What is worth living for ? A response

You have really asked the fundamental question: What is worth living for? You are right that an external constraint to be good only proves to be a burden that eventually produces some form of mental illness either because of guilt because you ignore the “rules” or fundamentalistic self-righteousness and condemnation of others because you deceive yourself into thinking that you are keeping the “rules.” Why bother? Of course, libertinism only produces more suffering. Suffering is a symptom of our sickness and of the sickness we impose on each other and the world. Suicide may take us out of this world, but it doesn’t change us. At least from an Orthodox perspective, heaven and hell are ways to experience existence, and you don’t have to die to begin experiencing either. I know people whose life is hell and I know a few who already taste heaven. As for me, I experience hellish periods (some last moments, some days); but I smell, sometimes, the roses of heaven, and I try to follow that fragrance.
I think the problem lies in a religious milieu that tends to posit knowledge of God as either emotional high or as ridged conformity to rules. This of course is no one’s dogma, but it is the experience and practice of many, many Christians of all stripes. Finding God, if you really find and know Him, makes suffering through life worth it: suffering has meaning in Christ. The problem is how to find, really find, Christ and know Him.
Genuine life in Christ is full of paradox. I think it begins with hope, even the faintest wish that the Creator cares about me. But this care is not like the Baalim, the gods of the world, who in exchange for sacrifices and offerings of various types promise material happiness and power. This care is rather that of a conscientious doctor who desires to heal the patient, not pander to the patient’s delusions. We are very confused children, sick in our minds and hearts; and if we can begin in hope to trust the Physician—because like physiotherapy the healing process is somewhat painful—the small “deaths” we experience through forgiving ourselves and others and turning away from ways that we hurt others begins to produce a kind of resurrection in our minds and hearts. There are no rules outside our heart, but then again our hearts are sick. We need guidance, a spiritual mother or father to help us along the way. But we live in a day in which reliable spiritual fathers and mothers are rare, and most of us stubble along through trial and error, gleaning bits of wisdom from wise people here and there.
And yet hope shines like a little light in a very dark room. We take small steps toward the Light, toward the True, the Beautiful, the Simple. Along the way we learn about ourselves, how sick we really are, what’s real and what’s delusion, what’s love and what isn’t. And part of the paradox is that the less we care about our healing and health, the more clearly we see ourselves and act and think in healthy ways. The more we look at ourselves, the less we see and the more deluded we become. And so we look to a model outside ourselves: “Looking to Jesus, the Author and finisher of our faith.” I’m not talking about the Jesus of Sunday School and of nine year olds. I’m talking about the Jesus who entered the insane world of a woman who had had five husbands. The Jesus who touched the raving maniac and calmed him. The Jesus who called religious hypocrites vipers and white-washed tombs.

Watch out for big words

A weary priest, after listening to a college student share in rapture all that he has learned from the latest Life of an elder on the Holy Mountain: “Prayer of the heart? Theosis? These are big words. Do me and yourself a favor. Don’t speak those words again until you have either (A) spent a least fifteen years in a monastery under obedience; or (B) you have raised at least five children to love Christ and His Church. Once you have done either of these, then, maybe, you will be able to begin to say these words. For right now the words for you are patience, kindness, faithfulness, and self-control. These words will keep you busy for the next twenty years. Learn to say these little words, then you may come to know how to pronounce bigger words.”
One of the stumbling blocks I find in parish life is that single adults are reading spiritual material written to challenge and stir-up the spiritual life of experienced monastics, and thinking that they understand it! As a pastor, I find that the a young person can carry on happily in his or her delusion—reading more spiritual books, visiting monasteries, and “explaining” Orthodox spirituality to their non-Orthodox acquaintances--until their delusion of spiritual knowledge is shattered by the realities of marriage and family life. I cannot tell how many times I have sat with a weeping young married man or woman who was afraid that he or she had lost Grace.
“By the time I have gotten up two or three times during the night because of the baby,” a young mother says, “I can’t keep my eyes open to say even one prayer from my Rule. Then once I’ve cleaned up breakfast, started the laundry and picked up the house, it’s time to start making dinner. My heart feels so far from God. I can’t even pray in Church. I spend the whole time taking the baby in and out. My spiritual life doesn’t exist anymore.”
A similar tale is told by a young father, working 50 to 60 hours a week at his first real job, trying to make it up the initial rungs of a corporate ladder, barely making rent and car payments. “I try to say the Jesus Prayer as I drive to and from work, but my mind is buzzing with things I have to remember for work or things I have to do at home. I have no peace. When I get home, it is all I can do not to yell at the kids and be angry with my wife. I have not read a spiritual book in years. I am depressed because I seem to have fallen so far spiritually from where I was before the children came along.”
These are not unusual tales, as any parish priest can tell you. Somehow the responsibility of family life throws young parents into a spiritual crisis for which the Church and our culture has not prepared them. While there may be many causes for this lack of preparation, one that seems to be functioning in the church is what Alexander Schmemann called a “monastic trend.” That is, so much emphasis is placed on individual piety, spirituality and asceticism, that young Orthodox Christian adults do not recognize the spirituality of self sacrificial love when the circumstances of life finally force them to practice it.
To a certain extent, this monastic trend (or as a friend of mine called it, “anchoritization”) of popular Orthodox piety is unavoidable. In all western cultures, including many traditionally Orthodox countries (Greece and Russia, specifically), the individual is king. Almost no one lives in an extended family. Technology has made dependence on local community, on the neighbor (whether you loved him or not) a thing of the past. It is really easy to convince myself that I love my neighbor when I don’t even know his name. I succeed if I work hard and am lucky. I fail if I’m lazy and foolish. If I’m spiritually inclined, I grow in my relationship with God through my spiritual activities. Even alms giving is a disembodied act: IOCC conveniently accepts credit card donations and distributes aid to people I will never meet. And of course, all of this success or failure, spiritual growth or not, is at my own pace. No one tells me what to do. I choose my own books, I choose my own spiritual exercises, and if I’m so inclined, I choose my own spiritual father, whom I can ignore if I choose.
Those who actually enter real monastic life discover the communal nature of Christianity right away—they choose nothing. Those who follow the path of marriage often are not confronted with genuine community life until the children come along. For many, this is the first time in their adult life that someone else is telling them what to do. This is the first time they are compelled by love to lay down their life for another. The problem is that no where along the line of their Orthodox Christian experience has it been made clear to them that such self sacrifice is what Christianity is all about. Consequently, young parents are confused: how can losing my “spiritual” life be gaining it?
Books like Mountain of Silence provide a mixed blessing. On the one hand they introduce the Orthodox Church and spirituality to a world hungry for real spiritual life; on the other hand, they do not, they cannot, make evident that the apparently individual spiritual struggle that they describe takes place in a community of self denial and obedience.

For fear of the Jews

One of the phrases that repeatedly appears in the biblical and liturgical texts surrounding the death and resurrection of our Lord is "for fear of the Jews." This is a very misleading, though accurate, translation of the text. It is accurate because, well, that is what the text says. It is misleading--and, I might add, has been used to justify terribly inhuman behavior to Jews throughout Christian history--because it gives the impression that "the Jews" who were feared were somehow a different race or religion from those who were fearing. This is not the case. The followers of Jesus--those who were fearing--were all Jews, too. Gentiles (non-Jews) did not begin to join the followers of Jesus for many years after the resurrection. In fact, the first big argument in the Church was whether or not non-Jews could be followers of Jesus at all.
Within a couple hundred years, the phrase, "for fear of the Jews," actually began to have a meaning that is the exact opposite of what the original writers intended. What the biblical writers intended is something like what I might mean if I said in a letter to my bishop, "We fear the British Columbians." I and everyone in Holy Nativity (except one couple who commutes from the States) are British Columbians. At the time of the Apostles, when all followers of Jesus were Jews, Judea was under foreign occupation by the Roman military. The name "Christian" had not yet been coined--they were just followers of the Way, one of many sects of Judiasm. At that time, Jews were generally in fear of the Romans. But the biblical writers want to make clear that it was thier own people and their own religious and political leaders (and not the Romans) whom the followers of Jesus were fearing. They do not fear someone from another group, a religous or political or racial foreigner. Rather, they fear their own family.
Today, and thoughout most Christian history, "Jew" has referred specifically to a non-Christian religious group, often conceived as a different race from the Christians. Consequently, a phrase like the following, spoken by St. Peter on the day of Pentecost, has almost the opposite meaning today as it did 2000 years ago.
"Therefore let all the house of Israel know assuredly that God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Christ."
When Peter, the Jew, said this, he was speaking to Jews. In this sentence, "you" means "us." Today, "you" means "not us, but them."
Therefore, I do not like the literal translation of "Jew" in biblical and liturgical texts. It just doesn't mean what it used to mean. Furthermore, and this is huge, throughout history this changed understanding has been used as a defense for the undefendable brutality of powerful Christians against Jews. Therefore, wherever possible, I prefer translating "Jews" as either "the people" or "the rulers" or "the Judeans" depending on the context.
Unfortunately, I am on no committies for liturgical translation. I do not have the authority to change texts (only bishops do). However, if you ever hear me reading the Bible or a liturgical text and substitute "Judeans" or "leaders" for "Jews," now you will know why.

Focus North America Ministries

I'd like to draw my faithful few blog readers' attention to an Orthodox Christian outreach ministry called "Focus North America." It is a collection of Orthodox Christian social action ministries in North America. Their web site is www.focusnorthamerica.org Check them out!

George Eliot

Kh. Krista West, in her podcast, The Opinionated Tailor, mentioned once her love for the novels by George Eliot, particularly Adam Bede. Since Bonnie and I are rather addicted to 19th century novels, we are always looking for recommendations. We went out and bought most of her novels (btw, “George Eliot” is the pen name for Mary Ann Evans Cross). I started with Middlemarch and was mesmerized. Bonnie tried to begin with Middlemarch too, but found the vocabulary a little tough, so went to Mill on the Floss, which deals with less educated characters and consequently less obscure, Latinate vocabulary and almost no literary allusions except to the Bible, and they are abundant. After Middlemarch I took an Eliot break and read Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy while Bonnie went right on to Eliot’s Adam Bede—I do have a point coming up; thanks for hanging in there through this wandering set up.

Bonnie couldn’t put Adam Bede down. She kept reading sentences to me, summarizing snippets of plot, and suddenly uttering under her breath, “Oh, this is good.” I rushed through the last chapters of Return of the Native so I could start Adam Bede as soon as Bonnie finished. For anyone who’s interested, like the other Hardy novels that I have read, Return of the Native is delightfully melancholy and depressing stuff: slowly watching human weakness destroy a life on the backdrop of bleak English countryside. Yes, choices have consequences, eventually.

I am now five chapters into the fifty-five chaptered Adam Bede and I see why Bonnie loved it so much. One of the early characters (whether or not she is a main character remains to be seen) is a young Methodist open-air preacher; and her sermon and her technique and the description of her feelings could have exactly described me twenty-five years ago. I was an occasional street evangelist, emotionally charged, conversionist who was sure everyone was going to hell who had not experienced conversion the same way I had. I was not of the puritanical bent, in that I did not condemn anyone; rather, I was of the earnest, pitying bent: I was worried about the afterlife of those around me. I wanted others to be sure that they were saved, as sure as I was; and my certainty lay in my emotionally overpowering conversion experience and my regular booster shots of emotional high, administered at regular intervals by evangelists and praise bands.

It wasn’t until my thirties that I got a steady job and developed enough routine in my life raising a young family to take deep breaths and think a little more deeply about life, God and the universe. Then a terrible thing happened: I began to listen to Bach. Surprise is to weak a word to describe my becoming aware that “the Holy Spirit” was in Bach’s music just as strongly as it was in Bible preaching and worship songs. I struggled with this awareness for a couple of years, noting with growing concern that Beethoven and Tchaikovsky, and, much to my shame, even really good football games seemed to have “the Holy Spirit” too. Then a small light began to shine. Maybe what I have been calling “the Holy Spirit” was really just my being excited about something.

When I look back, I must again and again give thanks to God, that patient Fisher of men. He caught me in his net using the bait I needed, emotional certainty. Or as my Baptist foster mother put it, “to know in your knower.” God used what drew me to draw me; as the troparion of the Nativity states, “Those who worshiped the stars were drawn by a star to worship you, the Sun of righteousness.” Here I can quote George Eliot too, who is clearly no fan of late 18th century Methodism: “Still—if I have read religious history aright—faith, hope and charity have not always been found in a direct ratio with a sensibility to the three concords [i.e. grammatical logic], and it is possible—thank God—to have very erroneous theories and very sublime feelings.” Then Eliot goes on to cite an example of someone who selflessly gives up the best parts of her own food in the false assumption that the extra food will help heal the “fits” [epilepsy?] of her neighbor’s child. Although the remedy is “inefficacious…the generous stirring of neighborly kindness that prompted the deed has a beneficent radiation that is not lost.”

For hurting people, the religious certainty of fundamentalism, be it of the emotional Pentecostal variety or the more cerebral Reformed type, goes a long way to helping them find peace with God and with themselves. It provides a larger-than-life story in which their (my) miserable little life has a place and has meaning. But more than a narrative, Christian religion of almost any sort introduces people to Jesus Christ and the possibility transformation: the possibility that I might come to love as He loved, serve as He served, give as He gave. My own experience (and yours too, I am sure) is sufficient to confirm that not everyone who comes into Christian fundamentalism develops “very sublime feelings” such that they are willing to go hungry to help their neighbor’s sick child. Yet, I think the percentage of Pharisees and hypocrites is no larger among Protestant fundamentalists than it is among Anglicans, Roman Catholics and Orthodox—it’s just that the Protestants may be a little louder than the others.

Elliot has really got me thinking. I can’t wait for chapter six.

Prophetic Ministry

I have been thinking lately about the prophetic ministry. Particularly, I have been thinking about how this ministry is manifest in the Church. Coming from a Pentecostal background, I have a lot of experience in what the prophetic ministry is not. Prophetic ministry does not include utterances in King James English or ecstatic proclamations preceded by “Thus sayeth the Lord.” Nor is prophetic ministry about prediction. Based on the example of the Old Testament prophets and the ministry of Jesus, prophetic ministry is about being aware and helping others to be aware of God’s presence now.

In the Church, this ministry is often seen in the monastic calling but is not limited to that calling. Monks, at least some of the monks I know and many I have read about, are trained to be aware at all times of God’s presence. This awareness helps them to be sensitive to the inner world where angels and demons are perceived as thoughts (logismoi) and spiritual warfare is a matter of emptying oneself of all that cleaves to what is external so that when the evil one comes he finds nothing in them (c.f. John 14:30). And the evil one comes quite regularly; so emptying, or dying to oneself, is not an episodic experience, but a way of being. This way of being—continual self-emptying and awareness of God’s presence—sometimes makes confessors seem clairvoyant.

Although “clairvoyant” is the word commonly used in Orthodox circles to describe an elder or confessor who seems to know what is going on in your life before you tell him, I am uncomfortable with that word. I have associated that word with fortune telling and the ability to read the minds of others. St. Seraphim of Sarov (and other “clairvoyant” elders) have describe their experience of this phenomenon not as a reading of the mind or heart of the other, but as an awareness of what the Spirit of God is saying or doing (as perceived and discerned as thoughts in the Saint’s mind/heart/nous) at that moment. The clairvoyant word of the elder is not something he perceives outside himself (by reading your mind, for example), but merely a continuation of what he does all the time: being aware of the presence of God right now.

Furthermore, and here I get to the heart of what I want to say, without self-emptying love, the whole process quickly becomes a sham. I say this because it is common in some circles (circles I orbit), to label as prophetic ministry the pointing out of the sins of society, organizations, governments and powerful people in general. While clairvoyant elders may point out the sins of others, their ability to see those sins clearly comes from their deep awareness of their own sin and their ongoing struggle to repent of their complicity in the very sin they are pointing out. (btw, for convenience sake, I am using the word “elder” to refer to the one exercising prophetic ministry, but it is possible that grandmothers, parish council chairmen, priests, monks, little children, college students, or even corporate executives and government officials could speak prophetically.)

My favorite biblical example of prophetic ministry is Jeremiah, the weeping prophet. Jeremiah condemns the sins of a nation, a corrupted government and religious establishment, and a compliant populace eager for gain at the expense of others. But Jeremiah’s words are the words of a man with a broken heart, a man who so identifies with his people that he refuses to escape the very judgment that he is warning them about. Jeremiah does not condemn the sinners from a mountain top (literal or mental) but from the bottom of a muddy well in the king’s prison court (both literally and mentally—he is in the middle of it, accepting whatever punishments are thrown his way out of love for his neighbor and awareness of God’s presence everywhere: “I called on your name, O Lord, from the lowest pit and you heard my voice” Lam. 55,56.) Even when the siege is over and Jeremiah’s word is vindicated and Nebuzaradan offers Jeremiah his freedom, Jeremiah chooses to return to Jerusalem eventually to be taken to Egypt by the rebellious remnant to experience with his people yet another siege by the Babylonians, the very thing he said would happen if they went to Egypt.

The point here is that seeing other’s sins does not make one a prophet. In fact, it is the effect of sin that we so easily see the shortcomings and sins of others and not so easily our own. A film I once saw portrayed this dynamic quite well. A wealthy suffragette in the early twentieth century mercilessly abused her domestic workers, yet wondered why no one seemed to take her passion for her just cause seriously. One of her domestics (behind her back, of course) speculated that her motivation was boredom, and the conviction that she could run the show better than her inattentive husband. Of course no one took her seriously. In some of its grosser forms, this might be called arm-chair quarterbacking: the delight we have in finding fault in those much more powerful (athletically, politically, economically) than we. When we add to this arm-chair quarterbacking phenomenon the dimension of personal loss, or potential personal loss—in the form of a job or a freedom or an opportunity or a resource—then we convince ourselves that the emotional response within us is nothing other than righteous indignation. But it is more likely just regular anger motivated by self righteousness and selfishness.

Indeed, the loss, or potential loss (or sometimes merely the loss of an ideal), may be due to sin and injustice of others. But to clearly hear within ourselves what God may be saying about the situation and the actions of others, we must first be trained and disciplined in hearing what God is saying to ourselves. Furthermore, to speak in such a way that we may be heard—if God gives us words to speak—we must be well practiced in speaking to ourselves (and hearing those who speak to us) and practicing these words through repentance.

Hiding From God

I got to go up to spend a night at the monastery this week, and while there, Br. Samuel shared the following with me.
In the Septuagint version of Genesis Adam and Eve, after eating the forbidden fruit, hide “themselves within the tree in the middle of the garden from the presence of the Lord” (3:8). This tree in the middle of the garden is none other than the tree of the knowledge of good and evil from which they had eaten. Some of the fathers speculate that the fruit itself was a fig (not an apple, as is common in the western tradition). If the forbidden tree was a fig (or fig-like) tree, then we can better understand the Septuagint’s “hid within the tree.” Unpruned fig trees grow to be massive bushes with large leaves providing an airy, cool interior area where one is hidden from those outside. In other places in the Scripture reference is made to people resting or hiding under fig trees—it was apparently a common thing in Middle East. It also makes sense that in covering their nakedness, Adam and Eve sewed fig leaves, if this is the tree they are hiding within. In a sense, clothing themselves in fig leaves is that same thing as hiding from God within the tree, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

Perhaps one way this story can be understood is that mankind’s fundamental sin is to hide from God within the knowledge that man has seized for himself. Men and women construct theories and philosophies, fantasies and explanations of all sorts to quiet their consciences and explain away the voice of God calling out to them through all creation: “Adam, where are you?” The serpent’s guile, or deceit, enables us to take what God has created to reveal Himself and to twist it in ways that appear wise to us and yet hide us—or better, hide from us—the God that the whole creation exists to reveal. We are still hiding from God within the tree.

This reading of Genesis chapter three brings insight into a hard to interpret passage in the Gospel of John. When Nathaniel is brought to Jesus by Philip, Jesus says to Nathaniel, “Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile.” When Nathaniel asks how Jesus knows him, Jesus says, “When you were under the fig tree, I saw you.” I wonder if Nathaniel represents all men and women who are without guile and so are willing to leave the false security of the fig tree—the theories and theologies that keep God at a safe, mostly irrelevant distance. Nathaniel’s first response to Philip’s exclamation that he had found the Messiah was that it couldn’t be true, it didn’t fit into his preconceived mental picture of the Messiah: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” he says. But what shows Nathaniel to be free from guile is that at Philip’s “come and see,” Nathaniel went and saw. Nathaniel did not allow his own mental image or framework, his own theory, knowledge or philosophy to keep him from going outside the comfortable world of his own knowledge to see what others had seen but what he had not yet seen.

Realized Eschatology, Revelation and Repentance

I must confess that when it comes to eschatology I am most convinced by the “realized” approach. Realized eschatology interprets apocalyptic literature (Daniel, Revelation, etc.) not so much as predicting the future (although that is there too), but as revealing through symbols the way things are, the nature of reality. This approach to reading apocalyptic literature does not sell books. There is no immediate sense of urgency (usually playing on fear) that offers those who have the “Key of Interpretation” [available today only for three easy payments of $29.95] insight into what the newspaper headlines “really” mean. Realized eschatology doesn’t even have a key. There is no rational certainty about it because it is all based on interpreting symbols that can mean different things in different contexts. The number seven, for example, can refer to completion or blessing or rest, depending on the context—-not only the context in the text, but also the context of the life of the reader.
Some might decry, “Of what use is a biblical interpretation that offers no certainty?” My answer is that such a reading of the Bible has very little use, if by “use” one means the ability to build on the knowledge, as on a logical foundation, syllogisms and discursive arguments that justify one course of action over another or declare whose side God is on in a land dispute in some corner of the world. If, however, I am looking to make sense of my own suffering and the suffering of the world around me; if I am longing for hope that God is still the King of the Universe, in spite of my struggle and often failure to do good; if want to see that my own little battles to be my better self are really and truly a participation in the Battle of the Ages, then realized eschatology is of great use.
After the Apostle John wrote Revelation, toward the end of the first century, it was the terribly persecuted church in Rome that found most comfort in it. In fact, the relatively less persecuted church in the East found the Revelation to be a rather troublesome book, largely because some charismatic preachers used it to stir up fear with false predictions of the future which distracted the faithful from the peace in Christ and the work of their salvation: repentance, love of God, love of neighbor. But in Rome, the Revelation of St. John was life and comfort. It did not predict the future for them, it symbolically explained their experience now.
I have provided this little introduction to the interpretation of apocalyptic literature because I want to share a little bit of interpretation with you: Revelation 9:1-11, the plague of locusts. Please keep in mind that the events in the Revelation are not in chronological order. The third trumpet does not refer to something that happens after the second trumpet. We may experience any or all of the plagues, trumpets or bowls at the same time. These are symbols referring to the way the universe is.
The first four trumpets (end of Ch. 8) announce partial destruction, “a third of… was destroyed.” These are in a sense shots across the bow of our ship, warnings to repent. Whenever we experience tragedy and loss and yet survive it, it becomes for us an opportunity to think about our life and death and final judgment. The fifth trumpet refers to the fall of Satan and his attack on mankind through passionate temptations of various kinds. These are the locusts with faces of men and hair of women and bodies of horses. That is, these are the temptations for men and women to act as animals. The smoke refers to the temporary blindness and insanity that keeps us from seeing clearly our calling in Christ and the deceptive temptations that beset us. Those with the Seal on their foreheads are protected in as much as they are crucifying the passions and living the new life in Christ. They are not stung by the locusts, the swarm of thoughts that are the seed of sin, because they have learned to be more than natural men; they have become spiritual men (see 1 Cor. 2:13-15). However the temptations are real. The sting is in the tail, not in the face. What feels so good and looks so natural, so merely human, so understandable, has its sting in the tail.
Bishops Joseph has often said that “I am only human” is not an excuse for our failure to live godly lives. We are not “only” human. We are humans sealed by the Holy Spirit, called to become gods in Christ. We are granted the gift of repentance, the ability to change, to see our sin and hate it, not excuse it. And even the bitter pain of the consequences of a passionate life (the sting like a scorpion), in God’s mercy, lasts only five months. Repentance and forgiveness are always possible. Are you breathing? Then God has left open for you the door of repentance. Have you failed repeatedly in previous repentances? Are you still breathing? Then the door is still open, repent again—don’t give up on yourself before God gives up on you. Have you been stung by sin. Are you and those around you suffering from the painful consequences of the scorpions’ sting? Are you still breathing? Repent, the suffering will not last forever; God has limited the power of evil.
The persecution by passionate temptations—-laziness, faint heartedness, lust of power, idle talk—-is a fiery trial, if we will enter the lists. And for those in combat, the Revelation of St. John speaks of “our now” just as much as it spoke of the “now” of every generation of Christians.

The Pitiable Ahab

The Hebrew Bible presents Ahab as a sinful man like no other: “But there was none like Ahab which sold himself to work wickedness.” The Septuagint, on the other hand, does not contain such extreme words about Ahab's wickedness. Both the Hebrew and Septuagint versions of the story of Ahab contain his repentance/humbling after the prophet Elijah prophesies the grizzly outcome of Ahab and his wife Jezebel. However, in several places, the Septuagint reveals Ahab as a much more pitiable character than the Hebrew version does.
To begin with, after the confrontation on Mt. Carmel and the killing of all of the prophets of Baal, during the ensuing rain storm, the Hebrew Bible says that Ahab “rode and went” to Jezreel. But the Septuagint says that Ahab “mourned [wept] and went” to Jezreel (1 Sam./3 Kings 18:45). This reading shows a contrite Ahab, an Ahab weeping/mourning. After the awesome and public display of God’s power over the false prophets (who ate at his wife’s table), and during the first rain in three and a half years, Ahab is humbled, according to the Septuagint. The Hebrew reading, on the other hand, says nothing of Ahab’s emotional response to God’s manifestation of his power in response to Elijah’s prayer.
Then there is the matter of Naboth’s vineyard. Both the Hebrew and Septuagint versions are about the same except that the Hebrew places the story in Ch. 21 whereas the Septuagint places it in Ch. 20 (before the defeat of Benhadad in the Septuagint and after in the Hebrew). However there is a telling addition in the Septuagint’s version of Ahab’s response to the death of Naboth (or is it an omission in the Hebrew version?). In the Septuagint, after Jezebel tells Ahab of Naboth’s death, Ahab “tore his clothes and put on sackcloth.” Ahab’s initial response is repentant, humble, sorrowful; but not too sorrowful, for the next sentence says, “After that Ahab…took possession of the vineyard.” The Hebrew only says that he took possession of the vineyard. The Septuagint even emphasizes Ahab’s sorrowful response to Naboth’s death by mentioning it again at the end of the chapter (v. 27). The Hebrew only mentions Ahab’s tearing his clothes, putting on sackcloth and fasting in response to Elisha’s prophecy of Ahab’s and Jezebel’s demise. However, the Septuagint adds here, “He also put on sackcloth the day he killed Naboth the Jezreelite.”
A third difference between the two versions of this story is in verse 20/21:25. Here the Hebrew text includes the words, “But there was none like unto Ahab.” The Septuagint, on the other hand, not only doesn’t include these words, but adds the word “vainly/foolishly” to the text. Here is how it reads in the Septuagint: “Ahab sold himself to vainly/foolishly do what was evil.” The insertion of these words does not lessen Ahab’s guilt (at least from an Orthodox perspective). Ahab is guilty of doing what was evil. However, the Septuagint presents Ahab as pitiable because he acted foolishly or vainly (i.e. without reason or purpose: “emptily”) as he was led astray or incited by Jezebel.
These three variances in the story of Ahab as it is found in the Septuagint help us interpret other aspects of the story in a way that presents Ahab not as the worst of the worst, but as fool who has “sold himself” and was trapped. We begin with Ahab’s marriage to Jezebel, daughter of the King of Sidon. Sidon is the country just north of Israel and the buffer between Israel and Assyria, one of the major powers of the day; so Ahab’s marriage to Jezebel was certainly one of political convenience. Although marriage to foreign women is condemned in the Law, one cannot be too harsh on Ahab because most of Israel’s kings before him, including David, married some foreign women. Because of the political nature of his marriage to Jezebel and his dependence on the King of Sidon (and ultimately because of his lack of faith in God), Ahab let’s Jezebel kill the Lord’s prophets and maintain at her table 950 false prophets. However, Ahab’s right-hand man, Obadiah, hides 100 of the Lord’s prophets in caves and feeds them during the drought. While Ahab lets his wife get away with murder out of fear of man, he lets his chief advisor get away with treachery, perhaps out of a weak, but present, fear of the Lord. Surely here is a weak and bifurcated man to be pitied.
How might an Orthodox Christian apply such a reading in his or her life? I think the first application is to realize that even the most wicked person may at some level “fear the Lord.” He may be trapped, or think he is trapped, in a terrible situation which compels him to acts that he regrets. Ahab wept, mourned and humbled himself at various times and sufficiently (according to both versions of the story) for God to postpone judgment; yet he is held responsible for all of the evil he lets his wife get away with, including the death of Naboth—which both versions make clear, in spite of Ahab’s initial mourning recorded only in the Septuagint. As Orthodox Christians, we must never assume that someone is too far gone to be touched by the Holy Spirit and a guilty conscience, even if that person is responsible for the deaths of hundreds or even millions of people. There may indeed be such a thing as a conscience seared beyond hope, but only God knows. We don’t.
I think the second thing Orthodox Christians should take from the Septuagint’s telling of the story of Ahab is that “free choice” is never really very free; or at least it is only relatively free. How free is a fool? How free is a weak-willed man married to a strong-willed woman? How free is a double-minded man (c.f. James 1:8) who fears the Lord a little but fears man more? When I look at my own life, my mistakes, my weepings before the Lord, and my ensuing return to folly, I realize that I never want to sin. I am always enticed, deceived by my own rationalizations and driven by lusts and fear. It most often feels like an accident, a mercy from God, that I catch myself in sinful contemplation before it’s too late. I hear a word from a friend who might not have spoken, I read a passage that someone might not have written, I see an act of graciousness that might not have been. Somehow the Holy Spirit pricks my heart through one of His servants and I see my insanity, my foolishness, my Ahab-like tendencies. And of course this makes me wonder: how often have I refrained from speaking or writing or acting, how often have I let fear or laziness or hoplessness keep me from being a servant of the Holy Spirit in the life of one of my fellow Ahab-like brothers?
Lord have mercy on us sinners.

Gregory Palamas: Tearing the Roof Off

The Gospel reading for the second Sunday of Lent is the the story about the four fellows who want to bring their paralyzed friend to Jesus to be healed. When they get to where Jesus is, he is trapped in a house, surrounded by hundreds of people. There is no way they are going to get in to see Jesus. However, some people have just got to have direct contact and will find a way. The way these fellows found was to tear off the tiles on the roof (I'm sure Jesus' host was not very happy about that), strap their paralyzed buddy to the pallet, and lower him down on top of Jesus. "Hey, Jesus, here I am. Heal me." The text says that when Jesus saw their faith(i.e. the faith for the guys who tore off the roof and lowered their friend down), he healed their friend.
The second Sunday of Lent is also the Sunday of St. Gregory of Palamas. St. Gregory is a 14th century theologian who articulated the Orthodox Church's rejection of scholastic theology. I am not an expert on Palamite theology, so if I get this wrong, please correct me gently. As I understand it, and put very simply, the problem with the scholastic approach to theology was that it was completely rational. Based on revelation, one would reason to deeper levels of understanding. Palamas argued that, while rational understanding had a place, knowledge of God came only through direct "noetic" (often translated "intellect") contact with God through inner silence.
In a certain sense, these navel gazers (as they were derisively called by the West)were much like the fellows who tore the roof off to directly contact Jesus. Everyone else stood around respectfully, happy to learn (or at least hear) all that Jesus had to say. They were going to think about it, and perhaps extrapolate from what Jesus said something additionally profound. But these crazy guys who tear off roofs, what can you say about them. They went higher, deeper and quieter than everyone else. They tore apart the roof (which might be likened to the rational structures which may be useful in some contexts [keeping out rain] but merely hindrances in others [touching Jesus]), they went where no one else was willing to go. And they touched Jesus--or rather were touched by him.
The scholastic theologians said (say) it is impossible to really touch God. They say that the light that some hesychasts (the respectful name for those who pursue God in stillness) saw was not really the Light of God that shined from Jesus on Mt. Tabor, but just some natural experience. The Scholastics say this because for them it is rationally impossible for the creature to actually and directly know, experience, see, etc. the Creator. I guess like the crowd around Jesus, they are pretty sure they have it all figured out--except one thing: that paralyzed inner man is not helped by rational understanding. But a couple of old men and women who pray in stillness are showing signs of the life of Christ on earth.
A roof (like reason) is good, but when it keeps me from my Lord, it's time to remodel.

Jim Forrest was with us this week. He is a man who makes you really want to be a Christian. I am not much of a pacifist. In fact, I have a default "John Wayne" attitude toward violence: It's regrettable, but inevitable in a fallen world. (Jim gave me this "John Wayne" idea.) I've generally thought that there were worse things that could happen to someone than to kill or be killed (such as live in fear). However, in recent years, my default "Johnwaynitude" has been challenged. It has not been challenged by exposure to the tragedy of war--I already agreed that violence is tragic. My assumptions have been challenged first by Fr. Gregory, an Orthodox hermit who lives in the mountains above the Sunshine Coast of BC, eats on a few veggies and grains each day and spends all of his time praying and very little sleeping.
Once I spent a few days with Fr. Gregory. On my last day with him, we took a long walk. On that walk one of the things he told me was the necessity that a Christian be aggressively loving enemies, not doing anything to hurt another human being (very terse paraphrase). When we got back to the cabin, I asked him if he would still love me and let me visit him if couldn't yet accept his words about aggressively loving enemies. He smiled at me and gave me a big hug. He said, "Just think about the words, eventually they will drive you crazy." That was two years ago, and I can now attest to serious cracks in the foundation of my sanity.
Jim Forrest stuck a iron poker in some of those cracks and gave a good pull. Part of what it means for me to be a Christian is to realize that not to love is always not sane. Yet I don't love, and I live in a world of non-lovers.
I remember the words of the Psalmist, "Neither do I concern myself with great matters, Nor with things too profound for me." I think there is a sane Rock--the Rock--on which to stand, but my theories that try to make sense out of a crazy world, a world that says it's okay not to love; I think those theories need to crumble and fall away. I can let go of my insanity that tried to make sense of an insane world. It feels quite naked not having answers (fig leaves and goat skins are better than nothing--or are they?). Maybe it is good not to know, but do my best where I am to love. I think I'll try that for a while. May God help me.

Ever Virgin Mary

I’m often asked by Protestants if the phrase “ever virgin Mary” means that the Church teaches that Mary the Theotokos never had sex. If I am tired or grumpy, I just answer “yes” and prepare myself to respond to the predictable objections with off-the-shelf answers. And in most cases, this is all the inquirer wants. However, sometimes, I answer by saying “no.” Then I say that it means the Mary’s heart and mind were always pure, that she was always full of the Light, Life and Grace of God. Oh yes, and by the way, that also had a biological component: she never had sexual intercourse, but that is not what “ever virgin” means.

Passions as disease

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the passions and how they afflict us like a disease. Even when you fight against the passions, I find that I am often tricked by them. Really the only hope I have found is to call out to God (using the Jesus Prayer) when I am strongly feeling a passion. However, if someone doesn’t strongly fight the passions, then they take over his life. Some people fight bodily passions with spiritual passions, thus corrupting the heart to discipline the body. For example, someone may control his appetite out of vanity: he wants to look good more than he wants to eat. That’s the tricky part of fighting passions. It is so easy to let self esteem, pride in one’s self, to be the power that overcomes strong desires (this is often the way the world teaches people to overcome bodily passions). But in the end, pride kills love and cuts one off from God. It ends in either delusion (because one thinks he is better than he is) or in despair (because one thinks that he is worse than he “should” be–he keeps saying to himself, “I should be better than this”).

However, just like a sick man (say he is allergic to peanut butter), there are only two things he can do because he cannot help getting sick. First, he has to go to the Physician (God) to be treated and second, he has to avoid the things (peanut butter) that make him sick. It does no good to say, “I shouldn’t get sick from peanut butter.” The fact is that you do. So if someone, like an alcoholic, gets sick (can’t control himself) from drinking beer (etc.) then he has to stop drinking beer all together. In my life I have found that there are several things that I enjoy, but I just can’t do because often (not always, and so there is where a temptation lies) it results in stirring up my passions. There is no pride or self glorification in this. I am not good because I don’t do certain things. In fact, it is because I am sick that I don’t do certain things. Someone else may be able to do certain things, see certain things, participate in certain activities and not experience the arousal of passions. I rejoice that they are free. I, on the other hand, am quite sickly (spiritually speaking), so I have to be very careful–like a diabetic who continually worries about what he does or doesn’t eat, I have to continually watch out for what I let myself do, think or say; otherwise, I’ll get spiritually sick.

America Coming to Orthodoxy

I got an e-mail today from a colleague in the world of Orthodox Christian publishing who commented that "America is not coming to Orthodoxy." It was at once a statement of realism and apparent resignation. However, I do not think his observation is correct. If by "America coming to Orthodoxy" we mean a massive conversion on a popular level--revivalist fervor, tent meetings with icons, incense and golden chalices, along with the accompanying recognition in the secular media--then certainly America is not coming to Orthodoxy. And I say thank God. I don't think the American Orthodox Church (and here I mean North American) has the administrative strength to handle a tsunami.
However, if one allows that coming to Orthodoxy begins by becoming aware that it exists and is a real option for Christians in North America, then I say America is coming to Orthodoxy. When I began teaching at a major Methodist seminary about twenty years ago, the M.Div. program required two semesters of Church history: New Testament to Reformation, and Reformation to present. In none of the one-year course of lectures was there any but the slightest reference to the Eastern Orthodox. Church history was a direct line from Paul to Augustine to Aquinas to Calvin/Luther to Wesley to whatever flavor of contemporary Christianity one preferred. Theology followed the same path. When I left this seminary five years ago, one full lecture in the history cycle was devoted to Eastern Orthodoxy, not a tsunami, but certainly an introduction that had never existed before. Similarly in theology, Gregory of Nyssa, and Gregory Palamas had been "discovered." In New Testament, (albeit without the discernment of the Church) the importance of all first and second century Christian authors had been discovered.
When I came to Trinity Western (the largest Evangelical university in Canada), I was pleasantly surprised to find many faculty members openly discussing the role of tradition (of course it sounds better and probably draws less criticism from reactionaries if you use the Greek: paradosis). Theology faculty occasionally asked to discuss with me some of the more difficult aspects of Zizioulas (Being as Communion) or Yannaras (The Freedom of Morality). I would hear professors mention Schmemann and Tillich in the same sentence. Bishop Kalistos Ware's The Orthodox Church and The Orthodoxy Way were required texts in some courses (and often available in the general reading section).
It seems to me that America is coming to Orthodoxy. But like everything Orthodox, it takes a real long time.

PASCHA Joy, or not

Holy Nativity is growing! We had 68 for PASCHA. It was glorious. Or was it? Why is it that two people can share what appears to be the exact same experience, but each come away with very different impressions of it? One comment I heard from a visitor was "You just keep repeating the same thing over and over again" [Christ is risen]. We certainly do! I can see how that could seem rather empty to someone for whom "Christ is risen" is just a piece of information, a datum: "O yes, it is Easter, Christ is risen, yes, so what else is going on?"
The Paschal homily of St. John Chrysostom, the sermon read in every Orthodox Church at the PASCHA Liturgy, encourages everyone to come to the Feast--the ascetics and the negligent, those who kept the fast and those who disregarded the fast. God receives both the labor (for those who strove to prepare themselves through repentance during the Fast) and the intention (for those who did not but wish they had). The Feast is the same for everyone. The difference is not on God's side. God receives all who come to Him. God offers the same Feast to all. The Feast cannot be any different because the feast is God Himself. Christ is the "fatted calf" sacrificed for the Feast at the prodigal son's return.
But some do not keep the feast. Maybe they just are not hungry. Maybe, like the older brother in the parable of the prodigal son, they are too distracted to feast, worrying about what is fair or not fair, what is their due versus what is due others. Maybe, like many of us, all of life has been reduced to data and feelings (passions) and the rational processes they have found useful to manipulate the data to stimulate or get relief from the feelings.
It reminds me of Jeremiah 17:2 [17:6 in Protestant Bibles]:"For he shall be like a shrub in the desert. He shall not see when good things come." This passage compares a shrub, that doesn't even notice when the rains come, to a tree with deep roots that continues to bear fruit in a drought. The difference between the two is not rain vs. drought. They both experience both. Rather, the difference is the plant itself. The shrub, dead even while it lives (c.f. 1Tim. 5:6), doesn't even notice when God showers blessings. The man who trust in the Lord, however, is a tree with root that reach down to the water. When drought comes, as it does to every life at various seasons, this man continues to bear the fruit of virtue, the fruit of the Spirit: Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Gentleness, Self Control. However, returning to the experience of PASCHA Joy, the shrub just doesn't notice much.
It's important that you do not misunderstand me. First, and most important, this in not a criterion by which we can judge others. The passage in Jeremiah goes on to say, "The heart is deep and beyond all things, and it is the man. Even so, who can know him? I the Lord, examine the heart..." (OSB Septuagint translation). Only God knows the heart, which is the man. I cannot judge another man's heart, ever. Second, the amount of Paschal Joy we experience or don't experience is only an indicator, it only suggests that all is well or that something may be amiss in our relationship with God. Learning to live in God, to walk in the Spirit, to pay attention to the inner man of the heart is a life-long process. Our experiences in prayer are important indicators, but they are only partial indicators. They are not irrelevant, but neither are they very reliable. Just like the seasons of the year, the seasons of the spiritual life are sometimes dry and sometimes rainy (except in BC where it is sometimes warm rain and sometimes cold rain). If you didn't seem to experience much Joy in PASCHA, you should examine yourself. It may be that you were a little sick in body or mind. It may be that you were disturbed by a relationship problem. It may be that you have been ignoring God. Whatever it is, look to God. Christ receives us, the last and the first, the strong and the weak, the spiritual giant and the spiritual chicken. I often remind myself when I am overwhelmed with my own weaknesses that although I am a mess, I am God's mess. Whatever we are or are not, it is good to be God's.

Guatemala

Glory be to God,
I have just returned from a life changing trip to an orphanage in Guatemala city, Guatemala.
This orphanage is run by four God-fearing Orthodox nuns. The founding nuns used to be Catholic monastics, but they became dissatisfied with thier church, and durring a tour of the Holy Land, discovered Orthodoxy, and converted, much to the Catholic church's dismay.
When they decided to start a convent in Guatemala, little did they know that God had greater plans then they could have imagined!
"What do we know about children?" Mother Ines asked when they inherited an orphange and 30 children. But thank God, through thier example, it is evident that all one needs to raise children, run an orphange, or build a church is Faith and Love. These nuns may never have learned how to raise a child, but through the Grace of God, all of the children of the orphanage are happy, healthy, and well adjusted!
There are about 90 children in the orphanage, run 100% on donations. Of course the nuns cannot run everything all the time. They have a hired staff of nannys, cooks, nurses and gardeners, but the present team of staff has taken a long time to perfect. Mother Ivonne told us that it is very difficult to find someone that does not "steal, cheat and lie in this city." Thank God, after several years of hirings, and firings they have a team that they can trust, and even some have become Orthodox!
As the orphange does not have a priest of it's own, right now, it is a great thing when a team like ours visits, and brings a priest along! Durring our stay, we celibrated the Devine Liturgy two times a week. And on one very exciting ocassion, we had a Devine Liturgy along with 26 baptisms! Imagine all those brand-new souls! And the nuns alowed us, the missionaries to be Godparents of the newly-illumined! "The only condition to being a Godparent," said Mother Yvonne, "is that you must pray for your God child every day of your life. That's it!"
The mothers love thier children, and take every precaution for thier well-being as any mother would for thier own children. On Sundays, the children get to watch a movie that has been pre-screened by Mother. Some of the older children have started a book club, they recently finished reading "The Lion the Witch and the Wordrobe." Mother took a group of the children to the theater to see the new motion picture based on the book. The children get plenty of excercise. The orphanage has a pool, inwhich the boys have to do 40 laps before they go to bed everynight, while the girls play soccor in the gym, or do some other constuctive activity.
The older boys are now helping to constuct a new church for the monestary, and new dormatories for the children, so that eventualy the children can move out of the dreadful city, and into the cleaner, safer country side.
The country-side is beautiful! Some of the nuns live out there, inorder to discourage robbers from comming onto the land. Along with buildings for the orphanage, the boys are also helping build a brand new church for the monestary. This will be the very fist original Orthodox church in the country of Guatemala!
These nuns are having it build right...thier architect studied Byzantine architecture inorder to construct this church exactly the right way! In the country, at the monestary, the nuns are also raising fish and rabbits to feed the children.

Its a miracle, the fact that the children are happy and well fed and dressed. Most of them have come from terrible, violent or abusive back-grounds, and would not be expected to behave in society after thier experiences.
But the children love one another. Even the children that are not siblings treat one another as if they were brother and sister. The older children look out for the younger ones. And the younger ones look up to the older ones. The children go to church two times a day, and durring the year they have school. Almost all of the children can read and write and tell the time, which is much more then they could have hoped for out on the streets.
The children that are able, make prayer ropes and sell them at the book store, or at fund raisers. The orphanage keeps track of who's ropes are sold, and half the money goes directly to the child. This way, the children begin to save up some money for when they grow up. Some children already have as much as $1,000 in thier account!

While we were there, we got to take the children on an outing outside of the orphange! No one is allowed outside the walls of the orphanage without a blessing from Mother. The city is full of violence and poverty, therefore, one must be very cautious, venturing out into the city. Some of the children have only left the orphanage a few times in thier life. So for many of the children, leaving the monestary was very exciting.
Our outing included a visit to the hot pools, which are heated by the local volcano, then a visit to the monestary, to look at the new church and the fish and rabbits. Then, the children's favorite part: dinner at "Pollo Compero" which is sort of like the KFC/Mc.Donald's of Guatemala. It seemed like some of the kids had never eaten fried chicken before! they eat every last bit of meat off those bones, and used up about a bottle of ketchup each!
It was such a pleasure to watch the children enjoy thier food, and be excited about simple things like feeling the breeze in thier face, as we drove down the street.
Glory to God for All things!
and God bless the struggling people of Guatemala....
for more info on the orphanage, you can visit: www.hogarafaelayau.org
or email me (sarah gillis) at: icecreamwithafork[at]yahoo.com

It's Only Reasonable

I was invited last week to listen to a professor of theology—quite famous for his Evangelical orthodoxy and at the same time his ecumenical openness. I was impressed. I was impressed by his tight case, his grasp of his opponents’ logical mistakes and unexamined assumptions. Overall, it was a marvelous ride for an overly educated Orthodox priest who mostly agrees and similarly wishes to resist the forces of religious indifferation. And as pleased as my intellect was by the thorough thrashing given to the religious pluralists, I walked away troubled at heart.

I was troubled because I knew by experience that no proof is final. Medieval proofs for the existence of God are disproved by later philosophers whose proofs are again overturned by their followers’ followers: “Of making many books there is no end.” Heretics and gainsayers must be answered, and the answers, we seem to assume, must be in the common coin of the realm—reasoned argument. Nonetheless, there is a deceptive sense of self confidence that assaults my mind when I hear a good argument for “our side.” This perhaps comes from the Kantian illusion blanketing our culture that differences really just boil down to lapses in clear thinking. And what is particularly ironic is that this good feeling of winning the debate comes even when “our side” seems to triumph by attacking the Enlightenment foundations of the opponent’s argument, without admitting its own enslavement to the very same paradigms. This is not to say that the “enlightened” rules of reasoning are inherently more or less evil than those of the Neo-Platonists or Medieval Scholastics; rather, it is to say that when push comes to shove, we must admit with the Apostle Paul that the message of the Cross is foolishness to those who are perishing. And any apologetic effort from St. Paul on Mars’ Hill and St. Justin Philosopher and Martyr all the way through Carl Olson’s and Sandra Miesel’s The Da Vinci Hoax, is just that: an apology, a defense, a proclamation, but not a proof.

Yet I want a proof. I want to satiate my intellect and subordinate that part of my psyche that knows without knowing, that merely trusts the message heard, the Tradition handed down by faithful men and lived by the holy (the saints): I’m looking for Life in all the wrong places. Once the adrenaline that comes from a good argument dissipates, the heart is still left longing. I return to my icon corner and say my prayers—not very well at first, fighting the intrusion of “good points” and better counters. I stand there, restarting the Lord’s prayer for the third time, for I can’t even seem to get through the most basic prayer without distraction. “Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy.” Slowly I begin to recognize the joy-filled sadness gradually warming my heart. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me the sinner…” And so I come home.

May God bless all apologists, for theirs is a difficult job: to defend foolishness (the foolishness of the cross), for which there is no defense, no defense but the Great Defender Himself. Like the great St. Nekarios of Agina (Metropolitan of Pentopolos), I feel compelled by the love of Christ to teach and guide and proclaim; but unlike him, I am sometimes fooled into thinking that arguments and defenses, explanations and proclamations are somehow the Truth rather than just clanging cymbals awaiting the Sprit of God to fill them to draw the hearers to the Truth. And especially since I am usually just one who listens, who already believes but is not wise enough to make such arguments myself, I must be careful not to fall into the same trap as the unbelievers do. I must not mistake good argumentation for Truth, even when the argument supports (or most usually merely appears to support or intends to support) the Truth. This is one of my weaknesses. May God help me (as the Fathers say) to keep my mind in my heart.

Fr. Michael

CHRISTIAN FAITH AND SAME-SEX ATTRACTION – A New Book from Fr. Thomas Hopko

Eastern Orthodox Reflections. Father Thomas Hopko draws on the wisdom of the Orthodox Christian Church and the Holy Scriptures to help us understand same-sex attraction, with both compassion and clarity. Combining theological and pastoral insights, this small gem will aid pastors, those who experience same-sex desires, and anyone seeking a deeper understanding of the nature of our identity and our sexuality. This book is in reality a primer on how to overcome the passions through the traditional Christian ascetic struggle, which of course applies to everyone "... In a winsomely accessible manner, he draws on the treasures of Orthodoxy to invite all of us to move from disputation to reflection, and from there to the wholeness for which we are created by God.� Richard John Neuhaus, Editor-in-Chief of First Things "... The argument is closely reasoned and touches on many aspects of this issue that are often ignored in popular presentations...A provocative book that will surely help everyone who reads it!" Timothy George is dean of Beeson Divinity School of Samford University and an executive editor of Christianity Today...
for more information and even an excerpt from this book, go to http://www.conciliarpress.com/again/content/view/82/27/9/9/
*As a note of interest, our very own Fr. Michael helped edit this book!*

Children in Church

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

As God has seen fit to grant our mission growth, we are now experiencing growing pains. Particularly, we are learning how to incorporate families with young children into our parish life. I think over the last little while both parents and the community at large has felt some discomfort as parents have struggled to learn how to teach their children to behave in Church. With this in mind, I would like to address both the community at large and parents on the matter of young children in Church.

For the community at large, we must remember first that young children are just as much a part of the Church as the oldest and wisest Parish Counsel members. These children are our future, and patiently teaching them to love the Church is not only the responsibility of parents, but of all of us. Those of us without children must patiently and compassionately endure the small disturbances that young children make. Moreover, those of us who are parents of older children must be ready to help when called upon–and more than that, we should be offering young parents our help.

Jesus said, “suffer the little children to come to me.” Yes, “suffer” here means allow, but it also means to endure with patience whatever is necessary so that young children can come to Christ. For some, disturbance in prayer is a cross that will bring about not only their own salvation, but also the salvation of others. Raising children who love the Church is probably the most difficult task most parents will ever struggle through. The prayers, help and patience of all of us is necessary for parents to be successful.

On a practical note, I strongly suggest that those who find themselves very disturbed by young children in worship, stand as close to the front of the Church as possible. This will help them. First, it will help because it will make room in the back of the church for parents with children. Parents with small children usually come to church the latest (which, all of us who are parents certainly understand). However, when they arrive, there is no room in the back of the Nave, so they end up moving toward the front. Now everyone must watch the children, whether they are cute or misbehaving, everyone is watching the children instead of paying attention to the prayers. Standing forward also provides another benefit. When we stand forward in the Church to pray, we have to turn our head to look away from the Icons. If we keep our heads forward, we are better able to pray despite distractions around us.


For parents of small children, I would like to address the following comments. First, as I mentioned above, raising our children to love God and His Church is the greatest and most important ministry of our lives. God has designed the process of Christian child rearing as one of the primary ways to work in our lives the Christ-like virtues that save our souls: 1Timothy 2:15 says, “But she will be saved through childbearing, if they abide in faith and love and sanctification with sober-mindedness.” Many fathers of the Church comment that this is not merely a reference to giving birth, but to the whole process of bearing (raising) children to “abide in faith and love.”

However, like every great endeavor that God sets before us, raising children to love God and His Church requires one quality in parents that is the foundation of all others: humility. Children will, sooner or later, humble parents. The sooner parents accept this, the better for the child. Each child is a distinct human person. Training each child requires insight beyond the ability of any one set of parents. God does not expect parents to know how to raise their children by themselves. This was never part of God’s plan. Parents are to raise children with the help and advice of wise older relatives and friends who have already successfully raised children. When parents of young children ask the help and advice of older parents, they receive two important advantages. First, they receive advice that has been tried by time. Older parents can tell stories of what they have tried and what has worked and what has not. When Bonnie and I began having Children, we were far away from any family because I was still going to school. We had no relatives to turn to for help, so we sought advice from older parents in our Church who had children that we wanted our children to grow up to be like. These older parents gave us advice. They recommended books and answered questions for us. They taught us practical ways to discipline our children, ways that actually worked. And most of all, they encouraged us in our struggle; they let us know that we were normal.

The second advantage young parents can receive from older parents is the truth–if they really love you. Older parents can tell you the truth about whether what you are doing with your own child is working well or not. I remember how painful it was for me when my best friend told me that I was spoiling my oldest daughter. I couldn’t believe him–I thought I was a good parent. Finally, I had to accept, even if I couldn’t see it myself at the time, that I needed to be more strict; for, even though I couldn’t see that I was spoiling my child, others could.

Of course, each child and each family circumstance is unique. There is no 100% method for raising godly children, and all advice must be considered humbly and prayerfully. However, the first and most important step young parents can take in raising children that love God and His Church is to recognize that they do not know how to do it, and that without God’s help and plenty of advice from wiser older parents who have successfully raised children, they will not succeed. A mother’s and father’s love has the miraculous power to show a child what God’s love is like. At the same time, because we are fallen in sin, parental love can blind us and keep us from seeing what we don’t want to see in our children. Thank God, the remedy for all sin is in the Church. By humbling ourselves and asking for help (for if we do not ask, we do not receive St. James says), we can find grace and help in time of need. In the Church, God has provided everything necessary for salvation, but like all other gifts from God, the gift of wise parenting is not found in any one individual. It is distributed in the Church so that we must seek it out and humbly receive from one another.

Assuming that young parents want help raising their children to love God and His Church, the following are a few suggestions. First, for others–not parents of small children–don’t try to give advice or help unless you are asked to do so. Please respect the freedom and responsibility of parents to raise and discipline, or not discipline, their own children as seems best to them. It is a serious mistake and true evidence of pride and arrogance to think you know better how to raise a child than the child’s parents. You may, of course, offer to help. But if your help is not wanted at that time, you must commit the matter to prayer assuming that God has not given you wisdom to help at that moment. Certainly, young parents need our prayers much more than they need our advice.

Second, teaching young children to behave in Church begins by teaching them at home, in the home-church. Teaching young children to say prayers at home and to sit or stand quietly while their parents say prayers is a very important part of teaching children to be well behaved in Church. For example, a mother who had been in the habit of only praying while her child napped, might begin at a different time by teaching the child to sit quietly on a small blanket while she said the Trisagion prayers. After doing this every day (or even twice a day) for a while, she could add a few more prayers. In a few weeks, the child will be accustomed to sitting quietly for fifteen or twenty minutes at a time while mother prayed. This behavior is then easily transferred to Church. The important thing to keep in mind is that if you want to change a child’s behavior in Church, you must begin by practicing at home. I know of one family with several children that used to play Church at home. One of the children would put a blanket on his shoulders and pretend to be the priest and the sisters would pretend to be the choir. They acted out the Great Entrance and even pretended to receive Holy Communion. In this way, the parents taught the children correct behavior in Church. Whether or not this method was ideal, it seemed to work for this family.

Third, when children misbehave in Church, as they inevitably do, parents must take them out of the Nave before they start to make a lot of noise. If one or two quiet “shushes” don’t work, it’s time to take the child out. There is, however, a technique to taking children out of the Nave. If you take a child out of the Nave for misbehavior, the child should not be rewarded by being allowed to do something pleasant in the other room. That is, when a child is removed for misbehavior, his or her experience in the other room should be less pleasant than in the Nave. At the same time, a parent needs to pay attention to how much time his or her child can endure without a break. If you notice that your child has been well behaved for a while and it is about time for a little break, take out your child for a little walk or to color in the other room for a while. Be sure to tell him or her that this is a reward for their good behavior in the Nave. Then when you take the child out for misbehavior, the child will know the difference.

Having said this, I acknowledge that every now and then there are bad days. The child may be teething or have a little bug. At such times, parents have to do whatever works best at the moment keeping in mind that a parent’s first duty to Christ is to care for the child. God will hear the prayers of a mother or father rocking a teething baby in the nursery just as well as if they were standing in the Nave. At the same time, others in the Nave will be able to pray more peacefully without the continual noise of a child who is out of sorts that day. In every area of our life, we must find balance–this is no less true in how we raise our children. But if the truth be told, the bad days are not really the problem. Bad days and good days are part of the cycle of our lives. The real matter is what we do on normal days: children are not taught by exceptions, they are taught by regular activity and patterns.

Brothers and sisters, this is the Church: life together, iron sharpening iron, as the Bible says. What does “bear one another’s burdens and so fulfil the law of Christ” mean? It means that we will all be somewhat burdened by getting along with one another, loving one another, and learning that noone–not the priest, not the bishop, not the parish counsel, not parents, and not children–noone gets his own way. We are going God’s way, and noone knows the mind of God except the Spirit of God who leads us. So brothers and sisters as together we work out our salvation with fear and trembling, let us be ready to adjust, ready to change and be changed, for this is only the beginning, heaven awaits us.