In Memorium: September 11, 2001

On September 11, 2001 my wife and I were living in Redding, CA.

That morning as I was getting ready to start my day, my phone rang and one of my parishioners, Chris Pearson, was on the other end. He told me to turn on the news because a plane had just crashed into the Twin Towers. I turned on the t.v. just in time to see the second plane crash.

I had a psychology class to teach that Thursday morning so, after calling my wife who was at a conference in San Diego to make sure she was alright (because all air travel was canceled, she would have to stay there for several days), I went off to the college.

As I recall, people were understandably upset, angry and confused. Mostly though folks were scared. The president of the college canceled classes for the day but asked the faculty to go to our classrooms and lecture halls to be there for the students.

Like the faculty and staff, many of my students were upset--some scared. But mostly they were angry. A number of students had seen early news reports from the Middle East. In the video they saw people dancing in the streets and firing guns into the air to celebrate the attack on the U.S.

At this point it wasn't clear who had launched the attack--the reports of the attack on the Pentagon and the crash of Flight 93 were just coming in--but some of the students (correctly it turned out) blamed Islamic terrorists. For my own part, I urged caution in the lack of evidence and reminded the students that the Oklahoma bombing had been perpetrated by an American.

In all my years of teaching this was the first, and only, time students dropped my class after the first week. I lost a fair number of students that week.

After class I again called my wife in San Diego to see how she was doing. While scared, she and her colleagues were safe (for those who aren't aware, San Diego has a number of military bases that might very well have been targets had this been the start of a conventional war).

Over the next few hours and days, I kept a lonely vigil in my church. I said Trisagion services for those who lost their lives in the attacks and asked God to bring peace.

While the events of that day were horrible, we later learned that they were less horrible then we all initially feared.

Again and again on that day people asked me what I thought about what we were hearing on the news. And every time I said the same thing, I have no frame of reference for this many deaths (the early reports put the death toll at over 5,000) killed in this way.

It happened that on 9/11 I was in the process of writing an essay for the local newspaper the following week (though it ended up not appearing until October 6th). Looking back on what I wrote, I am less then impressed with my attempts at being even handed, it feels now to me like well-intentioned, but nevertheless an inappropriate example of moral equivalence.

Mechanically, the essay is also unimpressive; my syntax isn't very good, my analysis and argument are weak. I'm not really sure what, if anything, was the point I was trying to make beyond the fact that now that war had come to us we need to pursue justice, but avoid revenge. How that was to be done is totally absent from the piece.

My essay ended in this way:

I think that war in some form or another is now tragically unavoidable. As is best in our character as Americans, we have chosen not to allow the forces of chaos, violence and terror to prevail. To combat evil we have chosen to place ourselves between the terrorists and their future victims. We ought not to debase the sacrifice that many of us will make with warmongering cries for a justice untempered with mercy. If we wish to be a Christian nation, "let us seek peace and pursue it" (Psalm 34:14); let us temper our desire for justice with mercy, "For judgment is without mercy to the one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment" (James 2:13); and let us find it within ourselves to forgive our enemies, as Christ forgave us even as we crucified him (see Luke 23:34).

To be honest, I'm not sure if what I wrote, I wrote out of conviction or duty. Probably it was some combination. Do I believe now what I wrote then? Yes, but I hope I could say it better and with a bit more humility or at least less pretense.

Thinking about the events of 9/11 and how they have subsequent unfolded, I am frankly divided about the morality and prudence of the whole range of responses, American, European, Middle Eastern; Republican and Democratic; Christian, Muslim, Jewish and secular.

I think the best response to this, and possibly any, war is offered to us by Abraham Lincoln at the conclusion of his Second Inaugural Address (Saturday, March 4, 1865)

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

May God grant eternal memory to all who have lost their lives in this, and all, wars.

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory

★If Simpsons Was Star Wars★

Just for fun!

+FrG

Love Makes It Easy: Sunday after Holy Cross (Mark 8:34-38; 9:1)

Sunday after Holy Cross
The Reading is from Mark 8:34-38; 9:1

The Lord said: "If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel's will save it. For what does it profit a man, to gain the whole world and forfeit his life? For what can a man give in return for his life? For whoever is ashamed of me and my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him will the Son of man also be ashamed, when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels." And he said to them, "Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the kingdom of God come with power."


Just to the left of my computer, at the corner of my desk, is a small, wooden three bar cross--what sometimes in called (erroneously) a Russian Cross. I have had this cross for 20 years--it is a cheaply made cross, in fact I have to glue it back together every year or so, but I love it.

Above my desk is another cross--in fact it is twin of the one in the upper left corner of this post. It was a gift from my friend Fr Michael and his wife Annette when I was ordained to the priesthood. Above the wall cross is the icon Extreme Humility, one of the first icons I every bought.

It is surprisingly easy to own these reminders of the Cross of our Lord, God and Savior Jesus Christ. More difficult is the task of actually picking up the Cross when it comes to me in the ebb and flow of my daily life.

Some Christians, hearing the command to pick up their cross and follow Jesus Christ, simply don't, they simply reject their cross.

Others having picked it up, glory in their suffering. But they never quite seem to get around to following Christ.

In the first case, people are frightened by the enormity of the task. In one of his homilies St Augustine tells these people:

How hard and painful does this appear! The Lord has required that "whoever will come after him must deny himself." But what He commands is neither hard nor painful when He Himself helps us in such a way so that the very thing He requires may be accomplished. . . . For whatever seems hard in what is enjoined, love makes easy.

Not just to modern ears do Augustine's words sound odd. How can it be easy to bear our cross--after all if it is easy it can't be a cross, right?

Terullian offers us an explanation. He writes that the Cross is simply "your own anxieties and our your sufferings in your own body, which is itself shaped in a way already like a cross." The cross then is already with us--it is an inescapable part of simply being alive. In this light, picking up the cross means learning to bear with our anxieties and sufferings in such a way that we not only remain faithful to Christ, but draw nearer to Him.

So, the first person, the person who does not want to pick up his cross, is the person who flees from responsibility for his own life. Not picking up the cross means escaping into a fantasy world in which I some how manage to convince myself that I am exempt from the ordinary anxieties and suffering that the rest of the human race has to bear.

But what about the second person--the one who does willingly, even hurriedly, picks up his cross, but doesn't follow Christ?

This second group turn the Gospel into something confused and unhealthy, a spiritual and theological justification or apology for their own sadomasochistic tendencies. For these people, the whole point of the Gospel is suffering--they forget that, well, let me again borrow from St Augustine:

This precept by which we are enjoined to lose our life does not mean a person should kill himself, which would be an unforgivable crime, but it does mean that one should kill that in oneself which is unduly attached to the earthly, which makes one take inordinate pleasure in this present life to the neglect of the life to come. This is the meaning of "shall hate this life" and "shall lose it." Embedded in the same admonition he speaks openly of the profit of gaining one's life when He says: "He that loses his life in this world shall find it unto eternal life.

Augustine writes this well before the Reformation, much less the Puritan movement or stereotypical sober Calvinists, or Janesists, or phlegmatic 19th century monastic obsessed Russians (I mention these simply to be fair). From very early on, Christians have been tempted to avoid following Jesus Christ.

In some cases we don't want the Cross--in other cases we don't want the reward. But in both cases, we reveal ourselves as ashamed of Christ and the Gospel. "Does he think himself a Christian who is either ashamed or fears to be a Christian?" St Cyprian asks. And then he asks again: "How can he be with Christ who either blushes or fears to belong to Christ?"

While the actions are different for the two classes I mentioned above, I think Cyprian's questions reveal their common foundation: Shame and fear. In my own life at least, I see how one is the source of the other: Shame breeds fear, and fear breeds shame. Not a very profound insight on my part I admit, but, well there it is anyway.

Christ comes to free us from, among other things, a life of fear and shame. Ironically, it is these very two things which not only bind us, but also keep us from accepting Christ's liberating and healing grace. As I think about this struggle, I remember the spirited conversation between Chrys and Sherry in the combo box to Saturday's post about my participation in an upcoming Called and Gifted workshop.

I think that they are both right in what they affirm.

Chrys alluded to the importance of asceticism, and by this he meant the unapologetically physical asceticism that is so honored and loved, albeit in the breach, by the Christian East. This means not only fasting and abstinence (the former of which is sadly neglected among the Orthodox), but also almsgiving and a life of prayer that is physically demanding (which means we actually have to be in church on time and not cut the services, but that's another post). Asceticism in this sense is essential to helping us overcome shame and fear.

But there is another kind of asceticism, or maybe another dimension of asceticism that Sherry alludes to (and which Tertullian would also value). It requires a real, ascetical, effort both to discern, and then remain faithful, to our unique vocations. In his treatise on the priesthood, St John Chrysostom (I don't have the exact quote off hand so I must paraphrase) says that it doesn't matter much to the life of the Church if a priest doesn't fast or keep vigil, as long as he treats all people equally. In other words, the key for Chrysostom to a health Church is that we remain faithful to our vocation.

I think that one reason for the division we see not only between Catholics and Orthodox, but also within these two Churches, is the lack of a clear commitment--and who knows even awareness--of our respective communal vocation. But, I digress.

We ought not to oppose these different kinds of asceticisms--they are all part and parcel of picking up the Cross and following Christ. I know in my own spiritual life, asceticism as Chrys alludes to it has strengthened (to borrow from Sherry) my vocational commitment as a husband and priest. Likewise, as I grow in my understanding of what it means to follow Christ as a married priest, I have a greater appreciation for asceticism that I would have not so long ago dismissed as "monastic" (which is like saying "He's throws like a girl," all it does disparage one by disparaging the other).

The Gospel reading for this coming Sunday, and the commentaries offered by the Fathers on the text, challenge us all to deepen our commitment to the Most Holy Trinity. At heart of this commitment is our own willingness, even our eagerness, to take up our own cross and to willingly integrate in to our lives the different dimensions of asceticism that our cross brings us. Failing this, well, the Cross becomes just another pretty bit of "Christian" art--but when that happens we rob ourselves and others of the power oft the Cross of Christ to save us.

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory

The Humility of the Everyday

This morning I served Orthros & Liturgy at St Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral in Pittsburgh, PA. I have a rather soft spot in my heart for the Cathedral community--I was ordained to the holy priesthood there on their feast day (St Nicholas, 6 December) in, well, let's just say awhile ago and the dean (Fr Sarantos Serviou) community has always been very welcoming to both my wife Mary and I. In addition for the 18 months before we left Pittsburgh, St Nicholas was also the home of the OCF group I served as chaplain. The students and I would meet on Wednesday morning at 7am for Divine Liturgy and Thursday evenings at 7.30pm for Vespers and Bible study. During Great Lent, since we don't celebrate the Divine Liturgy on weekdays, the students would come on Friday mornings (again at 7.00am!!) for Liturgy of the Pre-Sanctified Gifts (Vesper and Holy Communion).

So all in all, St Nicholas Cathedral has played a significant role in my ministry as an Orthodox priest and i am looking forward to spending the next few weeks with them while Fr Serviou is on vacation in Greece.

As I was driving in to Pittsburgh this morning from Youngstown, I was listening America Public Media's radio program Speaking of Faith. The guest on this mornings program was Conservative rabbi Sharon Brous, who spoke about (according to the program's web site) "the world and meaning of the approaching Jewish High Holy Days — from the new year of Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur's rituals of atonement — a span of ten days known as the Days of Awe."

My guess is that Rabbi Brous and I would disagree on, oh any number of things. But what we would agree on was her profound insight that--amidst the "big story" of salvation history--we ought not lose sight of the many "little stories" that come in between the big, life changing events that we tend to remember.

So while it is import for Christian, in my own case, to remain always faithful to Christ, the quality of my fidelity is questionable if, for example, I can't treat the people I meet on a daily basis with respect and courtesy. This is precisely the point that the Apostle John makes in his epistle (1 Jn 4):

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. He who does not love does not know God, for God is love. In this the love of God was manifested toward us, that God has sent His only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through Him. In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another (7-11).

To love as the Apostle suggests requires from us repentance. While there are many different forms that repentance can take, I suggest in the sermon a way to foster repentance in our hearts.

Earlier this week I was reading the letters of Elder Joseph the Hesychast (Monastic Wisdom). In one of his letters he writes about the importance of self-knowledge in the spiritual life. But in the process, he says something that I found not only profound, but beautiful. He asks rhetorically:

Who has conquered the devil? He who knows his own weaknesses, passions, and shortcomings. Whoever is afraid of knowing himself remains far from knowledge, and he doesn't love anything except seeing faults in others and judging them. He doesn't see gifts in other people, but only shortcomings. And he doesn't see his own shortcomings, but only his gifts. This is truly the sickness that plagues us . . . : we fail to recognize one another's gifts. One person may lack many things, but many people together have everything. What one person lacks, another person has. If we acknowledge this, we would have a great deal of humility, because God, Who adorned men in many ways (p. 50).

With the Elder's words in mind, I suggested to people that, if they wished to be transformed by Christ, if they wished to be freed from the jealousy, anxiety and petty angers that often consume us, then the place to start is thanking God for the good things they see in the lives of others. This, I think, leads us naturally to loving other people as God loves them, and eventually wears down the hard outer shell that sin places around our hearts.

To return to the rabbi's observation: This thankfulness of what God has given my neighbor, my friend, my co-worker, my spouse or family member, is best done by paying attention to the "little stories" that make up our lives.

Will this be sufficient to transform the human heart? I don't know, but it is a good start, after all, how many marriage really break up over big things? It seems to me that, the big things that undermine a marriage are really just the aggregate of little things over time.

And it this is what I think I appreciate most about St Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral, they are most people who attend to the "little things" in human life. It is there, in the rather ordinary bits and pieces that make up everyday life that they demonstrate their faith in Jesus Christ.

It is this, the humility of the everyday, that I think most pleases Christ.

Well, speaking of humility of the everyday, it is my turn to cook dinner.

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory

Called & Gifted Workshop

Next Friday & Saturday (14-15 September), together with my college roommate Fr Michael Butler and some of his parishioners for St Innocent Orthodox Church (OCA), I'll be attend the Called & Gifted Workshop at St Rose of Lima Catholic Church in Perrysburg, OH. What is this about you ask?

Well, let me let the folks at the Catherine of Siena Institute (who are actually leading the event) describe it for you:

Called & Gifted

Every lay man and woman has been called by Christ (in his or her baptism) to a unique mission, and every lay man and woman has been gifted by the Holy Spirit in order to be able to answer that call. The Church calls these gifts of the Holy Spirit which Christians are given for the sake of others "charisms". Discerning our charisms is an important first step to discerning God's call. These gifts of the Holy Spirit are both clues as to the nature of the mission for which God is preparing us and tools with which to successfully carry out our mission. Those who take the Called & Gifted Workshop have a chance to take the Catholic Spiritual Gifts Inventory, the first gifts inventory designed especially for Catholics. They will also have the chance to begin discerning their charisms. At a Called & Gifted Workshop, you will learn:
* The role of every Catholic and of the local parish in the mission of the Church to the world.
* The critical role of charisms in the life and service of other lay Catholics and in the life of the parish or Christian community.
* The signs and characteristics of 24 common charisms.
* How discerning and using your charisms can change your life and the life of others, your parish, and the world.

I am intrigued by both the content of the workshop AND its potential application for the work of the Orthodox Church.

Having served now for a number of years in the Orthodox Church, I am struck by how many talented people we have and how few people seem to realize what gifts God has given them. Often I find myself looking at the work of authors outside the Orthodox Church, for example Henri Nouwen, to help me "jump start" the spiritual lives of Orthodox Christians.

If the struggle of Evangelical Christianity is what to do with people once they commit themselves to Christ, for Orthodox Christians (and I dare say Roman Catholics as well), the challenge is how do I get people to commit themselves to Christ?

The question of commitment I think is much broader then simply repentance. Repentance is the almost natural fruit of life experience. But to transform "I feel bad about my life and need to change" into, "I know that, though I am a sinner Christ has called me to a unique and personal commitment to Him and to His Body the Church" is the real challenge.

So many of us understand we are sinners--or at least that there is something rather seriously amiss in our lives. Raising that awareness into the experience of God's mercy and bring that awareness to fruition as a commitment to Christ and His Church is where I think this workshop will be of great value for me.

But, for now I ask your prayers for all of us who will be participating in the Called & Gifted Workshop.

In Chris,

+Fr Gregory

Re-Paganizing the West?

Peter Leithart, a professor of theology and literature at New Saint Andrews College, the pastor of Trinity Reformed Church in Moscow, Idaho and a regular contributor to my favorite journal First Things makes on that publication's blog an interesting argument: For Christianity to again succeed in the West, we must help the culture rediscover its deep pagan roots.

He begins his essay by wondering if Christianity's very success hasn't been in a certain sense its own undoing. After all, he wonders, how can we hope to say anything of value about the sacrifice of Christ and our freedom of from the Law to contemporary men and women in Europe and North America "who have never worried about ritual contagion or the danger of contracting impurity from table companions? Does the Letter to the Hebrews resonate with people who have never seen a sacrifice, much less performed one? Can the New Testament speak to people who have lost all sympathy for primal religion?"

Looking further afield, he points out that in Africa, Christianity is growing fastest where the "primal religions" of Africa are most firmly rooted:

It's a truism among African theologians that the Church has grown most rapidly where traditional African religions are strongest. According to Ghanaian theologian Kwame Bediako, this is no accident but highlights the "special relationship" that African "primal religions" have with Christianity. Like primal African religion, Christianity displays a strong sense of human finitude and sin, believes in a spiritual world that interacts with the human world, teaches the reality of life after death, and cultivates the sacramental sense that physical objects are carriers of spiritual power. Christianity catches on there because it gives names to the realities they already know and experience.

There is much Leihart says that we can learn from the experience of our brothers and sisters in the Southern Hemisphere. "If Christianity is most successful among traditional religions," he wonders along, "perhaps the Church has to reinvent primal religion before the West can be restored to Christ."

This reinventing of primal religion in the West doesn't mean that the Church should foster paganism. "Re-paganizing the West" he argues "means working out the implications of the French sociologist Bruno Latour's assertion: We have never been modern."

To understand this, Christians must first cultivate "a healthy skepticism toward secularization theories." As part of this skepticism, we must be willing to shaping our pastoral action according to "the premise that, for all our pretense of sophistication, the West has never entirely escaped the impulses and habits of primitive culture," and in our culture's departure from the Gospel, we are increasingly "reverting" to our pagan past.

Following Latour's lead, Leithart articulates the ways in which, for our all our technical gains (and indeed, in many cases precisely because of them), the world remains as "enchanted" or as I prefer to think of it, as "gods-drenched" as it ever was. Reconceptualizing contemporary Western culture requires from us that we recognize, and name "the continuities between pagan and modern habits and learning to call them by their traditional names." How do we do this? Well, for example, "If a rock concert looks, smells, and sounds like a bacchanal, why not call it that, with all the religious overtones that go with the name? If the rock star elicits frenzy, why not call him a shaman?"

As if the continued presence of the bacchanalia were not sufficiently dark, the darker, and bloodier, aspects of our pagan past are also with us:

The work of René Girard provides a model. He demonstrates how Stalinist show trials, the Dreyfus affair, and the Shoah, the Armenian holocaust, the Gulag, and the Terror, all exhibit scapegoat mechanisms reminiscent of Oedipus Rex and the Scandinavian myth of Baldr. Because of the impact of Christianity, moderns can never quite put their hearts into scapegoating the way ancients did, but the vestiges of the ancient system show through. Girard has helped to move the concerns of Leviticus and the Letter to the Hebrews back to the center of theological and cultural discussion, and in so doing has unmasked the underlying primitivism of modernity.

Beyond my intellectual interest, Leithart's argument resonants deeply with not only my pastoral experience in ever so post-modern northern California and the Pacific Northwest, but also in Orthodox parishes and with students on college campuses in western Pennsylvania.

In all of these environments, for all there real and substantive differences, I encountered a solid core of paganism. Not only is scapegoating practiced (especially among those Orthodox Christians who strongly identified with Greek and Russian cultures and work to enforce it through shame-based social discourse), but promiscuity, self-mutilation and drunkenness and drug use are also all common. And overlaying all of this is a sense of despair and resignation (people will often say to me: "What is, is") that comes with a world view that is (paradoxically) both chaotic and static, without boundaries and socially stratified.

The alternative to being a Christian is not simply being "spiritual" or even a "good person," but a pagan in the full bodied sense of the word. A world without Christ, is devoid of God, but we would do well to remember that such a world is not devoid of gods. And these gods are angry and vengeful.

Reflecting on Leihart's essay and my own experience, I begin to realize how badly the Church has misunderstood her pastoral situation here in the West. Our's is a culture that has been slowly slipping back into paganism., into the worship of the angry, vengeful elder gods not onf modern fiction, but our pre-Christian past.

Yes, as Leihart points out, we are "surrounded by the spiritual lethargy that accompanies a surfeit of wealth and aimless ease." And yes, the Church is faced with "a general accedia" that has infected not only our secular neighbors who adhere to "a sometimes jaded, sometimes gleeful, post-Christianity" but also an increasing numbers of nominal Christian. Yes, there is hope, "The Church has triumphed over paganism before. But never before has she confronted a sophisticated civilization haunted by Christ."

Our conversations--and I mean here specifically Orthodox Christians, though I think the observation is probably applicable more broadly--about Church history, liturgy, sacraments, morality, have their place to be sure. But the real pastoral challenge is anthropological. We have forgotten how to be human in a Christian way. Our Christian understanding of how to be human has been infected by the same nominalism that we criticize in our Roman Catholic, Protestant and Evangelical Christian brothers and sisters.

If I am right, and I invite your comments, we have forgotten how to be human Christianly. In place of a Christian humanism and anthropology, we have the bits and pieces of the Great Tradition divorced from any organic attachment to each other. The holism, the catholicity, of Christian anthropology is for many at best fading memory. For the vast majority of Christians, including our pastoral leaders, it is simply unknown.

In its place, there is the divisive, differential anthropology of empirical science as popularized by psychologist and sociologists (I'll address this tomorrow).

It isn't so much that we have lost our way as it is that we have lost ourselves--or maybe, we have lost the knack of using the Great Christian Tradition as the means of coming to know ourselves. As a stop gap, we appeal to empirical science, but slowly (at least for now) we are slipping into paganism. In time, that slide will become a headlong rush (even as it has become already for some). Recapturing the anthropological vision of the Christian tradition, and placing it at the service of self-knowledge and humanity's growth in Christ, is central to revitalizing the evangelical and pastoral life of the Church of Christ.

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory

A Catholic Personality?

Yesterday I mentioned that contemporary visions of the human person are typically drawn from the findings of the social, human and natural sciences. Sociology, psychology, as well as biology, genetics, neurology and physiology, are the contemporary anthropological touchstones. While I would certainly argue for the invaluable contribution of the empirical sciences to our understanding of what it means to be human, it is important that we avoid what Pope Benedict XVI has referred to as the tyranny of relativism that is often justified by appealing to empirical science.

The moral relativism that often accompanies empirical science is not intrinsic to its work. Relativism enters into the conversation when we assume the scientific method as a sufficient mean of knowing reality.

But empirical sciences works fundamentally by excluding those aspects of reality that do not lend themselves to quantification. In other words, scientists are concerned with reality insofar as it can be represented in numbers—scientists study those aspects of reality that can be measured.

In a rare sense we are all of us better off for the willingness of scientists to narrow their focus. By intentionally not looking at some aspects of reality in favor of concentrating on others, humanity has made extraordinary advances in almost all areas of life. Even the fact of this blog is the result of the methodological blindness of science. And speaking for myself, I certainly do not wish to return to premodern methods of farming or health care.

When we turn from natural phenomenon to the human person however, we discover that much of what is most distinctive and valuable about the human is precisely those aspects that cannot be measured and which cannot be excluded without sacrificing the very humanity of the subject. No where is this seen more clearly then in psychology.

There is a fairly well delineated body of research in the philosophy of science as well as from critical & theoretical psychology (where I tend to hang my hat) that argues that psychological diagnostics are inherently concerned with making moral distinctions. So, for example, we treat depression because, well, we ought not to be depressed or (if you prefer) we ought to be happy. Beyond that though, when a clinician makes a diagnosis he is also making an ethical decision that the person’s symptoms or complaints (or the complaints of others about the client) are more important than his other behaviors or thoughts about himself.

In other words, clinical work tends to see some behaviors/thought as a truer expression of the person than others—in effect, I am my symptoms.

The problem with this is many sided—not least among these is that modern psychological diagnosis is differential. Dependent as it is upon an empirical method that is both quantitative and reductionistic, psychology proceeds by looking at smaller and smaller aspects of the person. For this reason, psychology/psychiatry tends not to look at the person holistically (i.e., in a catholic manner).

To see how this might be a problem, let's look at the example of substance abuse and recovery.

One of my professors, Adrian van Kaam, argued that substance abuse or addicition is a form of pseudo-spirituality or pseudo-religion—basically the substance or behavior is a false god. While abstaining from the substance or behavior is certainly a good thing, it is not the best thing. Not worshiping a false god is not the same as worshiping rightly the One True God.

If as Christians our concern is developing a catholic personality, of coming to wholeness of being, then addictive behavior is only one aspect of the personality that must in someway be integrated into an ever larger vision of ourself and the world in which we live, work and love.

This integration, it seems to me, is in part what we are striving for in our ascetical life—how can we purify our passions, our desires, so that they serve the person rather than define the person. The temptation in the recovery movement is that it reduces the question of the passions (and in particular addictive passions) to either merely a concern for physical or social or moral health. But, while not wishing to minimize these concerns, these dimension don’t exhaust the meaning of the person.

Up until fairly recently, there was still some appreciation that human life moved naturally toward wholeness of being. So for example, up until very recently, substance abuse was understood under the rubrics of morality; what today we call addiction was simply drunkenness. The objection to drunkenness was not an objection to the consumption of alcohol itself, but its consumption to the point of at which the person was deprived of the use of reason and freedom. The moral prohibition against intoxication was not a rejection of pleasure, but represented an application of a general moral principle: We ought not do those things that make us less then we are (in the present case, the lose of reason and reason means we have deprived ourselves of what is distinctly human).

If for example in therapy we don’t talk about all the moral implications of substance abuse, or if we focus only on lesser, more narrowly and pragmatically oriented values, this is only a matter of compassionate prudence. The concrete needs and limits of the alcoholic or drug addiction are often such that he can’t have that broader conversation AND focus on his own maladaptive behavior.

BUT this doesn’t mean he should have that conversation with someone. There is good empirical evidence suggests that therapy, and this includes recovery, is most successful with those clients who have access to a broader context of social and moral meaning within which to integrate the insights they obtain from therapy or their recovery program. The success of Alcoholics Anonymous reflects just this need for human beings to acknowledge that their behavior is never merely private but is rather part of a larger arena of moral and social concern.

I think we go wrong when we fail to realize that human life is always embedded within a world of moral values. In other words, the question of drunkenness, or if one prefers substance abuse (and for that matter recovery) is one needs to be framed in terms of the development/formation of a catholic (whole) personality.

When we fail to keep in mind our question to develop a catholic personality aspects of our personality are taken as if they where the whole of who we are. And so, for example a person’s addictive behavior becomes to be determinative of how they (and others) understand themselves (“I’m an addict in recovery”) rather than as only one aspect of the person ("I struggle with the sin of drunkenness").

Again, it is important to bear in the distinction between what is practically necessary for a short period of time with a person in relative crisis, with what is a necessary and sufficient foundation of the whole of human life. St Gregory Nyssa tells us

The path, that leads human nature to heaven, is nothing more than separation from the evils of this world. … Becoming like God means becoming just, holy and good. … If therefore, according to Ecclesiastes (5:1), 'God is in heaven' and if, according to the prophet (Psalm 72:28) you 'belong to God,' it necessarily follows that you must be there where God is, from the moment that you are united to him. Because he has commanded that, when you pray, you call God Father, he tells you to become like your heavenly Father, with a life worthy of God, as the Lord commands us more explicitly in other passages, saying: "Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect!" (Matthew 5:48) ("De oratione dominica" 2: PG 44,1145ac).

To be human to ascend, to always move towards heaven and, in so doing, live a life that is every more able to embrace all that human. As part of this, there is the ability to integrate, to heal and forgive, even those aspects of the human personality that have become pathological because of their dis-location within from their proper place in human life.

With this life of increasing transcendence and integration is precisely what we are striving for in our ascetical disciplines. The ascetical life, grounded in the sacraments, is the work of gradually helping us integrate the disparate elements of our life so that the image of God is evermore clearly revealed in our own life. This integration in turn makes it possible for us recognize evermore clearly the face of Christ in our neighbor.

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory

Sunday before Holy Cross: John 3:13-17

Sunday before Holy Cross

The Lord said, "No one has ascended into heaven but he who descended from heaven, the Son of man. And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God sent the Son into the world, not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him." (Jn 3:13-17)

People (and not simply non-Christians, but even many Christians) will point out that it is wrong for Christians to judge, because, "Jesus didn't judge anyone." The proponents of this position find something of an ally in St John Chrysostom. In one of his homilies of the Gospel of St John, Chrysostom reflects on the "two advents of Christ, one past, the other to come." The first coming of Jesus Christ he says "was not to judge but to pardon us." It is for this reason that Jesus says of Himself, "I have not come to judge the world but to save it" (John 12:47) as Chrysostom points out. Jesus comes to pardon us our sins "because He is merciful" and this mercy reflects what St John describes as "the unspeakable surplus" of God's "loving kindness" toward humanity.

But if Jesus first advent is for pardon not judgment, it is good to remember that his second coming "will not be to pardon but to judge us" in Chrysostom's view. It is only when I am "careless" and inclined toward "using the loving kindness of God to increase the magnitude" of my sin that I neglect this second coming with the excuse that well, "God forgives all our sins."

Certainly God forgives me. The problem isn't whether or not God forgives, but whether or not I will accept forgiveness, whether or not I will accept reconciliation with God. St Augustine in his Tractates (Lectures) on the Gospel of John reminds us that, yes, Christ is the Physician of our souls and that "He has come to heal the sick." But at the same time, grace requires from us our cooperation and "Whoever does not observe" the Physician's "orders destroys himself." He puts the point sharply:

Thou wilt not be saved by Him; thou shalt be judged of thyself. And why do I say, "shall be judged"? See what He says: "He that believeth on Him is not judged, but he that believeth not." What dost thou expect He is going to say, but "is judged"? "Already," saith He, "has been judged." The judgment has not yet appeared, but already it has taken place. For the Lord knoweth them that are His: He knows who are persevering for the crown, and who for the flame; knows the wheat on His threshing-floor, and knows the chaff; knows the good corn, and knows the tares. He that believeth not is already judged. Why judged? "Because he has not believed in the name of the only-begotten Son of God."

Chrysostom reflecting on this point says that by this promised judgment Jesus means one of two things.

He either means that disbelief itself is a punishment of the impenitent [since], . . . is to be without [the divine] light [necessary to live happily]. . . . Or he is announcing beforehand what is to be. Even if a murderer is not yet sentenced by the judge, still his crime has already condemned him. In the same way, he who does not believe is dead, even as Adam, on the day he ate of the tree died.

The very curious thing about being a sinner, is that I seem to prefer the misery of my making to the God's gift of happiness. A the beginning of Paradise Lost, John Milton summarized the psychology of sin in the words he puts in Satan's mouth after his rebellion against God:

Farewel happy Fields
Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrours, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell
Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by Place or Time.
The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less then hee
Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n (Book I:250-263).

It is on the Cross Jesus unites in His own flesh pardon and judgment and, by so doing, undoes our knotted freedom that has twisted back on itself over and over again until we no longer recognize happiness.

By suffering the Cross, Jesus pardons us, but at the cost of bearing the penalty of our sinfulness. He does this willingly suffering the fruit of our malice toward God and our subsequent self-hatred. Like the victim of drunk drive or a murder victim, Jesus accepts the effect of our sinfulness.

And by doing this, He also passes judgment on us--He demonstrates the depth to which sinful human beings, you, me and those we love, will sink given half a chance. In Genesis, when God brings to light Adam's transgression, Adam turns to God and says, "The woman you gave me, gave me to eat." When confronted with his sinfulness, Adam shifts the blame first to the Woman and then to God. Adam holds God responsible for his sinfulness and the Cross is simply the final result of humanity refusing responsibility for our own moral failings.

The judgment of the Cross, like the pardon that also comes by way of the Cross, is not such much the passing of a sentence or a judicial writ, as it is a revelation. On the Cross it is the light of God's love and mercy, His never ending willingness to forgive that illumines the dark terror of human sinfulness. Pardon and judgment will always travel together, even if in our experience they seem be different moments in salvation history.

When we resist judging their neighbors we do well, but not so much because we ought not judge, but because we are incapable of holding together in our own flesh judgment with pardon. But, if we cannot hold pardon and judgment together, then we have taken from ourselves the ability to forgive as well since pardon and judgment always travel together.

Pardon and judgment, forgiveness and moral evaluation, can never be purely formal matters--the Cross has made that clear. We cannot forgive unless we judge, but we cannot judge unless we also extend forgiveness. And neither can be done except that we are willing, in imitation of Christ, we are willing to sacrifice our own good for the good of the other.

It is St Ireneaus I think who said it was fitting for Christ to die on a Cross since it is only that way that a man dies with arms out stretched suspended between heaven and earth. With one hand, and here I am re-working Ireneaus some what, Jesus offers us pardon, and with the other judgment, so that heaven and earth can be re-united in His flesh. And this flesh is beaten and broken, scared and pierced, not because we are sinful (though we are), but because God's love for us is always personal, always sacrificial. To borrow from St Paul God's

Love is patient, love . . . kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. [God's] Love never fails (1 Cor 13. 4-8, NIV).

And when God's judgment comes

prophecies, . . . will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. ( vv. 8-12)

We oppose pardon and judgment because we know only in part, and so pardon and judgment seem in conflict to us because we are in our spiritual infancy, we are still children who need to grow up, we are still imperfect waiting (hopefully anyway) for perfection to come.

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory


http://tinyurl.com/hh7p4

New Link

I added a new link to my Worth A Look section: Alice C. Linsley's Just Genesis. Alice is a convert to Orthodoxy (her Orthodox name is Jandy, "the Arabic name of the little Hermitess Photini," her patron).

Just Genesis is Alice's online exploration of the book of Genesis and is well worth a look.

Welcome Jandy!

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory

P.S., Owning to pastoral obligations, I have not had a chance to write since Friday--God willing I will catch up tomorrow.

+FrG

It Is Our Limits That Make Us Free

In a most interesting review of Chris Frith new book Making up the Mind: How the Brain Creates our Mental World, on sp!ked-online.com Stuart Derbyshire a senior lecturer in psychology at the University of Birmingham, England, and director of pain research at the Birmingham University Imaging Centre offers us an overview of how contemporary neuroscientist are thinking about the relationship between the brain and the mind, or, if you prefer, the relationship between human brain structure and free will.

Derbyshire makes a number of interesting points in his review. Chief among them is his criticism of neuroscientists to think of free will as epiphenomenal, or "the view that mental events are caused by physical events in the brain, but have no effects upon any physical events."

I think the most salient for any consideration of spirituality and spiritual formation is his observation of the necessary, and indeed, constitutive, relationship between human limitations and human freedom. In effect he argues, as the title of this post puts it, it is our limits, those things that constrains us, that make freedom possible.

Derbyshire though says it better than I do. He writes:

The negotiation of constraint and indeterminacy is not substantive; it cannot be located in parts of the brain, boiled down and recorded on a graph. That negotiation is an active, lived process and free will is possible because of the uniquely human ability to interrogate nature. Early human mentality would have resided in the ability to put oneself into a relationship with the environment so as to call out specific stimuli such as food or warmth. Importantly, this is no longer a relationship that is dictated by anatomy or evolutionary instinct, but rather is one that is, minimally at first, breaking free from the pre-ordained possibilities provided by evolutionary history. This new relationship to the character of things calls upon a sentience that is inside the organism, but the entire process is not a purely mental product that can be located in the brain. This early mentality is that relationship of the organism to stimuli in the environment that are set free by exploration to address specific biological needs. Within that relationship, constrained by circumstance, constrained by the biological imperatives of survival and reproduction, and constrained by historical development, freedom and agency begin. This is quite different from the engagement with stimuli driven by programmed behaviours and fully constrained by anatomical limitations. For early humans, there is a transformation from stimulus-response behaviour to inquiry.

The fundamental mistake that . . . – and this is a common error – is to believe that agency or free will are products only of the human brain. The brain is necessary but it is not sufficient, and chasing agency into the brain will only yield disappointment or, in this case, a sense that agency is illusory. If agency is not merely a product of ordinary brains, then it follows that abnormal brains might not be the whole or only answer when there are psychiatric problems and delusions of agency such as in schizophrenia.

While a provocative argument to contemporary men and women--for whom the adolescent quest for freedom from all limitations and a consequent unlimited mode self expression is the ideal--this is a not a new thought for classical forms of spirituality. Rather, Derbyshire offers an anthropological observation that is unmistakably compatible with the biblical view of the human:

Jesus said to His disciples,

"Whoever desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake and the gospel's will save it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul? For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him the Son of Man also will be ashamed when He comes in the glory of His Father with the holy angels." (Mark 8. 34-36)

St Paul makes a similar point, but (since he is Paul after all) more pointedly:

What then? Shall we sin because we are not under law but under grace? Certainly not! Do you not know that to whom you present yourselves slaves to obey, you are that one's slaves whom you obey, whether of sin leading to death, or of obedience leading to righteousness? But God be thanked that though you were slaves of sin, yet you obeyed from the heart that form of doctrine to which you were delivered. And having been set free from sin, you became slaves of righteousness. I speak in human terms because of the weakness of your flesh. For just as you presented your members as slaves of uncleanness, and of lawlessness leading to more lawlessness, so now present your members as slaves of righteousness for holiness. For when you were slaves of sin, you were free in regard to righteousness. What fruit did you have then in the things of which you are now ashamed? For the end of those things is death. But now having been set free from sin, and having become slaves of God, you have your fruit to holiness, and the end, everlasting life. For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord (Rm 12.15-23).

One of the great values for our spiritual life spiritual life of asceticism is the very practical ways in which asceticism, and by this I especially mean the whole range of fasting and abstinence practices as well as the Christian tradition emphasis on sexual purity, is that it introduces us to our limits.

While there are times when asceticism brings about an encounter with our limits in a dramatic or forceful way (for example the classical practice of abstaining from food and drink from midnight until after the reception of Holy Communion), asceticism's real value is found in its long term practice. Slowly, naturally, week in and week out, month after month, and over the course of years, asceticism traces out my physical and psychological limits.

For example, through my commitment to keeping the various fasts, I learn not only how little food, drink and sleep I need, but also how much. Almsgiving and tithing teaches me not only to give gladly, but wisely, teaching me to take into account not only the needs of others, but also my own. And in obedience, I learn (almost always painfully) how attached not only I am to my own will, but curiously enough, to the will of other human beings who approval I crave or whose disapproval I fear. In all of this I learn that, whatever might be the case in the moment, ultimately my obedience is owned not to any human being but to God and God alone.

In asceticism, I learn that the encounter of my limitations is not negative, not so much a failure, but an invitation to an even greater share in God's nature and a further realization of my own freedom in Christ. St Gregory Nyssa, of whom I am increasing enamored, expresses the point better than I, so allow me to allow him the last word is summary:

Thus though the new grace we may obtain is greater than what we had before, it does not put a limit on our final goal; rather, for those who are rising in perfection, the limit of the good that is attained becomes the beginning of the discovery of higher goods. Thus they never stop rising, moving from one new beginning to the next, and the beginning of ever greater graces is never limited of itself For the desire of those who thus rise never rests in what they can already understand; but by an ever greater and greater desire, the soul keeps rising constantly to another that lies ahead, and thus it makes its way through ever higher regions towards the Transcendent.

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory

We Simply Need Each Other

Fr. John Zuhlsdorf of the most delightful blog, What Does The Prayer Really Say? (WDTPRS), offers us his comments and translation of a recent interview of Patriarch Alexis II of Moscow and all the Russias (photo at right). Fr. John begins by observing that

At various times in my articles in The Wanderer, during talks and on this blog I have opined that if we are serious about an authentic ecumenical dialogue, we have to get our liturgical act together: "What must the Orthodox think when they see how we Latins conduct ourselves liturgically?" At the same time, the solemn Mass in the older use of the Roman Rite is as grand as anything the Easterners do.

He continues by reporting favorably that "the Orthodox Patriarch of Moscow and all the Russias, Alexis II, looks with favor on Pope Benedict's Motu Proprio Summorum Pontificum and the derestriction of the older form of Mass. He also speaks clearly about his view of relations with the Holy See." The interview was given after His Holiness had finished celebrating the Divine Liturgy for the Dormition of Mary (15/28 August).

Here is what Fr John's translation of what he (rightly I think) identifies as "some of the significant points" from the interview of the Patriarch by Andrea Tornielli in the Italian language periodical of Il Giornale:

"The recovery and valuing of the ancient liturgical tradition is a fact that we greet positively. We hold very strongly to tradition. Without faithfully guarding the liturgical tradition, the Russian Orthodox Church would not have been in a position to resist during the period of persecution, in the 20's and 30's in the 1900's. In that time we had many new martyrs, whose number can be compared to the epoch of the first Christian martyrs."

Holiness, how do you see the relationship between Rome and Moscow right now?

"It seems that Pope Benedict XVI has repeated may times that he desires to work in favor of dialogue and collaboration with the Orthodox Churches. This is positive."

For years already there has been talk of the possibility of a meeting between you and the Pope. Do you think this is possible? When?

"A meeting between the Pope and Patriarch of Moscow must be well prepared and absolutely ought not risk a reduction to a photo opportunity or to walk around together in front of television cameras. It must be a meeting which truly helps firm up the relations between the two Churches…".

You speak of it as if it were rather remote hypothesis. Why?

"Unfortunately today there are still some Catholic missionary bishops who consider Russia as missionary territory. But Russia, Holy Russia has already been enlightened with a centuries old faith which, thanks be to God, was preserved and passed on in the Orthodox Church, and is not missionary territory for the Catholic Church. This is the first point about which it is necessary that problems be clarified and smoothed in view of a meeting with the Pope. The other problem concerns 'uniatism'."

Why do the uniate communities, those which maintaining the Eastern Rite and Eastern tradition reentered in full communion with Rome, are regarded as a problem?

"The phenomenon of uniatism is troublesome because we see this tendency also in regions where it never was before, for example in the Eastern Ukraine, Belorussia, Kazakhstan and in Russia herself. When these problems are dealt with and resolved then a meeting between the Pope and Patriarch of Moscow can be considered. Then it will truly have its proper meaning."

Reading the interview, and more to the point the statements made by some in the comment section, I am struck again of the importance of a certain, necessary inward turn, as the first step toward the reconciliation of the Orthodox and Catholic Churches.

Paradoxically, it is when we are at the center of our respective traditions that we will be able to recognize each other as brothers and sisters in Christ.

The reason for this is profoundly anthropological: Tradition is always a response to the poverty of the human person and our need to be part of a larger community. Our appreciative obedience to tradition reflects our personal awareness of our own poverty and dependence upon others for even the very fact of our life, or what philosophers call "contingency."

Moving beyond the empirical to the more properly theological, tradition is not simply anthropological but also soteriological. According to the Orthodox theologian Vladimir Lossky the tradition of the Church, is the voice and work of the Holy Spirit from generation to generation. Among other things this means that what the Orthodox call Holy Tradition is nothing more or less than the prophetic voice of the Holy Spirit as it works in human history to deepen humanity's communion with the Holy Trinity and, as a result, with itself.

The inward turn that I spoke of as the basis of ecumenism, is the process by which we discover within ourselves the point at which, in our lives, the richness and abundance of God's mercy responds to the poverty of human sinfulness and divinizes the human person. In other words, "spiritual ecumenicism" grows out of our own, personal awareness, of how God's redemption of humanity in Christ is worked out in our own lives.

As I come to understand how God is "saving me" I can begin to recognize how He is also saving all humanity, and (more to the point) the person in front of me. It is this latter recognition which is the basis and goal of grassroots ecumenicism.

In contrast to this is the preference many have (as seen in the combo box of WDTPRS and any number of internet newsgroups) for theological polemics. As I've said before, these theological arguments are pointless since, invariably, the people who make them don't have the authority to resolve the issues at hand. More often then not such arguments merely harden the attitude of each party relative to the other. Frankly even if I'm on the right side of the question, what does it matter if I walk away with even less charity in heart for my neighbor then I had at the beginning of the argument?

And why do I do this? I am really that insecure that I need to prove the error of another person to really feel good about myself?

Patriarch Alexii's words, reflects an appreciation and support, for the insights and richness of the Roman Church. And Fr John's publishing these comments reflect a similar appreciation for the insights and richness of the tradition of the Orthodox Church.

It seems to me that, at a minimum, we need to bring the same spirit of appreciation and support to our own conversations with one another, both when we speak to Christians in other traditions, but also when we speak with members of our own Church, to say nothing of the members of our parishes and families.

In the final analysis, what trips me up is simply my own unwillingness to be human since this requires from me an acknowledgment of my dependence not only on God and the Fathers of the Church, but also on, well, the person right in front of me.


In Christ,

+Fr Gregory

AUG 29: THE BEHEADING OF ST JOHN THE BAPTIST

BEHEADING OF THE PROPHET, FORERUNNER OF THE LORD,
JOHN THE BAPTIST

Troparion of St John the Baptist Tone 2

The memory of the just is celebrated with hymns of praise/ but the Lord's testimony is enough for thee, O Forerunner,/ for thou wast shown to be more wonderful than the Prophets/ since thou wast granted to baptize in the running waters / Him Whom thou didst proclaim./ Then having endured great suffering for the Truth,/ Thou didst rejoice to bring, even to those in hell/ the good tidings that God Who had appeared in the flesh/ takes away the sin of the world/ and grants us the great mercy.

From the Synaxarion (from Thomas (Michael) Purcell's wonderful program Menologion 3.0): The Beheading of the Prophet, ForeRunner of the Lord, John the Baptist: The Evangelists Matthew (Mt. 14: 1-12) and Mark (Mk. 6: 14-29) provide accounts about the Martyr's end of John the Baptist in the year 32 after the Birth of Christ.

Following the Baptism of the Lord, Saint John the Baptist was locked up in prison by Herod Antipas, holding one-fourth the rule of the Holy Land as governor of Galilee. (After the death of king Herod the Great, the Romans divided the territory of Palestine into four parts, and into each part put a governor. Herod Antipas received from the emperor Augustus the rule of Galilee). The prophet of God John openly denounced Herod for having left his lawful wife -- the daughter of the Arabian king Aretas, and then instead co-habiting with Herodias, -- the wife of his brother Philip (Lk. 3: 19-20). On his birthday, Herod made a feast for dignitaries, the elders and a thousand chief citizens. The daughter of Herod, Salome, danced before the guests and charmed Herod. In gratitude to the girl he swore to give her anything, whatsoever she would ask, anything up to half his kingdom. The vile girl on the advice of her wicked mother Herodias asked, that she be given at once the head of John the Baptist on a plate. Herod became apprehensive, for he feared the wrath of God for the murder of a prophet, whom earlier he had heeded. He feared also the people, who loved the holy ForeRunner. But because of the guests and his careless oath, he gave orders to cut off the head of Saint John and to give it to Salome. By tradition, the mouth of the dead head of the preacher of repentance once more opened and proclaimed: "Herod, thou ought not to have the wife of Philip thy brother". Salome took the plate with the head of Saint John and gave it to her mother. The frenzied Herodias repeatedly stabbed the tongue of the prophet with a needle and buried his holy head in a unclean place. But the pious Joanna, wife of Herod's steward Chuza, buried the head of John the Baptist in an earthen vessel on the Mount of Olives, where Herod was possessor of a parcel of land (the Uncovering of the Venerable Head is celebrated 24 February). The holy body of John the Baptist was taken that night by his disciples and buried at Sebasteia, there where the wicked deed had been done. After the murder of Saint John the Baptist, Herod continued to govern for a certain while. Pontius Pilate, governor of Judea, later sent to him the bound Jesus Christ, over Whom he made mockery (Lk. 23: 7-12).

The judgement of God came upon Herod, Herodias and Salome, even during their earthly life. Salome, crossing the River Sikoris in winter, fell through the ice. The ice gave way for her such that her body was in the water, but her head trapped beneathe the ice. It was similar to how she once had danced with her feet upon the ground, but now flailing helplessly in the icy water. Thus she was trapped until that time when the sharp ice cut through her neck. The corpse was not found, but they brought the head to Herod and Herodias, as once they had brought them the head of Saint John the Baptist. The Arab king Aretas in revenge for the disrespect shown his daughter made war against Herod. Having suffered defeat, Herod suffered the wrath of the Roman emperor Caius Caligua (37-41) and was exiled with Herodias first to Gaul, and then to Spain. And there they were from view.

In memory of the Beheading of Saint John the Baptist, the feastday established by the Church is also a strict day of fast, -- as an expression of the grief of Christians at the violent death of the saint. On this day the Church makes remembrance of soldiers, killed on the field of battle, as established in 1769 at the time of a war of Russia with the Turks and the Poles.

Terrorism & the Just War Tradition

MSNBC has an online interview with Retired Vice Admiral John Scott Redd, the head of the National Counterterrorism Center, in which he says (among other things) that Western intelligence officials "have very strong indicators that Al Qaeda is planning to attack the West." He said in response to the following question:

Earlier this summer, there was talk that people were picking up chatter that reminded them of the summer before 9/11. The Germans basically said this is like pre-9/11. They said, "We are very worried." What do you make of this?
We have very strong indicators that Al Qaeda is planning to attack the West and is likely to [try to] attack, and we are pretty sure about that. We know some of the precursors from—

Attack Europe?
Well, they would like to come West, and they would like to come as far West as they can. What we don't know is…if it's going to be Mark Hosenball [ed., the interviewer], and he's coming in on Flight 727 out of Karachi, he's stopping in Frankfurt, and he's coming on through with his European Union passport, and he's coming into New York, and he's going to do something. I mean, we don't have that kind of tactical detail. What we do have, though, is a couple of threads that indicate, you know, some very tactical stuff, and that's what—you know, that's what you're seeing bits and pieces of, and I really can't go much more into it.

Right now the United States find itself in the midst of a war with at least some members of Islam. And anyone who has heard me speak in the past on related subjects knows that I am not a pacifist. Indeed I have on occasion argued forcibly that while I certainly have the right to accept death for my convictions, I do not have the right to not act if the cost my decision is paid by another with their life or safety. All this is to say that, unlike I think a good number of my fellow Orthodox clergy, I do embrace the just war tradition.

The current political conflict is one that I suspect was not envisioned by the early proponents of the just war theory. If I may borrow from Chesterton, in the current conflict the difference among Christians is not in the "things [we] will call evils" but we "differ enormously about what evils [we] will call excusable."

My own extended family was one in which many of especially my grandparents generation were sympathetic to the aims and means of the Irish Republican Army. Or, if you prefer, I grew up hearing terrorist praised for their actions. No one would came out and said it was a good thing that an innocent civilian got killed in a car bombing. But there was a willingness to excuse the consequence of the attack as part of the greater good of a free Ireland.

A just war, a limited war of defense in response to overt attack for example, is difficult when the aggressors are terrorist for whom no one is exempt and indeed civilian targets are very preferred. Again as I saw in my own family, terrorism breeds in those who make use of it, and indeed in those who support it, a blood lust that very quickly justifies, or at least excuses, all sorts of evils.

It is at the same time, tempting in response to terrorism to give oneself over to all manner of ills in the interest of protecting one's homeland. I find the use of the phrase "homeland" to be an most unfortunate choice one to use for the United States since we are a people united not by blood and soil, but by an ideal. I fear that in much of what is our justified response to Islamic terrorism the phrase homeland might very well foster in a certain forgetfulness of those ideals--even as a "free Ireland" caused many of my now deceased family members to become forgetful of their Catholic faith.

Somewhere in our long history, Christians have forgotten what it was that Christ has saved us from. We have reduced sin to a mere moral infraction--somehow we can't seem to realize that the bloody events of the 20th century fascism and communism (to take but two examples) are the fruits of what it is that we have been saved from, our own worse selves that slowly causes us to give ourselves over, by baby steps, to evil.

The desert fathers tell us to be very cautious in fighting the demons. Their concern was motivated not by any lack of faith in Jesus Christ--but by a sober anthropology. The fathers understood that when we fight demons--whether of spirit or flesh and blood--it is all to easy to become a demon ourselves. If that happens, then the demons in a rather frightful parody Christ, are victorious in defeat, even as we are defeated in victory.

"The greatest sin is this," T.S. Elliot's Thomas Becket says towards the end of Murder in the Cathedral, "to do the right thing for the wrong reasons." Whether our politics are secular or ecclesiastical, doing the right thing for the wrong reason is I think always the great temptation.

I cannot help but think that both on the world stage and in the Church, events are such that, now more than ever, we need to examine not only our actions, but also our intentions.

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory

In Christ,

14th SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST: Matthew 22:1-14

I meant to post this yesterday, but I slept rather poorly Sunday night and was just too tired. Ah well, here's yesterday's post--hopefully I get a second one out later today.

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory

The Scripture Readings for Sunday, September 2, 2007: Matthew 22:1-14 Today's commemorated feasts and saints... 14th SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST - Tone 5. Martyr Mamas of Caesarea in Cappadocia, and his parents Martyrs Theodotus and Rufina (3rd c.). St. John the Faster, Patriarch of Constantinople (595). Ven. Anthony and Theodosius of the Kiev Caves (10th -11th c.). 3,618 Martyrs who suffered at Nicomedia (3rd-4th c.). The "KALUGA" Icon of the Most Holy Theotokos (1748).

Not without merit, it seems that the best evidence against the truth of the Gospel is the lives of Christians. Having spent the last 10+ years as a priest serving missions and as an interim pastor, I have come to see not only the best of what there is among Orthodox Christians, but also, I almost said, especially, the worst.

It amazes me, for example, that people can be so attached to their vision of how a parish is supposed to be, that they would rather see a community fail rather than change (forgetting for a moment as St Gregory Nyssa reminds us, the ability to change--and change often--is what makes it possible for human beings to become like the God Who changes not).

In my conversations with people--not only those aren't Orthodox Christians, but with those who have fallen away from the Church--the character of those who profess to be Orthodox Christians is without a doubt the single biggest complaint about the Church. "We have met the enemy," the comic strip character Pogo says, "and he is us."

The fact of the matter is, it often it is the behavior Christians that makes it the Gospel hard to believe. And this is not an unreasonable response, after all Jesus tells us:

"You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt loses its flavor, how shall it be seasoned? It is then good for nothing but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot by men. "You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven." (Mt 5.13-16)

And, in another place, he says to us who are the light of the world, that our office carries with it great responsibility:

"Whoever receives one little child like this in My name receives Me. Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to sin, it would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were drowned in the depth of the sea. Woe to the world because of offenses! For offenses must come, but woe to that man by whom the offense comes!" (Mt 18:5-7)

So close is the relationship between the validity of the preaching of the Gospel and the character of Christians that the Apostle Paul goes so far as to say of his own spiritual children:

Do we begin again to commend ourselves? Or do we need, as some others, epistles of commendation to you or letters of commendation from you? You are our epistle written in our hearts, known and read by all men; clearly you are an epistle of Christ, ministered by us, written not with ink but by the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of flesh, that is, of the heart (2 Cor 3:1-3).

And yet, so often, we are ourselves rather poorly written letters for the very faith we will often profess with such fervor. To be very direct about it, the longer I am a priest, the more I come to appreciate Paul's comment that "we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellence of the power may be of God and not of us" (2 Cor 4.7).

Listening to the music, seeing the beauty of icons and vestments, that in fact the Church is filled with sinners. And not simply sinners in the sense that we are all sinners and "fall short of the glory of God" (Rms 2.23). Rather, there are in the Church men and women, and yes sometimes every clergy and bishops, who are sinners in the stronger sense to the word: Those who have not in fact repented and look to the Gospel not for salvation, but only for their own self-aggrandizement.

And, in a sense, this is in fact as God intends the Church to be.

St Gregory the Great in his homily on the parable of the wedding feast tells his listeners:

The character of those at the banquet reveals clearly that the king's marriage feast represents the Church of this time, in which the bad are present along with the good. The Church is a thorough mix of various offspring. It brings them all to faith but does not lead them all to the liberty of spiritual grace successfully by changes in their lives, since sin prevents it.

This is the state of affairs in the Church I think for two reasons--one the one hand, who else would Christ call into the Church but sinners? If, as St Gregory implies, God calls sinful humanity into the Church to heal us of our sins and to make us free, then we ought to expect at least a certain number of, well, failures in the mix of people.

But, and this is the second reason, the division between repentant and unrepentant sinners is a line that runs right through the center of the human heart, through my heart. St Gregory's words about the Church are also applicable to my own heart:

As long as we are living in this world we have to proceed along the road mixed together. We shall be separated when we reach our goal. Only the good are in heaven, and only the bad are in hell. This life is situated between heaven and hell. It goes on in the middle, so to speak, and takes in the citizens of both parts.

Not only the human family, but each human heart--and by this I again mean my own heart--is situated between heaven and hell. Or maybe more accurately, my heart contains within itself both heaven and hell being itself a citizen of both realms.

In our catechesis and preaching about the Church we need to be very careful that we not deny that the Church is a hospital for sinners. But we also need to be careful that, the acknowledgment that we are sinners is not an excuse to tolerate.

It is actually reported that there is sexual immorality among you, and such sexual immorality as is not even named[a] among the Gentiles—that a man has his father's wife! And you are puffed up, and have not rather mourned, that he who has done this deed might be taken away from among you. For I indeed, as absent in body but present in spirit, have already judged (as though I were present) him who has so done this deed (1 Cor 5:1-3).

The shortcomings of Christians, especially my own, should fill us as Paul says with grief. We certainly should not respond with indifference, much less any attempt to offer a justification since "After all, we're all sinners."

When we do this, when we fail to take seriously the shortcomings of those of us who have been called to the wedding feast of the King, we overlook the end of the parable:

But when the king came in to see the guests, he saw a man there who did not have on a wedding garment. So he said to him, 'Friend, how did you come in here without a wedding garment?' And he was speechless. Then the king said to the servants, 'Bind him hand and foot, take him away, and cast him into outer darkness; there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.' For many are called, but few are chosen (vv. 11-14).

St Gregory sees in the guest without a wedding garment a figure of the baptized Christian who comes to the Church without love in his heart. While such a person "may have faith" his lack of love shows that he rejects the example of Christ Who makes manifest God's love for us. For this reason Gregory warns his listeners:

[Since] you have already come into the house of the marriage feast, our holy Church, as a result of God's generosity, be careful my friends, lest when the King enters he find fault with some aspect of your heart's clothing. . . . We are correct when we say that love is the wedding garment because this is what our Creator himself possessed when he came to the marriage feast to join the Church to Himself.

I will be the first to admit that sometime the hardest place to hold on to those three things that last, faith, hope and love, is in the Church. One of the hardest Gospel truths to accept is that the Church is simply the world on the road to the Kingdom of God.

And it is so hard is it to believe this that we simply allow this reality to fade from our awareness. But when we do, we find ourselves either falling into a triumphalism that denies any problems in the Church (and ultimately, in myself) OR a despair that causes me to withdraw spiritually and psychologically and, eventually, physically, from the Church. But, in either case, my actions cede victory not only to the Enemy of souls, and leave my neighbor, and me, trapped in the very sinfulness that I find so offensive and faith destroying.

When I turn my back on the Church, I refuse from the Great King the wedding garment He offers me--I refuse to enter into my Lord's joy. Yes, there are sinners in the Church, but no, not all sinners are equal. To say otherwise is an offense against the Gospel.

But when I am confronted by the truth of sinful Christians, I need to find in myself the courage, the strength and fortitude, to say nothing of wisdom, prudence and charity, to respond effectively in the face of human failure. I have to avoid equivocation, but also harshness.

Speaking simply for myself, I have learned that I need to listen very carefully to precisely those areas where my faith is most challenged, and even damaged, by the misdeeds of Christians. Again in my experience at least, it is precisely in those areas where faith proves weakest in me that I have discovered God's invitation to me to take on new forms of ministry and to a experience new depth of faith.

So we should let ourselves be appalled, hurt, disappointed, angry, doubting--we ought not to deny any of this. But we also shouldn't stop there, but rather by God's grace and by our own efforts, we should push on and through the darkness that falls upon us and there, in the darkest moments of our experience, we will find Christ as the light Who shines in the darkness.

What trips us up in the Church is not so much that there are sinners in the Church, but our unwillingness to work to heal the wounds that sin inflict upon us and others. I give up too easily, I am too willing to let the unrepentant among us drive me away or keep me quiet.

But when this happens, then haven't I simply cast off the wedding garment of the King?

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory

Sometimes I Really Miss Texas, part 2: The Astro Nun

This is a wee bit long, but it is very sweet and worth the time.

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory

Enduring the Cross: Reflects on Preaching

This morning I served Orthros and Liturgy at Kimisis Tis Theotokou (Dormition of the Theotokos) Greek Orthodox Church in Aliquippa, PA in the absence of the vacationing pastor Fr Christopher Bender. While I often prepare the basic themes of my sermon earlier in the week, I am often struck--as I was this morning--of the importance of the congregation and their response in the final content of the sermon.

Much Orthodox preaching makes use of a very formal rhetorical style that seems to be modeled on 19th century translations of patristic works. While there are any number of problems with this style of preaching, I think a central problem is that it is a way of preaching that obscures the person of the preacher.

Whether the sermon is long or brief, it is usually the only opportunity that most of the congregation has to get any insight not only into the Gospel as a living reality, but also the character of their pastor. Sometimes I will listen to a sermon and be struck by how anyone could have preached the same sermon. The sermon is so formal or abstract that I have no sense that the preacher is preaching to me.

In these cases the sermon, no matter how rhetorically polished or theological sound, remains a dead word; there is no sense that the sermon is an act of living speech between preacher and congregation. What makes the sermon alive is that it is, or should be anyway, uttered under the inspiration and authority of the Holy Spirit. The sermon is not simply a lecture, but a prophetic utterance and preachers needs to take seriously their prophetic office in the life of the congregation.

But a prophetic word must rise above the purely formal. To do this it will necessarily reveal not only something of God but also the preacher and the congregation. The preacher's own spiritual life and struggles are the material out of which the sermon is crafted. And the preacher's desire to change the hearts of his listeners--to draw then closer to Christ or to turn from sin--is also necessarily a personal work.

As I preach, I pray attention to the faces and reactions of my listeners. Are they understanding? Are the thinking about the sermon? Is there any connection between us as speaker and listener?

This style of preaching makes great demands not only of the preacher but also the congregation. A purely formal sermon that does not engage reveal the heart of the preacher, or seek to engage the heart of the listeners, is certainly easier and safer. But this kind of preaching will never change the heart of either the listener or the preacher.

None of this is to suggest that the sermon is about the preacher--far from it. But if the preacher does not communicate to his listeners that he knows from his own experience, his own struggles, his own failures and successes, that what he is saying is true, he commits a fraud against the congregation.

Henri Nouwen puts the matter this way:

In order to bring any kind of message to people there has to be a willingness to accept the message. This willingness means some desire to listen, some question that asks for an answer, or some general feeling of uncertainty needs clarification or understanding. But whenever an answer is given when there is no question, support is offered when there is no need, or an idea is given when there is no desire to know, the only possible effect can be irritation or plain indifference (Creative Ministry, p.25)

To avoid preaching the results in irritation, or worse indifference, Nouwen says that the preacher must "be willing to lay himself down and make his own suffering and his own hope available to others so that they too can find their own, often difficult way" (p. 40) But, he warns us,

Nobody can ever claim to be a real preacher in this sense. Only Christ could, since only He entered into full dialogue with those He loved by laying down His life in total availability. But out of all those who witnessed His death and saw blood and water come His pierced side, only a few were willing to cast off their indifference and irritation and come to the liberating insight" "In truth this was the Son of God." (Mt 27.54)

A purely formal style of preaching--whether or the part of the preacher or his listeners--will never bring us to saving faith. And in fact, this purely formal sermon contradicts the reality that "every time real preaching occurs the crucifixion is realized again" in the life of both the preacher and his listeners. For this reason, the preacher who hopes to bring his listeners closer to faith, cannot hope to do so except himself "having entered the darkness of the Cross." For this reason, Nouwen says, "let us hope that there always will be men to endure the hardship of preaching and lead their people through their own darkness to the Light of God."

In Christ,

+Fr Gregory