the Church say of Judas), that I do sometimes take offence at what appears to me to be the extravagance of others, that any of this is the case, I should fear. I should fear a holy fear that leads me to repentance. The seeds of greed have not been completely weeded from my heart. The thought that I could, if I do not attend to my on-going repentance and under the right circumstances, betray Jesus as Judas did, that thought is enough to scare the hell out of me (quite literally).
I confess that it is hard for me to believe that Judas would betray Jesus merely out of greed, and for such a small amount--30 pieces of silver, a little more than a month's wages, one tenth of the value of the ointment that was freely "wasted" on Jesus. I'm not the only one who struggles intellectually here. Many have speculated on what Judas' real motives were. Speculations range from political to personal to even pious motivations (e.g. Judas thought he could force Jesus' hand to publicly manifest Himself as Messiah). However, very few "intellectuals" theses days seem to be able to buy the Church's explanation: greed. Why? What's our problem?
Well maybe my problem is that I am too much like Judas myself. It too count the value of what others give to the Church in the form of expensive liturgical items and consider whether or not the money might have been "better" spent elsewhere. I too make my living out of our little church community's collective money box. I too fail to give freely, like the generous woman, but rather count my pennies and consider what is enough, rather than what is generous. I too easily, oh so easily, take offence when someone else seems to be "wasting" church resources: "Why does Fr. X drive such a nice car?" "Why does His Grace Y have to stay in such an expensive hotel?" Why does His Eminence Z take so many trips to the Old Country?" Yes, there are times when the Judas demon would feel right at home in my mind.
The parallels between Judas' relationship with money and mine are frightening. And if others have these same greedy tendencies, then it is no wonder we have a hard time accepting the Church's testimony that Judas' betrayal was a matter of mere greed. To admit that is to admit that we too could betray Christ, for we have a similar greed at work in us.
But things are not as frightening as they appear.
While St. John focuses on Judas' motivation for betrayal, St. Mark (14: 3-9) points out that some were indignant, not just Judas; and St. Matthew (26: 6-13) says the disciples generally were indignant. It seems that Judas was not the only greedy one. It seems that we who struggle with generosity and are quick to call waste any expenditure that we do not agree with, it seems we are in good company. Well, good and bad company.
Perhaps the difference between Judas and me, and between Judas and the other Disciples, was not that Judas experienced greedy thoughts and I and others do not. Rather the difference has to do with whether or not we let greed determine our actions, let greed motivate us, allow ourselves to be driven by fear or anger that has greed at it's root.
Of course, such an explanation should not lead us to breathe easy. That I am not generous, that I do "calculate the value of the gift" (as the hymns of the Church say of Judas), that I do sometimes take offence at what appears to me to be the extravagance of others, that any of this is the case, I should fear. I should fear a holy fear that leads me to repentance. The seeds of greed have not been completely weeded from my heart. The thought that I could, if I do not attend to my on-going repentance and under the right circumstances, betray Jesus as Judas did, that thought is enough to scare the hell out of me (quite literally).
Monday, September 19, 2011
Love and More Love
"Christ's final judgement...does not discriminate between those who need love and those who invite condemnation; it only adjudicates between those who need love and those who need more love."
(Andrew Klager, "Orthodox Eschatology and St. Gregory's [Life of Moses]" in Compassionate Eschatology: The Future as Friend published by Cascade Books.
When I read the above line out loud to my wife, she stopped what she was doing and said, "Ahhh." The kind of "Ahhh" that means, "Yes! That's the God I know in my heart."
Andrew's article is a little tough to work through--he is writing for scholars, after all; but if you get a chance to read it, it is worth the time to work through it slowly. Use a dictionary if you need one (I always do). The vision of heaven, hell and judgement are so Orthodox, so different from what we as a western culture are used to think, that I think you too will say "Ahhh" at several points.
Andrew does not (nor does the Church for that matter) say that there is no hell. He doesn't say that there is no judgement or no condemnation. What Andrew does is help us understand the Orthodox teaching that heaven and hell are not separate places, but they are possibilities of our human experience of the Love of God. God's Love is the Consuming Fire. But what is consumed is only the chaff (our sin, our delusions our vanity) and those who suffer are only those who cling to their sin, their delusions, their vanity.
Of course I cannot unpack in just a few paragraphs what Andrew lays out so well in a twenty-three page article. Let me just repeat that it is worth reading--but get a good dictionary and take your time.
(Andrew Klager, "Orthodox Eschatology and St. Gregory's [Life of Moses]" in Compassionate Eschatology: The Future as Friend published by Cascade Books.
When I read the above line out loud to my wife, she stopped what she was doing and said, "Ahhh." The kind of "Ahhh" that means, "Yes! That's the God I know in my heart."
Andrew's article is a little tough to work through--he is writing for scholars, after all; but if you get a chance to read it, it is worth the time to work through it slowly. Use a dictionary if you need one (I always do). The vision of heaven, hell and judgement are so Orthodox, so different from what we as a western culture are used to think, that I think you too will say "Ahhh" at several points.
Andrew does not (nor does the Church for that matter) say that there is no hell. He doesn't say that there is no judgement or no condemnation. What Andrew does is help us understand the Orthodox teaching that heaven and hell are not separate places, but they are possibilities of our human experience of the Love of God. God's Love is the Consuming Fire. But what is consumed is only the chaff (our sin, our delusions our vanity) and those who suffer are only those who cling to their sin, their delusions, their vanity.
Of course I cannot unpack in just a few paragraphs what Andrew lays out so well in a twenty-three page article. Let me just repeat that it is worth reading--but get a good dictionary and take your time.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Wisdom, Faith, Hope, and Love
Today is St. Sophia day. Her daughters, Faith, Hope and Love (aged 12,10 and 9) were martyred in her presence and she, laying on their graves died. She is considered a martyr for what she endured. May God through the prayers of Wisdom, Faith, Hope and Love help us to give our lives away too, in wisdom, faith, hope and love.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Jesus Was Angry
"And when He [Jesus] had looked around at them in anger..." (Mark 3:5).
Jesus certainly was angry; but what did He experience in His anger? Did Jesus experience what I experience when I am angry?
The Fathers of the Church teach us that there are two basic "natural passions" (sinless passions or feelings) that might be called desire and irritation. These two natural passions are corrupted by sin to become lust in all of its many forms and anger in all of its forms. Most of the time when we speak of anger, we are referring to an experience that is laced with, if not completely consumed by, sin.
When the Bible speaks of Jesus being angry, we must keep in mind that Jesus is sinless. Jesus experienced all that is natural for a human being, yet without sin. Jesus experienced both desire and irritation, what the Bible normally calls anger and sometimes wrath. However, the "anger" that Jesus experienced was completely free of sin: it was a passionless anger. By "passionless" I do not mean that Jesus did not feel it emotionally. What I mean is that the feeling was not touched by sin and it did not control, push or knock Him off balance. What Jesus experienced was nothing like anger as we generally experience it.
We might say that Jesus was angry, but He was not upset. Jesus could feel the irritation caused by the encounter with injustice and sin, but He never loses control of himself. He never acts in any but the most loving, kind and patient way possible (and "possible" is a key word here). However, Jesus does act, when the time is right and for the salvation of all. It is noteworthy that in St. John's account of the cleansing of the temple, St. John specifically mentions that after Jesus found the money changers in the temple, He took the time to make a whip of cords before He started driving them out. Although He felt "anger," Jesus was not driven by anger even as he was driving out the moneychangers. Jesus did not experience anger as a sinful passion.
This is the reason why it is necessary for Christians (or anyone who wants to change the world) to pursue purity of heart. If we are going to do the works of Christ, if we are going to change evil systems and structures in the world, if we are going to drive the moneychangers out of the various temples of our lives, first we have to purify the passions of our own heart. Otherwise, we will only be fighting fire with fire, attacking one evil with another, their injustice with mine.
Spiritual life, the personal pursuit of purity of heart, is no selfish endeavour. It is the foundation from which action can bring about real change. It is the prerequisite for clear vision. It is the bringing of the Kingdom of Heaven to earth, starting with what I have the most power to change (myself) and moving out from there.
Jesus certainly was angry; but what did He experience in His anger? Did Jesus experience what I experience when I am angry?
The Fathers of the Church teach us that there are two basic "natural passions" (sinless passions or feelings) that might be called desire and irritation. These two natural passions are corrupted by sin to become lust in all of its many forms and anger in all of its forms. Most of the time when we speak of anger, we are referring to an experience that is laced with, if not completely consumed by, sin.
When the Bible speaks of Jesus being angry, we must keep in mind that Jesus is sinless. Jesus experienced all that is natural for a human being, yet without sin. Jesus experienced both desire and irritation, what the Bible normally calls anger and sometimes wrath. However, the "anger" that Jesus experienced was completely free of sin: it was a passionless anger. By "passionless" I do not mean that Jesus did not feel it emotionally. What I mean is that the feeling was not touched by sin and it did not control, push or knock Him off balance. What Jesus experienced was nothing like anger as we generally experience it.
We might say that Jesus was angry, but He was not upset. Jesus could feel the irritation caused by the encounter with injustice and sin, but He never loses control of himself. He never acts in any but the most loving, kind and patient way possible (and "possible" is a key word here). However, Jesus does act, when the time is right and for the salvation of all. It is noteworthy that in St. John's account of the cleansing of the temple, St. John specifically mentions that after Jesus found the money changers in the temple, He took the time to make a whip of cords before He started driving them out. Although He felt "anger," Jesus was not driven by anger even as he was driving out the moneychangers. Jesus did not experience anger as a sinful passion.
This is the reason why it is necessary for Christians (or anyone who wants to change the world) to pursue purity of heart. If we are going to do the works of Christ, if we are going to change evil systems and structures in the world, if we are going to drive the moneychangers out of the various temples of our lives, first we have to purify the passions of our own heart. Otherwise, we will only be fighting fire with fire, attacking one evil with another, their injustice with mine.
Spiritual life, the personal pursuit of purity of heart, is no selfish endeavour. It is the foundation from which action can bring about real change. It is the prerequisite for clear vision. It is the bringing of the Kingdom of Heaven to earth, starting with what I have the most power to change (myself) and moving out from there.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Lions In Our Hearts
Jamie Moran in an article in Raising Lazarus: Integral Healing in Orthodox Christianity, uses the metaphor of an evil lion caged inside us. This lion represents sinful passionate desires or urges. Jamie talks about two common ways Christians deal with this lion that don’t work very well and then suggests a way based on the teaching of the Desert Fathers. The first ineffective way is the way of the “Puritan,” the second ineffective way is the path of appeasement, and the way of the Desert Fathers is the way of identification.
These are some of my reflections on these three ways.
The Puritan insists that the lion does not exist--at least not in her heart. The Puritan sublimates; she forces herself to do the culturally defined good; she acts; she pretends. The Puritan may indeed convince herself that there is no lion caged in her heart, but the repressed impulses find their way out in other unhealthy ways of being and relating. Because the Puritan must give herself so completely to pretending, she loses compassion and empathy; she loses the ability to see what she doesn’t want to see in others because she has worked so hard not to see what she does not want to see in herself. The fruit of this Puritan way is self righteousness and pride.
The second ineffective way to deal with the lion is to hide it by appeasing it. The one who hides the lion is continually negotiating with the sinful impulse--appeasing it, throwing it bits of gratification when no one is looking in the hope that it will stay quiet in public. The lion, however, always wants more. Eventually the lion acts out in ways that cannot be hidden. He who appeases is always burdened with guilt, always tormented by a mostly hidden cycle of building desire, brief pleasure, and long-lasting regret that creeps into all areas of life either as a sense of failure or as over achieving (as a compensation for the sense of failure).
In some ways the appeaser is better off than the Puritan. At least the appeaser recognizes the lion and can thus sympathize with others who suffer from their lions. At least he has something to repent of--if he can find the courage to do so. However, some who are appeasers eventually find their way into the ranks of the crypto-Puritans. The crypto-Puritans, instead of denying the existence of the lion, are proud of the lion. They call evil good and good evil, and in this condition they are worse off than the Puritans.
The third way to deal with the lion is to identify with it--to get in the cage with the lion. I think this is something like what twelve-step programs try to achieve. By saying to yourself and to everyone, “I am an alcoholic,” you begin to know both yourself and your problem as it really is, and you begin to find the power to muzzle the lion.
Sometimes Orthodox Christians have a hard time getting into the cage with the lion(s) in their heart. Sometimes they have a hard time admitting that the lions are there at all because their own heart is a closed book to them.
The following is a hymn from the Octoechos, Sunday evening, Tone 4:
YOU ESTABLISHED REPENTANCE, O CHRIST,
NOT FOR THOSE WHO ARE GOOD,
BUT FOR THOSE WHO HAVE BECOME OUTCAST BY SIN,
AS WE LEARN FROM MANY EXAMPLES:
THE THIEF AND THE PRODIGAL SON,
MANASSEH AND THE PROSTITUTE,
PAUL, WHO HAD PERSECUTED THE CHURCH,
MATTHEW, WHO HAD COLLECTED TAXES,
AND PETER WHO DENIED YOU.
HOW THEN CAN I DESPAIR,
KNOWING, O MY SAVIOUR, THAT YOU ARE GOOD AND THE LOVER OF MANKIND ?
I WILL TURN TO YOU IN TEARS,
FILLED WITH HOPE THAT YOU WILL ACCEPT ME.
Jesus came to save sinners. The sooner we look into our own hearts to discover the lions of sin caged there, the sooner we will be able to find the repentance that Christ established and be saved.
Thursday, September 08, 2011
The Danger of Miracle Working Icons
When Jesus performed a miracle, all of the people were amazed; but very few got it. They didn't get that the miracle was a sign, a sign to reveal something else. The miracle was not an end in itself. And more importantly, the miracle was not an affirmation of what the person already believed. The miracles of Christ were signs revealing Christ's divinity, revealing the presence of the Kingdom of God. The miracles commanded those who saw them or heard of them to repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand. We know this is the case because this is the message of Jesus, his very first words in the Gospels: "Repent for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand."
In my life I have been blessed to have been in the presence of several myrrh streaming icons and one icon that was self-restoring (a blackened icon--of St. Nicholas, I believe--that was slowly cleaning itself from the bottom up). However the community in which these icons resided was in contention with its bishop. From the outside looking in, that is from my limited perspective, it seemed as though many in the community viewed the miraculous icons as a confirmation of their own position against their bishop. I even had one member of the community actually tell me this. In the end, this community separated from its bishop resulting in personal tragedies that continue to ooze pain to this day.
Miracles are dangerous.
We all rejoice when God allows us to see a miracle mostly, I think, because our faith is so weak that anything, any undeniable sign from God that what we can see and measure is not all there is, is a great boost to our faith. We all long for stronger faith. We all cry with the father of the epileptic: "I believe, help my unbelief!" Miracles often do that. They help our unbelief; they strengthen the little faith that we have.
I'm all for the veneration of and wonder at miraculous icons. In fact, this Saturday I plan to venerate the Myrrh streaming icon of the Mother of God from Hawaii. I pray that my weak faith will be strengthened by personally witnessing this miracle. However, if God grants me stronger faith, it is only so that I can better repent of my sins. It is only that I might learn humility. It is only that I might trust God more in all areas of my life, especially those most painful areas where I suspect God has abandoned me. I pray that God does all of this for me and for everyone who venerates this holy icon of the Mother of God.
Yet one thing is certain: Whatever miracle I see or experience, it is not a confirmation that I am right. It is a call to repentance.
In my life I have been blessed to have been in the presence of several myrrh streaming icons and one icon that was self-restoring (a blackened icon--of St. Nicholas, I believe--that was slowly cleaning itself from the bottom up). However the community in which these icons resided was in contention with its bishop. From the outside looking in, that is from my limited perspective, it seemed as though many in the community viewed the miraculous icons as a confirmation of their own position against their bishop. I even had one member of the community actually tell me this. In the end, this community separated from its bishop resulting in personal tragedies that continue to ooze pain to this day.
Miracles are dangerous.
We all rejoice when God allows us to see a miracle mostly, I think, because our faith is so weak that anything, any undeniable sign from God that what we can see and measure is not all there is, is a great boost to our faith. We all long for stronger faith. We all cry with the father of the epileptic: "I believe, help my unbelief!" Miracles often do that. They help our unbelief; they strengthen the little faith that we have.
I'm all for the veneration of and wonder at miraculous icons. In fact, this Saturday I plan to venerate the Myrrh streaming icon of the Mother of God from Hawaii. I pray that my weak faith will be strengthened by personally witnessing this miracle. However, if God grants me stronger faith, it is only so that I can better repent of my sins. It is only that I might learn humility. It is only that I might trust God more in all areas of my life, especially those most painful areas where I suspect God has abandoned me. I pray that God does all of this for me and for everyone who venerates this holy icon of the Mother of God.
Yet one thing is certain: Whatever miracle I see or experience, it is not a confirmation that I am right. It is a call to repentance.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
The Temptation to Press
I've gotten started on the Patrick O'Brian Aubrey-Maturin series. Book one, "Master and Commander," is also the title of the movie starring Russel Crowe based on a couple of the novels in this series. I was hoping to do a podcast on the first book, but I didn't find much in the novel to recommend it as an edifying read for Orthodox Christians. Nevertheless, I'm quite enjoying the novels. It's one of those reads that I feel a bit guilty for liking so much. The story is completely engaging, the characters are real, human, and, unfortunately, for the most part godless. Or I might more correctly say deeply suspicious of the Church, especially the oppressive, coercive earnestness of Evangelicals. What is understood as Evangelical in the context of the novel is the lessons of Sunday school based on "those odious little tracts" teaching that it was God's will for the poor to be poor. But as Captain Aubrey's sweetheart points out, "It's all because they cannot read and write".
However even Captain Jack is tempted to preach a sermon on obedience to authority. His new, mostly pressed, crew was not responding well to his lieutenant's cruel indoctrination techniques. For those who do not know, most sailors were captured against their will--often knocked in the head and waking up in the bowels of a navy vessel.
The Bible is indeed a powerful weapon when used against those who can't or won't read it. Like the caricature of Evangelicals portrayed in the novel, we can all be tempted to read the Bible to buttress what we already believe, and to cudgel those who doubt our wisdom (i.e. To press them into our navy).
However even Captain Jack is tempted to preach a sermon on obedience to authority. His new, mostly pressed, crew was not responding well to his lieutenant's cruel indoctrination techniques. For those who do not know, most sailors were captured against their will--often knocked in the head and waking up in the bowels of a navy vessel.
The Bible is indeed a powerful weapon when used against those who can't or won't read it. Like the caricature of Evangelicals portrayed in the novel, we can all be tempted to read the Bible to buttress what we already believe, and to cudgel those who doubt our wisdom (i.e. To press them into our navy).
Friday, August 26, 2011
Some Thoughts on the Wrath of Man
“The wrath of God came against them, and slew the stoutest of them, and struck down the choice men of Israel” (Psalm 78:31).
“For the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God” (James 1:20).
I think we have an anger problem. The problem I’m talking about is not related to self control, but to understanding. Why does human wrath never produce the righteousness of God while God’s wrath seems to be ubiquitous in Scripture? What’s the difference? Why is God’s wrath righteous and human wrath never?
Many of the fathers of the church talk about two central feelings or urges from which all others derive. These two feelings or urges are desire and irritability. In a world without sin, that is in a healthy human being, desire functions as a kind of longing leading us toward what is God-like, what is true, beautiful, real, and healthy. Irritability is a kind of prick on the conscience, a discomfort or uneasiness that helps us recognize or turn away from what is not true, perverse, unreal and unhealthy. Remember, even before human sin, the Serpent was loose in the Garden. God had equipped Adam and Eve with all that was necessary to discern and avoid evil and pursue and do good--that is grow in God-likeness.
The tree of the knowledge of good and evil was different from other trees. From this tree, human beings were not to eat. This implies that discernment of right and wrong, good and evil is possible without an experiential knowledge of the difference. That is one need never experience evil to discern that it is not good. In the Garden, before sin, the mere contemplation of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was sufficient to acquire from the tree what human beings needed; one need not eat. Such food as the experiential knowledge of evil is too bitter a fruit to eat. God’s command not to eat it was His guidance, His leading of humanity into the sweet path toward life and growth and away from the bitter.
All that God created was good and therefore to be desired. It was not wrong for Eve to feel desire for the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Where desire became sin was when instead of contemplating the desired fruit, she reached out and took it for herself. Instead of letting God in God’s time and in God’s way fulfill her desire, she rationalized, took it and ate it and shared it with Adam. Spurred on by the Serpent and in direct contradiction to what God had told her, she thought that her desire for this fruit would be fulfilled in exactly the same way her desire for other fruit was fulfilled--by eating it.
In this sin, this missing of the the target that we call the Fall, desire became perverted, desire became mixed with the urge to posses and to control. In eating the fruit of experiential knowledge of both evil and good, humanity chose the bitter path, the path of perverted desires and painful experience (the knowledge spoken of here is the knowledge of direct experience, not the knowledge of or about).
Not only was desire perverted by the Fall, the irascible aspect (as it is sometime translated from Greek) of humanity became perverted too. That is, human anger became something very different from divine anger. Even using the term “divine anger” is a little misleading. What I mean by divine anger is that quality in God that is reflected in the irascible aspect or ability in human beings before the Fall, human beings who are in the image of God.
Just as desire became possessive and controlling, so too the irascible aspect of human beings changed. Perverted irritability became selfishly destructive. Controlling possessiveness when mixed with irritability became wrath and anger in human beings and manifested itself in an urge to destroy, rather than an urge to turn to God, an urge to repent.
God’s wrath is not like human wrath. But even using the word “wrath” is so troublesome. We cannot read this word without equating it to sinful human perversion of a selfishly possessive controlling and destructive tendency. Yet God is neither possessive nor controlling nor destructive. God is the Creator, not the destroyer; God has given freedom to His creature; it is the human being who has chosen the bitter fruit, the painful path. When God acts in history to give to human beings the bitterness they have chosen, when human selfishness and cruelty and destructiveness can no longer be tolerated and the created order sustained, when the last hope for any repentance (turning to God) is gone and the only hope for future repentance is in a radically altered context, God allows the painful consequences of human sin--death in all of its forms--to have its way. And in the Bible, when God does this, it is usually referred to the as the wrath of God.
But God’s wrath is not like human wrath, just as God’s desire is not like human desire. God desires human beings to exist as God Himself exists: the Holy Trinity, a community of persons, equal, free and held together by love. God does not desire to possess; He desires to love in freedom, and where there is freedom there is no control. God does not turn away from evil because he is angry. Evil itself is a turning away from what is Real to unreality. And while God may restrain evil, or the effects of evil, for the sake of love, in the end God’s love and the freedom of God’s love is such that He eventually gives human beings what they choose, even if it is death and unreality. And in human language, for we have no other language but our various human languages conditioned by the human experience of perverted desire and anger, God’s release of restraint is called wrath. But this “wrath” is nothing but freedom and love, the giving to humankind the bitter pill we have chosen.
Human wrath, on the other hand, can never produce a loving result. It can never result in the righteous purposes of God because it is always mixed, it is always selfish and possessive and destructive. Even when what irritates me is sin, anger is not the salvific response. Repentance is the response that saves.
You may ask, but what if the sin that irritates me is in another. I cannot repent for him or her can I?
Well maybe you can’t or maybe you can--repentance is a very deep well. However, one thing is certain: you cannot change the other person. You cannot control, which is sin. Righteousness will never result from manipulating or controlling others. But God who knows the heart, God can lead others to repentance. I do not know how to do that. Anger does not do that. God does that. So no matter what the source (or apparent source) of my anger is, the response is to turn to God, the response is to repent.
Lest I be misunderstood, I’d like to end by saying that repentance and turning toward God does not mean that we do not act. We must act. We must do the works of God while it is day. We must do good and confront evil; however, and this is a huge “however,” we must be on guard against our own sin, our own desire to posses and control. The Serpent is still active, and as in the Garden it is often the very good thing or act or deed that becomes the excuse to indulge in selfish possessiveness.
“And the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eye, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof….”
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Tormenting Fire
"He that trusteth in the Lord shall not fear when God shall judge all with tormenting fire." (From the second Antiphoy of the Resurrectional Anabathmoi in tone eight).
Notice that "all" will be judged with tormenting fire. In St. Mark's Gospel (9:49) Jesus says that "everyone will be salted with fire." The question is not if, it is when--and what you will do when you experience fiery torment. The promise of this verse that we will pray in matins tomorrow is not a promise for some future rescue after our death, but it is a promise for God's help and deliverance from fear when we face tormenting fire now, in this life.
It seems we are always surprised when doing the right thing (the Christian thing, the holy or godly thing) involves fiery suffering. Self control, for example, often involves a kind of suffering that is often (at least in confession and in the writings of the fathers) compared to fire. Desires can be burning. And the trial we experience as we choose to suffer rather than to obey the desire, this is the judgement of tormenting fire.
It is unfortunate that our culture has taught us to read the words of Christ which speak of hell and fire as something merely future. I find it very interesting that only once (Matt 5:22) does Jesus refer to the "fire of hell" (Gehenna). The other two references (Matt. 18:9 and Mark 9:47) are to the "hell of fire." That is, the hell is an attribute of fire, of torment. Therefore we might say that any time one is enduring a fiery trial, one is experiencing a bit of Gehenna, the hell of fire. And in the midst of that fiery trial, judgement or temptation, one may trust in the Lord. And trusting in the Lord, one will be delivered from fear.
Much of the time, we succumb to temptation because we are afraid that we cannot endure the pain--the pain of unfulfilled desire (and the bodily discomfort that may accompany self-control), and the fear that whatever resources God has given us or will give us will not be enough. Fear pushes us over the edge. Fear makes it too much to bear.
But those who trust in the Lord, we are taught by the hymn of the Church, will not fear when the tormenting fire judges us.
Every temptation and our response to it is a judgement. It is a judgement in the sense that it reveals what's really there. Failing the trial, falling into sin, is not the worse thing that can happen. The worse thing that can happen is not to accept what has been revealed, to blame someone or something else. If a fiery trial reveals that we are sinners, then we can turn to the Lord, who came to save the sinner. And turning to the Lord, we learn to trust the Lord. And trusting the Lord, we are delivered from fear and can endure better the fiery torment next time it visits us.
Notice that "all" will be judged with tormenting fire. In St. Mark's Gospel (9:49) Jesus says that "everyone will be salted with fire." The question is not if, it is when--and what you will do when you experience fiery torment. The promise of this verse that we will pray in matins tomorrow is not a promise for some future rescue after our death, but it is a promise for God's help and deliverance from fear when we face tormenting fire now, in this life.
It seems we are always surprised when doing the right thing (the Christian thing, the holy or godly thing) involves fiery suffering. Self control, for example, often involves a kind of suffering that is often (at least in confession and in the writings of the fathers) compared to fire. Desires can be burning. And the trial we experience as we choose to suffer rather than to obey the desire, this is the judgement of tormenting fire.
It is unfortunate that our culture has taught us to read the words of Christ which speak of hell and fire as something merely future. I find it very interesting that only once (Matt 5:22) does Jesus refer to the "fire of hell" (Gehenna). The other two references (Matt. 18:9 and Mark 9:47) are to the "hell of fire." That is, the hell is an attribute of fire, of torment. Therefore we might say that any time one is enduring a fiery trial, one is experiencing a bit of Gehenna, the hell of fire. And in the midst of that fiery trial, judgement or temptation, one may trust in the Lord. And trusting in the Lord, one will be delivered from fear.
Much of the time, we succumb to temptation because we are afraid that we cannot endure the pain--the pain of unfulfilled desire (and the bodily discomfort that may accompany self-control), and the fear that whatever resources God has given us or will give us will not be enough. Fear pushes us over the edge. Fear makes it too much to bear.
But those who trust in the Lord, we are taught by the hymn of the Church, will not fear when the tormenting fire judges us.
Every temptation and our response to it is a judgement. It is a judgement in the sense that it reveals what's really there. Failing the trial, falling into sin, is not the worse thing that can happen. The worse thing that can happen is not to accept what has been revealed, to blame someone or something else. If a fiery trial reveals that we are sinners, then we can turn to the Lord, who came to save the sinner. And turning to the Lord, we learn to trust the Lord. And trusting the Lord, we are delivered from fear and can endure better the fiery torment next time it visits us.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
To Obey is Better Than Sacrifice
A guest staying with us for a few days mentioned that she had heard a nun (Roman Catholic, I believe) say that the asceticism of monasticism and parenthood are really quite similar. She said that as a monastic, whenever the bell rings, she immediately has to stop what she is doing and obey the bell. For parents, that bell is their children.
Similarly, Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh in the introduction to his Essential Writtings is reported to have said that his years of service as a military doctor during the Second World War was "excellent training for the monastic life, teaching him to accept the will of others and to put their needs before his own in the most practical way."
None of us like very much being told what to do--told by other people or told by our circumstances. However, the germ of the ancestral sin, the deep root of our own sin, is our unwillingness to relinquish our will; to trust the judgement of others above our own; to believe that even in the midst of awkward, uncomfortable or even painful circumstance, the Love of God is present and the Power of God is at work.
I think this is the reason why the Church continually brings to our mind the martyrs. When the Church talks about martyrs in Her hymns, the martyrs are often spoken of as being revealed rather than made. That is, their manner of death does not make them martyrs, it reveals that they were martyrs already.
Martyrs are those who have learned to believe, to trust and to know that the Love of God and the Power of God are at work in difficult circumstances. They have learned to discern the voice of God in the voice of others, even others who "know not what they do." They have learned to pray with their whole mind and body, offering their frustrations, pains and sufferings of all sorts to God as a "living sacrifice, wholly acceptable to God."
Whether parent or monastic, salvation begins and ends with repentance, with the turning away from our own will and through submission to the will of the Other, who is God, yet who generally rings our bell by the hand, voice, or cry of another.
Similarly, Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh in the introduction to his Essential Writtings is reported to have said that his years of service as a military doctor during the Second World War was "excellent training for the monastic life, teaching him to accept the will of others and to put their needs before his own in the most practical way."
None of us like very much being told what to do--told by other people or told by our circumstances. However, the germ of the ancestral sin, the deep root of our own sin, is our unwillingness to relinquish our will; to trust the judgement of others above our own; to believe that even in the midst of awkward, uncomfortable or even painful circumstance, the Love of God is present and the Power of God is at work.
I think this is the reason why the Church continually brings to our mind the martyrs. When the Church talks about martyrs in Her hymns, the martyrs are often spoken of as being revealed rather than made. That is, their manner of death does not make them martyrs, it reveals that they were martyrs already.
Martyrs are those who have learned to believe, to trust and to know that the Love of God and the Power of God are at work in difficult circumstances. They have learned to discern the voice of God in the voice of others, even others who "know not what they do." They have learned to pray with their whole mind and body, offering their frustrations, pains and sufferings of all sorts to God as a "living sacrifice, wholly acceptable to God."
Whether parent or monastic, salvation begins and ends with repentance, with the turning away from our own will and through submission to the will of the Other, who is God, yet who generally rings our bell by the hand, voice, or cry of another.
Monday, August 01, 2011
Master and Commander: Where Did God Go?
Lately my “fun” reading has been in Patrick O’ Brian’s Aubrey--Maturin series. I read Master and Commander and couldn’t put it down. The series is set during and around the Napoleonic Wars (beginning of the nineteenth century) and revolve around a Captain in the Royal Navy (Aubery) and his best friend and ship’s surgeon (Maturin).
I have been reading so much nineteenth century British literature over the past fifteen years or so, that I was somewhat surprised by the explicit immorality referred to in the novel. The references are subdued by twenty-first century standards, but by nineteenth century standards, they would be shocking indeed, perhaps unpublishable.
I am not naive regarding Victorian era morality. Just because talk about sexual immorality was not explicit, does not mean that it did not happen. Nevertheless, there was a high standard. And while deviation from that standard may have been common, it was understood as deviation, perversion.
O’ Brian wrote the Aubrey--Maturin series between 1970 and 1999. The new sexual morality of the twentieth century certainly colored how he portrayed the early nineteenth. However, there is another factor. O’ Brian’s characters are largely a-religious. Maturin is a Catholic, but doesn’t seem to practice. Aubrey is Protestant enough to hate Catholics generally, but not specifically, unless it is convenient. Mostly, references to God or the “Transcendent” or religion (except in political contexts) are absent.
Why is this?
In an essay on Patrick O’ Brian by William Waldegrave attached to the end of the current text I am reading, I got my clue. Waldegrave refers to a particular navel incident that O’ Brian describes, an incident that Waldegrave’s own great grandfather participated in and described in an unpublished manuscript. Waldegrave commends O’ Brian’s historical accuracy—"though happily Aubrey shows none of my forebear’s tedious commitment to the exposition of the scriptures."
O’ Brian brings a late twentieth century religious sensibility to his retelling of the early nineteenth. Waldegrave in the late twentieth century finds his great grandfather’s regular reference to scripture to be “tedious.” And while I’m sure levels of religious commitment varied among sailors (not everyone had a “commitment to the exposition of the scriptures”), certainly religious reference was much more common in the early nineteenth century than one notices in O’ Brian’s novels.
This is not a criticism of O’ Brian’s novels. He wrote for a late twentieth century audience. Contemporary readers would probably find a historically accurate reflection of the religious feelings, thoughts and references of the time to be “tedious.” I merely wanted to explain to myself what was missing. O’ Brian’s portrayal of the naval life in the early nineteenth century seems to be praised by everyone for its accuracy.
No one even notices that God is missing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)