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Every once in a while the writer of another blog holds his or her nose, takes a leap of faith and links to this one. A courageous move: when this page opens one never knows what kind of foolishness will appear. Still, I always like to see the link, and I like reading what other people have to say.
Recently a very interesting blog, titled Little Lights, took the plunge. Written by Lisa, a student at Fuller Theological Seminary, it is thoughtful and fun, an unusual combination I haven’t been able to pull off. In particular, however, I was interested to read her discussion about the Virgin Mary. As she points out, it is an odd fact that Mary, so humble and grace-filled, could become such a bone of contention. And, as she also points out, the point of contention, after all the dust settles, is the particular brand of Christology that a person subscribes to.
Of course, being Orthodox, I am interested in Christology. Right belief is of the utmost importance, and so it comes as no surprise that I hold fervent opinions, Christologically speaking, regarding the Virgin Mary. Sadly, however, there was a period of time when my devotion to the Theotokos consisted wholly of those opinions, when it was all head and no heart, so to speak. Orthodox Christology leads one to the inescapable conclusion that Mary must be venerated, and so I did. That was all intellectual, however, and since my former tradition did not hold such views, I struggled with the notion in a heart sense. It was right, my head said, but my heart insisted that it did not feel it.
Thankfully, time has corrected that. Part of that is the result of a more complete understanding of Mary’s life, as provided by the tradition of the Church. The stories in the Protoevangelion of James or those surrounding her later life and Dormition give us context and substance which rounds out the character of the young woman we meet in the Gospels. That alone, of course, is quite enough to stagger the imagination. To contain within a womb the Creator of all, to nurse the Logos, to submit oneself utterly and completely to the will of God: really thinking about all of that produces a wooziness similar to the kind a person encounters when you try to imagine the full extent of the unspeakable depths of outer space. It cannot be fully held within the mind. She is a woman who participated in the miraculous, who held in her arms the Ineffable, who suffered grief and hardship as great as any on earth. Who can contemplate her tale without murmuring to oneself: This is a woman beyond all women — or men for that matter. No one confuses her with God, mind you, but no one thinks of her as being ‘just like me’.
For most of us, intellectual understanding is important, and is probably a vital first step for anyone approaching Orthodoxy. In the end, however, a true understanding of the Virgin is achieved only experientially. It is inevitable, as a person lives an Orthodox life, that he or she will gradually find that love for the Theotokos arises as naturally as flowers in the spring. There is no other way to describe it. It simply is.
So now I find that my devotion to the Theotokos is primarily one of the heart. I remember the Christological aspects, of course, but that is secondary. I am simply smitten. During the Divine Liturgy, after the first Little Litany, I stand in front of her icon to the left of the Royal Doors. As the Hymn of the Incarnation is sung, I look into her face, searching for understanding. I cannot find it; I cannot imagine myself being as full of grace as she. All I do know is that she is far greater than I, and I content myself with that. I bow to her as the Hymn ends, and move back in front of the Doors for the second Little Litany.
It is appropriate to think about all this, since those of us on the new calendar are about to enter the Dormition Fast. Fasts are good, regardless of the particular reason, but I have always liked that of the Dormition. I love the story: how Christ Himself returns for her upon her death, and how when the Apostles enter the tomb to show Thomas the body (he having been late for the funeral, predictably enough) the crypt is full of flowers. Even before they open the door, they smell the sweetness, so obviously not of death, but of life. It is no surprise that Christ would do nothing less for His own mother.
I have a dream that some day, after this life has ended, that I may see Mary. I can’t imagine sitting down for a chat or having tea with her. I just want to see her, to be in her presence. That would be a lovely thing, to be in the presence of a truly grace filled person. I can only imagine the sweetness, the scent of true humility and grace.
Those of you who read yesterday’s post have doubtless been holding your breath waiting for the answer to the really important question posed this week in the blog. Forget that stuff about the Decalogue, and coveting what and all that business. No — this is a blog for lovers, and so everyone has been wondering all day what the answer is to this question: is the way to a woman’s heart found in hiding under her porch with some beer, an ipod and a machete? Oh…and a dozen roses.
Before giving the answer, I have to say that I am disappointed that my readers of the feminine persuasion did not leap into the breach and answer this for us. I know I have women readers — I can hear you breathing, you know — yet apparently they are not sufficiently caring to lend us males a little guidance. O fickle women of Orthodoxy! Do you not know that the men who stand next to you on Sunday are sensitive and caring, thinking of little but romance and affairs of the heart? When we get together for some manly talk you hear nothing but fears and insecurities — does she love me? Am I sufficiently sacrificial? Besides wearing a cassock, what else can I do to rev the engine of this relationship? Truly, I say to you, O Orthodox women, that in Orthodox men you see romance personified, caring developed to an art form, heart on the hoof, if you will. See you how important this is to us? Even I, widely acknowledged as the King of Romance, was agog with anticipation: would some beer, a machete, an ipod and some time under the porch make Mrs. S swoon?
Now, since I represented the woman in this pas de deux I knew that she had not been impressed. She had swooned, but not in a good way. But I am also a fair minded person, who knew that my client might be outside the mainstream. Would all women be negative about this experience? So this afternoon we tried the case. My client spoke directly about the porch happening, and was plain that she had not been impressed in a heart pitty patty kind of way. Then the Defendant got up to testify. He had not been under the porch, he insisted. He had been beside the porch. I glanced at my client, and saw her roll her eyes. Clearly the exact location was irrelevant to her. In the end, the judge agreed with her and held the Defendant too unstable to have unsupervised visits, at least for the time being, with their two year old child.
So there you have it. It appears to be official: this is not the height of romance. Of course, I’m glad I won the case, and I can see that it was not a great idea. But still: how will I ever impress Mrs. S?
I know, I can’t believe it either. I post an annoyingly specious question, as if promising an answer, and then promptly disappear. Honest, I meant to answer. It has just been one of those weeks. In my small county it was a week of domestic relations court, and I weighed in with thirteen cases on the calendar. And, by golly, except for the two which I will do tomorrow there has been no case left untouched. Not that there has not been high drama which did not involve me. I went back to the courtroom once to get an order signed and found myself listening to a case so full of drama, so overladen with lust and obsession, so utterly…Jerry Springerish!…that I was almost overcome by a compulsion to shave my head, don a t-shirt and stand between the parties, ready to do my duty as a bouncer. Sometimes I can only stand, jaw dropping, as I listen to what people are doing. Not, I suppose, that I haven’t done silly things, but for Pete’s sake — what were they thinking? Even now, two days later, parts of the exchange are seared in my memory:
“I told you to leave me alone, but you sent me forty text messages. I was terrified!”
“Oh yeah! Then why did you come to my house that night just wearing saran wrap?”
“It was to shut you up, that’s why! Believe me, I didn’t want to…”
Anyway, back to the question. How do the two versions of the Ten Commandments differ? Of course, they vary a bit in language and what not, but here is the interesting one. The commandment against covetousness, as set forth in Exodus 20:17, says that you shall not covet your neighbor’s house, followed by his wife and then assorted stragglers. At the end of Moses’ life, during his sermon set out in Deuteronomy 5:21, the order is changed and the wife is now in first place, followed by the house.
Father Bachofsky, lecturing at my seminary class, suggested in passing that the reversal had something to do with the changing status of women. I wrote that in my notes, but I now know that the true explanation is simpler. Moses dropped in on family court one day, and the experience, seared in his memory, caused the change.
At least that’s what I think.
Anyway, tomorrow, I will discover the answer to the question we are all asking: what could be more romantic than hiding under your ex-girlfriend’s porch overnight with an ipod, a dozen roses and a machete? I’ll be sure to let you know, but I’ll tip you off that it is the Defendant’s argument that it melts a girl’s heart everytime.
There has lately been an undercurrent of breast beating and brow furrowing among some Orthodox — bloggers in particular — about the Church and the state of Orthodoxy in general. Part of this is a form of buyer’s remorse, a sense of shock that the Church is populated by ordinary people and that there is not a starets in front of every icon. Another part is in the realization that official estimates of the number of Orthodox in North America may be a bit on the high side, a phenomenon which suggests that inflating numbers is one of the few truly ecumenical activities. This double whammy of reality can be overwhelming for some. The wedding night is over, and in the morning light the aghast husband notices for the first time that the bride has on no make up. It wounds him to have to accept the realization that he did not marry into the perfection he thought he saw. Gazing upon her smiling face, he knows only one thing: this isn’t his fault. Someone must pay!
Unfortunately, some react to this epiphany of real life by blaming the Church, suggesting that they were misled. If Orthodoxy is as wonderful as it was made to appear, the thinking seems to go, then why aren’t millions flooding into the doors? Why is this bishop (allegedly) goofy and that one (allegedly) a drunk? Why is the OCA in such agony? Why isn’t it perfect? And is Orthodoxy actually declining in North America?
We need some context. We need to put our fears and misgivings into perspective. In particular, we need to consider three things:
First, all of us in Orthodoxy start from a common perspective: that this is the Church established by Christ, against which the gates of Hell will not prevail. History suggests that Christ was not just whistling Dixie. Arians, Muslims, communists, miscellaneous people of ill intent have all done their best to shut down the Church, without lasting success. As far as threats within the Church, it might be noted that even Jesus had an embezzler in His inner circle.
Second, something we do not often think about. By the time of the conversion of the Emperor Constantine in 312 AD, it is estimated that the percentage of the population in the Roman Empire that was Christian ranged from three to perhaps as high as ten percent. Once Constantine legitimized Christianity, as it were, the number of professing Christians rose enormously, proportionally with the social and business advantages of joining the Church. Less than a hundred years later, St. John Chrysostom would lament that “in vain do we stand at the altar with the chalice” for no one came forward to partake.
This should give us pause. Maybe absolute numbers are not now and never have been an appropriate criteria for measuring success in the Church. Do not misunderstand: I am not suggesting any form of predestination or other such doctrine. I am suggesting, however, that the number of people who are willing to take up their cross and embrace all that Christianity is will always be limited. That practical truth in no way dimishes our duties toward others, either to evangelize or to serve. But we need to keep a reasonable perspective on the situation. This is not a race, nor is it a competition for market share. The Orthodox Church should not be a part of the marketplace. It should simply be, a beacon of pure dogma and faith in an increasingly diluted and polluted world.
As a ‘for instance’, consider Christianity in general in North America. Because we live in a society where the Faith has become a commodity, subject to market forces, we get caught up in the notion that static or declining absolute numbers means we are losing the race. But what percentage of modern Christians in North America, of whatever tradition, are really motivated by business or social reasons? By a search for entertainment? By habits of culture or family tradition? Those are not simply Orthodox concerns. A clear eyed examination of any Southern Baptist congregation will reveal similar patterns and problems, and in the modern church as entertainment the proportions will be simply overwhelming.
In a sense, the remnant has always been with us. In ancient Israel, the pattern of half hearted religion was present from the very beginning. As heirs of old Israel, why do we presume to be different, to be better, to be a more spiritual people? If the Israelites failed to fully embrace the Law and the Prophets, why are we surprised that so few of us fully embrace the Cross?
Having said that, the Church has much to do in regard to evangelization and outreach. She is crippled by lack of resources and vocations, but she is fully aware of the challenges. My own dream, for example, would be to see tentmaker priests flood the hinterlands. I drive over 100 miles to my parish, and I am fortunate to not only be motivated to do so, but to have the economic wherewithal to keep it up. An awful lot of people who may be attracted to the faith would not be in a position to do that. Yet if there was a priest in my town, quietly serving vespers and Liturgy, I have no doubt that in five years or so he would have a reasonable little parish of at least 60 to 70 souls. Which, given the local population, works out to about three percent of the population, a number oddly similar to pre-Constantine numbers.
Thankfully, I am not a bishop. As a group, however, I have no doubt that our bishops are working at spreading the faith as quickly and thoroughly as they can.
Third, and finally, this is what this comes down to: if we spend less time being critical of the Church, and more time working out our own salvation, we would see others come to the Church. The famous words of St. Seraphim, that if we acquire the Holy Spirit thousands around us will be saved, have sadly been mocked by some of the naysayers. Perhaps we will never be the equal of St. Seraphim, who did save thousands, but even if we are just Seraphim-wannabees, we may find that we save a few.
There are towns where the inhabitants, from dawn to eve, feast their eyes on the tricks of unnumerable conjurors. They are never tired of hearing dissolute songs which cause much impurity to spring up in their souls, and they are often called happy, because they neglect the cares of business and trades useful to life, and pass the time, which is assigned to them on this earth, in idleness and pleasure. They do not know that a theater full of impure sights is, for those who sit there, a common school of vice; that these melodious and meretricious songs insinuate themselves into men’s souls, and all who hear them, eager to imitate the notes of harpers and pipers, are filled with filthiness. Some others, who are wild after horses, think they are backing horses in their dreams; they harness their chariots, change their drivers, and even in sleep are not free from the folly of the day.
St. Basil the Great, The Hexaemeron, Homily IV.1
In related news, Brittany Spears was seen today…
It had been my intention to more or less report on the Sobor as it happened, but with proceedings wrapping up later on today, I plainly have failed pretty miserably at that. Oh, I’ve had a great time — the services are beautiful, the workshops were edifying, the business sessions were serious but conducted in an atmosphere of love and good humor. Its just that anyone who thought they could keep up with things by reading this blog has been sorely disappointed.
Well…shucks.
But I can sum it up for you, or at least let someone else do it. Last night at our banquet Archbishop Demetrios came to talk to us. He talked about the treasure that is Orthodoxy, and about the treasure that is our Bishop, Metropolitan Nicholas. Then he paused and looked out at us, and noted the substantial number of children working hard at being on their best behavior, and said that he liked to come visit us, because we did not run the diocese like stockbrokers or business people, but like a family. And as I sat there and listened to him, and looked at the people around me, all I could think of was “He’s right”.
Heaven knows I’m not Carpatho-Russian. I’m WASO — white, anglo-saxon Orthodox. Nor am I the only one here in Greenwich who is not Carpatho-Russian. There are lots of converts, of numerous ethnicities and races, all of us sitting comfortably here at ACROD. The diocese is comfortable in its own skin, so to speak, and when other people come along, they easily say “come on in…pull up a chair.” They are enormously warm and welcoming, and at the end of the day, they teach us to be Orthodox, to be a part of Christ’s Church. I can’t say enough about our diocese and the people in it. I say that knowing that all of Orthodoxy is welcoming, and I’m not suggesting that any other jurisdiction is hostile to new people. But what I am saying is that I have very much come to love the people here, sons and daughters of Carpatho Rus. I will confess though that I think they have fun getting used to me. Last night I sat next to a very nice lady from Pittsburgh. We had a good time talking. When it ended though and we said good night, she said “And by the way, I love your accent!”, and walked away full of mirth.
Oh well. We wrap things up later today and I’ll head back to Atlanta. Then I’ll embed myself back at home.
I’m in Greenwich, Connecticut, for the next few days for the Sobor of the American Carpatho Russian Orthodox Diocese. We hold these every three years, and I am attending as a representative of my parish. This is the first Sobor I have attended, so I don’t really have anything to compare it to, but it has been an interesting experience. Today was very busy, but some parts of it stand out.
First, the problems being suffered by the OCA have produced great concern about finances generally. It resulted in a number of worried questions earlier today. I expect that the same kind of phenomenon has been or will be seen at sobors or conferences of every Orthodox jurisdiction in North America. Fortunately, our diocese has had a long standing policy of having audits performed by independent outside auditors. Indeed, this last audit was selected as a test audit to be examined in a peer review of the auditor. As our Chancellor put it, we received two audits for the price of one. In any case, the diocese has always received a clean financial bill of health. I was told that in years past there had been suggestions, sometimes pointed, that the diocese dispense with the expense of independent audits, but our Bishop, much to his credit, refused to ever consider the idea.
Second, it was gratifying to hear about the efforts of the diocese in regard to missions. Our diocese is small, with 75 regular parishes and just under 10,000 parishioners. Still, they have an additional ten missions up and operating, not only in the northeast but in the midwest, Canada and especially in the southeast. My own parish is one of those missions. For such a small diocese, that is an impressive level of mission activity.
Still, at the end of a long day, the most abiding impression is one of love. This is an opportunity to see people we haven’t seen in a while and renew old friendships. Most particularly, it is a demonstration of the deep and genuine affection we have for our bishop, Metropolitan Nicholas. This is a very striking thing. Even when he chides us, as every bishop must do from time to time, the faithful never lose their love for him. I am ignorant about other bishops — I know none other than my own — but I am deeply happy to be under the Metropolitan.
Tomorrow promises to be more of the same, but in the meantime, here is a helpful hint for people who have never been in Greenwich. Do not, under any circumstances, pronounce it Greenwich. That will earn you scorn and derision. Instead, mumble it, like this: Grenich. Practice that, and you will be much happier with your visit to what is really a very lovely place.
You don’t believe me? Footage of the exciting match is here!
Ancient Church 