On Virginity

One must be careful interpreting apocalyptic books, most particularly Daniel and the Revelation. The purpose of apocalyptic literature is not to teach, but to inspire and reveal—not in the sense of explain, but in the sense of pulling back the curtain of time and space to expose in symbol and metaphor some of the reality hidden behind reality. From the early days of the Church, Christians have gotten themselves into trouble and formed various sects around charismatic leaders who thought they had the key to interpret the apocalyptic books and passages of the Bible.
Nevertheless in these books faithful Christians throughout the ages have found grace-filled impressions, glimpses into the heavenly realm, that have inspired self control in the face of abundance and martyrdom in the face persecution. One image that has been particularly powerful is that of the 144,000 (12 X 12 X 1000: the full completion of God’s work throughout the ages—the twelve patriarchs representing the faithful before Christ’s advent, and the twelve apostles representing the faithful of the church, and one thousand representing all of the ages). These faithful witnesses are the “redeemed from the earth.” These are the firstfruits to God and to the Lamb. Both St. James and St. Paul refer to all believers as the firstfruits of God, so it is not stretching it too far to say that the 144,000 of the Revelation represent all believers.
One statement concerning these 144,000 that is particularly inspiring is that they “were not defiled by women, for they were virgins.” Virginity throughout the Bible (Old and New Covenants) has been held up both metaphorically and literally as a standard for one’s relationship with God. Indeed, by the end of the Revelation, we discover that these 144,000 are none other than the Bride of the Lamb, who have keep themselves pure—the Bride of Christ. On the one hand, this virginity is metaphorical, for the Church recognizes many saints who were not biologically virgin, from former harlots and debauches to holy mothers and fathers of children. Furthermore there are the martyrs who as a part of their martyrdom suffered physical defilement of various kinds, none of which altered their status as virgins among the 144,000 redeemed of God. But on the other hand, the church has also valued biological virginity.
Even under the Old Covenant, where begetting was the name of the game, biological virginity was the only (righteous) norm for all relationships except between husband and wife. This norm is so ingrained in the Jewish culture that the prophets are able to hold up the woman who bestows her “favors” on “every high hill and under every green tree” as the powerful and easily recognizable image of the unfaithful people of God.
Under the New Covenant, or really at the juncture of the Old and New Covenants, virginity and begetting meet in one woman: Mary, the Mother of Jesus, the Son of God. Mary is the prototype for all faithful followers of the Lamb. She is both Virgin and Mother. And for Christians throughout the ages, she has been seen the Proto-Christian, the first to carry Christ within her, the first to bear Christ and the first to follow, love and adore Christ. Mary’s virginity is both biological and metaphorical. And many Christians have followed her example, manifesting in their bodies the purity that is (or at least is developing) in their souls. Under the New Covenant, virginity, without forbidding marriage, becomes the preferred way of life for the one who wants to devote himself to caring “for the things of the Lord—how he may please the Lord.” Marriage is still holy, and “the marriage bed undefiled,” but now the Kingdom of Heaven has been revealed, and this passing world is no longer our home. No longer is the promise of God an earthly homeland to be inhabited by our biological decedents, but a heavenly one to be filled with those born from above.
In a few places in the world, where almost every village has a monastery nearby, it is not so difficult to see the value of biological virginity in helping one attain the spiritual virginity of which the first is a sign, metaphor and aid. But in western cultures, where virginity has been under attack and monasteries destroyed since the Reformation, and where nowadays it is popularly viewed as a curse to be remedied as soon as opportunity and equipment allow, virginity has no meaning to many Christians. Perhaps this is part of the reason why many Christians have a hard time relating to the Mother of God. Perhaps it is because there is no cultural impetus to value virginity that many people don’t realize that they need the intercessions of the most pure Virgin. And yet the image from the Revelation shines brightly: the Bride of the Lamb is a pure virgin. May God, through the prayers of His ever virgin Mother and of all the holy ones who throughout the ages have striven for pure devotion in both body and soul, grant us unworthy ones, who live in a world that laughs at virginity, virgin hearts and minds that can begin to see the value of virginity in all its manifestations.

On Steps to Knowing God

Some Christians tend to simplify spiritual life into steps or principles that can be easily communicated: Twelve Steps/Four Laws/Seven Principles of Salvation, or of A Successful Marriage, or of A Prosperous Business, or of Raising Godly Children. But the problem with this way of dicing up wisdom or knowledge is that once someone begins to look at salvation, for example (or any other aspect of life), as a simple matter of “Four Spiritual Laws,” they then begin to base their faith, their security in God, on those laws. While laws and principles have a use in that they can help us begin to think rightly about God or marriage or raising children, they are really only just aids. Reality—especially spiritual reality—is much bigger than any set of laws, principles or steps. And those who tie themselves too tightly to their neat little set of laws, steps or principles (no matter how helpful they may have been in the past) will sooner or later be confronted with the harsh reality that life, especially spiritual life, is much bigger than their laws, steps or principles allow for.

When this happens, unfortunately, people often give up on God altogether. Or worse, they demonize everyone who does not fit into their scheme of reality. The Fathers of the Church recommend a different way.

The Fathers say that to really know God, you have to be willing to ascend the Mountain into the “thick darkness” with Moses, leaving behind easy answers, wise insights and even reason, and enter into direct encounter with God beyond all reason and categories. And the irony is that it is here in the direct encounter with God, that God sometimes gives laws; but laws are not an end in themselves. Laws, principles, steps, teachings, and traditions all exist to lead us back to God Himself.

It is kind of like Zacchaeus climbing the sycamore tree to see Jesus (next Sunday is Zacchaeus Sunday, so I have read St. Gregory Palamas’s and St. Nicholai Velimirović’s sermons on the story). Zacchaeus wanted to see Jesus, but the crowd was in the way: he was a short man. (His short height may be a reference to his lack of spiritual inclination, insight or ability.) However, in spite of the crowd, Zacchaeus ran ahead (he didn’t wait for the crowd) and climbed up the tree (which perhaps represents learning, study, prayer, law, and all of the things we might do to seek God). But notice, Zacchaeus does not see Jesus, Jesus sees him! Nothing we do makes us worthy or “earns” knowledge of God. However, God sees our desire and our effort and our longing and reveals Himself to us. We can only discipline our bodies and minds in such a way as to be ready to obey when Christ does “look up” and calls our name. Then, notice, the first thing Jesus tells him to do is to get down from the tree.

François Fénelon says something similar. He says that when someone is converting (and this happens repeatedly throughout our lives in different areas or in the face of new temptations, opportunities, realizations, and situations), the first thing that is necessary is to gain wisdom. But once we begin to gain wisdom, we must see the limits of that wisdom and the dangers of becoming wise in our own eyes. Finally, real knowledge of God (which includes knowledge of God’s presence in my marriage or business or in raising my children) only comes with the abandonment of what can be known, in order to know Him who cannot be known except in “thick darkness.” There is no static point, no point of self-satisfied or confident security. We are always growing. Our security is only in the knowledge of God, a knowledge which is beyond what is called knowledge.

Fr. Hopko on St. Seraphim on the Holy Spirit

Please, listen to this lecture by Fr. Thomas Hopko on St. Seraphim's conversation on the Holy Spirit. It is very encouraging, enlightening and edifying. The talk is about an hour long, so you might want to download it to listen while on the go. You will be glad you did. http://ancientfaith.com/podcasts/hopko/a_conversation_with_st._seraphim_on_the_holy_spirit

Successful Spiritual Warfare

It is interesting, given the amount of time I spend talking about spiritual warfare with my more zealous parishioners, how little the New Testament speaks of spiritual warfare. The New Testament does indeed speak of it, but really much less than it focuses on the result of successful spiritual struggle. The most famous passage on spiritual warfare, the one that immediately come to mind, is Christ’s exhortation in the Sermon on the Mountain. “Wash the inside of the cup and the outside will be clean as well.” What we allow to circulate in our minds is what will be manifest in our lives; therefore, the sins of murder, adultery and lying (as examples) all begin in the mind. The mind is where the battle must be fought and won, as St. Paul says to the Corinthians, “taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ.”

Nevertheless, most of the exhortations of the New Testament do not deal with this inner, mental warfare, but rather with the result of this warfare: what we actually do, how we actually live, the way we love one another. In 1 Timothy, for example, St. Paul near the beginning explains to Timothy that “The purpose of the commandment is love from a pure heart, from a good conscience, and from sincere faith.” Developing a pure heart, a good conscience and a sincere faith are all matters of spiritual warfare, but the purpose of these is love—spiritual warfare is not an end in itself. By the end of chapter one, St. Paul is charging Timothy to “wage a good warfare” the result of which will be good conscience and a faith that does not suffer “shipwreck.” What a non-shipwrecked faith looks like, what someone with healthy faith actually does, is subject of the rest of the letter.

First, someone who is effective in spiritual warfare prays and is thankful for all men. Note, St. Paul says the prayers are for others. Inasmuch as the focus of our prayers is on our own struggles, we may be completely missing the point of spiritual warfare. Successful spiritual warfare results in the abandonment of self into the hands of God (with all its conflicts, irresolutions, doubts and unruly thoughts and urges) so that love of God and neighbor become dominant. “This is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.” When we let go of ourselves—including the preoccupation with fixing ourselves—then God’s desire becomes ours. God’s desire is a desire that goes out, out to neighbor, out to other. It is a desire to give ourselves, as our Master has, as a ransom for all, as an offering of service, as a living sacrifice wholly acceptable to God. However, for St. Paul, this offering of ourselves involves very specific attitudes and behaviors.

Women are to dress modestly and learn in silence and submission (ouch. I note that men also must dress modestly and learn in silence and submission, but for whatever reasons—and the text makes mention of reasons that are theological, not primarily cultural—St. Paul feels it’s necessary to emphasize this matter in regard to women. However, this is just as St. Paul and other New Testament writers emphasize certain behaviors—not loving money, for example— that are required of all, when specifically addressing certain groups—leaders, for example). Bishops (which would include priests at this point in history), deacons and deaconesses (translated “their wives,” but was probably a reference to female deacons) are held to a very high standard of behavior. Those who lead, who are examples to the rest, are chosen not because of the success of their inner warfare per se, but because successful inner warfare has produced a godly life.

And godly life is really what most of the New Testament exhortations are about. Godliness (the word could also be translated piety) is a quality of life and behavior that is easily (even by unbelievers) identified as dominated by love of God and neighbor. The way masters and slaves relate to one another, the way children relate to parents, and husbands relate to wives, and how the rich relate to the poor, all relationships are to manifest godliness. Godly behavior is the fruit of spiritual warfare.

St. Paul ends this first letter urging Timothy to “fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on to eternal life.” But to “fight the good fight” is a summary of the previous verses in which St. Paul tells Timothy to “flee these things” (see 6:3-10, but most importantly the love of money). Successful spiritual warfare results in our ability to flee attitudes and behaviors that are not godly and “pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, gentleness.” Notice, by the way, that one must flee and pursue (in Greek, it is the same word that can be translated “persecute”—to pursue relentlessly). One does not casually become godly. The focus of our spiritual warfare is to flee (like one flees an invading army) behaviors and attitudes that are selfish and self serving, and pursue (persecute) godliness in all my relationships: righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, gentleness.

St. Gregory Palamas: Three Kinds of Poverty

“The first [kind of poverty] is to lack life’s necessities and [it] depends on one’s [lack of] income and resources. It stands as the opposite extreme to wealth…. Then there is physical poverty, when the body withers away because of an extremely frugal diet or lack of food [or mental or bodily sickness]…. Another type of poverty is the soul’s moderation and restraint. This is our soul’s spiritual humility, the opposite of which is pride…. The first two types of poverty, financial and physical, are both worthily regarded as blessed, if they are accompanied by a humble attitude in the soul. If, on the other hand, they are divorced from humility and linked with pride, they are truly full of wretchedness. A person can be needy or in a poor bodily state either voluntarily or against his will. If he is involuntarily poor, he lacks humility, that good disposition which repentance brings to the soul, and [that person] does not bear with courage the deprivation that has befallen him against his will. He complains against God and attacks His perfectly just providence as unfair….That is why the Lord says, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit,’ referring to those who, on account of their inner humility of soul, embrace the poverty that results from physical self-control, and count freedom from possessions as more desirable than all riches. If such people involuntarily suffer some lack, through patience and thanksgiving they voluntarily turn it to their advantage. To such as these, then, is the kingdom of heaven. Let us strive, brethren, after this kind of poverty, that we may gain the heavenly kingdom. And if we prefer not to become poor in this way, let us at least share in the poverty of others by giving alms and contributing some of our possessions. Let us make friends by the mammon of unrighteousness, through what we have over and above our needs, while in this present life, that when we depart hence they may receive us into everlasting habitations (cf. Luke 16:9).”

Theophany

What we now celebrate as two feasts, Christmas and Theophany (Epiphany in the West), was originally celebrated as one feast on January 6^th. By the time of St. John Chrysostom (late 4^th century) the Church had already separated the feasts creating a twelve-day festal season. But in one of his homilies on the Theophany, St. John points out that there are actually two Theophanies. The word “Theophany” means the “appearance of God.”

The first Theophany is what we now celebrate as the Nativity of Christ, or Christmas. Here God is revealed as man. Of course the Incarnation had taken place nine months earlier, on the feast of the Annunciation, March 25^th. The Incarnation of God came secretly, in prayer, and was an event only known by Mary. Her holy life of prayer and silence teaches us that God always comes to us secretly, grows within us mysteriously, and is only gradually made know. After Mary, the first to know about the Incarnation was another unborn infant, St. John the Baptist, Jesus’ cousin, who leapt in his mother’s womb at the greeting of Mary, who had now been carrying the Incarnate God for less than three months. St. John’s mother, Elizabeth, heard from Mary the great news of the Annunciation, but except for her, no one else knew that God was about to appear on earth as a man. Not even Joseph, Mary’s husband, knew until shortly before the birth when an angel appeared to him in a dream.

Nine months after the Annunciation, the first Theophany occurs; and in keeping with God’s manner of revelation throughout the ages, it is a quiet affair. The Angels know. A handful of shepherds are invited. Three wise men journey from afar. But no one else knows. God appears and no one notices. This too is God’s plan: A few of the poor will hear angels and follow; a few of the wise will diligently seek Him. But most will not see God, even if His pregnant Mother knocks on the door of their inn. Times have not changed much since then.

However, when the time was right, when everything was prepared, Jesus’ cousin John starts preaching repentance in the wilderness. Hundreds, maybe thousands, come out to hear him and repent of their sins and be baptized in the Jordan River. John the Forerunner prepares the way, gathers the crowds, stirs up anticipation: “Who,” the crowds all wonder,” is this coming one, who will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire?” It is in this very public context that the second Theophany occurs. A Man walks through the crowd, a Man like all other men: outwardly indistinguishable. But John knows who this really is. His identity had been revealed to John from the womb.

Now the time is right for everyone to know. Now the heavens open and the Spirit descends as a dove and the voice of the Father proclaims: “This is my beloved Son with whom I am well pleased.” On this day the Incarnation of God, the appearance of God on earth as a man, is proclaimed to all. No longer a secret, the God-man is revealed even to the demons. This is why Jesus’ first task after his public Theophany is to go into the desert to endure the devil’s worst, only to emerge forty days later, strengthened by angels, and leaving the demons scrambling to find a way to destroy Him. But this too is a part of God’s plan, yet neither the demons nor men nor even the angels of heaven know this yet.