Learning to Speak

“Say that again…?”  So begins another conversation over lunch in the refectory, certain to last not less than a quarter of an hour.  After five months, you might think that the novelty of a foreign accent would wear off.  “Oatmeal day!” No, porridge actually.  “So you actually live in Downton Abbey, right?” What you really want to know is: upstairs or downstairs?  And it’s Downton, not Downtown.

In the quip commonly attributed to George Bernard Shaw, it is said that Americans and Brits are “two peoples divided by a common language.”  Whilst the division between us is not as sharp as it might be if we did indeed speak unrelated languages (say, Welsh and Japanese), the fact of my sharing a mother tongue with most of my colleagues here at the seminary does mask some of the real differences of culture, experience, and perspective which exist between subjects of the Crown and citizens of the United States in the 21^st century.

On the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, as I sat in an unconvincingly-appointed “typically British” restaurant in the departure lounge of London Heathrow’s Terminal 4, with a large plate of chips (= fries) and a gin and tonic for company, I pondered how my time at SVOTS would be.  What will the other seminarians be like?  How will it feel to make the transition from the diverse intellectual hot-house of Oxford to the more cohesive and prayerful environment of the seminary?  What will it be like living so close to one of the most exciting, most cosmopolitan cities in the world?  Will I be able to get a decent drop of Earl Grey in a china cup?

One thing I had not fully anticipated was a language barrier—but that there was.  The way we communicate—how we express ourselves idiomatically, what we take for granted as common experience, the particularities of our local dialect, even what we call things (“eggplant” = “aubergine”)—is a complex matter, which goes far beyond merely the sounds we make to one another.  In the few months I have been living “across the Pond,” as we like to say, I have learned much about conscious interpretation and contextualisation, considered clarity, and filtering colloquialisms, in order that we may speak without offense or confusion, building relationships founded on genuine understanding and integrity.

Whilst this has been an experience peculiar to me and my context (though one shared analogously by those other seminarians coming from further afield—Mexico, Bosnia, even Canada!), in some ways it is paradigmatic of the experience of all seminarians at SVOTS.  One of the ways in which I have come to understand our purpose here, as we learn what it is to love Jesus Christ above all things, and by extension, to love and serve his Church, is by likening it to mastering a language.  Of course, this is true in a literal sense: we may learn Greek and Hebrew, Slavonic or Arabic, and we learn to speak in the mode and within the matrix of academic theology.  But the language which is more important, indispensable in fact, is the language of the love of God.

As Orthodox Christians, we stand as the inheritors of the most profound tradition known (and unknown) to the world.  Yet it is not enough for us only to receive the truth of the Faith—we must also be missionaries, martyrs, and confessors, spreading the good news of salvation to the ends of the earth, passing on the truth of Jesus Christ to our descendants.  As we look around us at a world which, in so many ways, barely knows the Gospel, we must learn to speak anew the language of the Word made flesh, crucified and risen for us.  We are called to understand how to articulate and interpret that truth afresh, to engage our partners in dialogue in meaningful conversation, stripped of presumption and circumlocution and jargon.

I pray that, as we each walk the narrow path to salvation set before us, our conversations on the way may be truthful and so transformative, not only for those who join us on the journey but also for ourselves; and that the Holy Spirit may enliven us with the gift of Pentecost to speak the language of the love of Christ to those around us who are yet to confess him.

Icon of Christ in Three Hierarchs Chapel (Photo: Leanne Parrott Photography)

Gregory Tucker is a Master of Arts student at SVOTS. Raised in a village 25 miles east of London, England, he is a graduate of the University of Oxford, having studied at Keble College for his bachelor’s degree in theology and at St Stephen’s House for his master’s degree in Patristics. He came to Christianity as a teenager and was confirmed in the Church of England, and subsequently converted to Orthodoxy. Gregory is a frequent pilgrim to the Holy Land, a passionate foodie, and a devotee of the fine arts. After family and friends, he misses oblique conversation and unpasteurised dairy products most of all.

The Arvo Pärt Project: Why?

If you know the music of Arvo Pärt, chances are you like it. A lot. In fact, chances are, you connect with it on a very deep level, perhaps a “spiritual” one. But love him or not, the fact is that Arvo Pärt is the most widely performed living composer in the world today. He is a big deal.

He is also an Orthodox Christian, who draws on texts from the Eastern and Western Christian traditions for most of his music.

So it would make sense that St. Vladimir’s Seminary, whose vocation rests in making theology and spirituality something real in people’s lives, would be interested in exploring the connections between the cultural phenomenon of Arvo Pärt and his Orthodox Christian roots. One of the seminary’s latest and most potent tag-lines is “Engaging the world with Orthodox Christianity.” The seminary’s Arvo Pärt Project fits perfectly with that.

Doesn’t it?

I would think so. But we’ve heard some puzzlement about this endeavor. Here are two objections:

“The seminary needs to do more for the parishes, for the Church on the ground, rather than hobnob with the cultural elite. That isn’t going to reach our people.”

and

“What does this have to do with the seminary’s mission?”

In response to both of these, I’d say that the seminary’s mission impels it to operate on a lot of different levels at once, both internally and externally. We prepare clergy and lay ministry for the Church, in the parishes, on the ground. We train scholars. We train church musicians. We form our students into the life in Christ. As for the wider constituency, the seminary maintains a schedule of events that seeks to reach audiences from many walks of life and of diverse views. We host conferences, we perform choral music. In all of this, we are seeking to bring people into a deeper relationship with Jesus Christ, specifically through the tradition of the Orthodox Christian Church.

Dr. Peter Boutneff with Arvo and Nora Pärt

The Arvo Pärt project itself operates internally and externally. We have always had a music program that has emphasized beautiful Church singing. Through this project our students and the Church that they serve can see all the more that the Church is more than a cultural artifact, it is more than a typikon, it is more than academic theology. It is the locus of great beauty. It is a place where the best of culture can emanate from, and where it can come back to.

Furthermore, consider the missionary possibilities. Consider an audience of people of different faiths and of no faith, the “spiritual but not religious,” who are already won over by the music of Arvo Pärt. Here is an audience who would not be the slightest bit interested in hearing about Orthodox Christianity on its own, but who will give you its undivided attention if it comes to understanding what makes Arvo Pärt’s music so spiritually potent.

We are planning concerts at places like Carnegie Hall, and lectures in venues such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, places that don’t generally give Orthodox Christianity a close listening. These venues will be filled with audiences who will hear, sometimes for the first time, about our faith, which is also the faith of their beloved composer.

This project has such immense potential for our school, for “Engaging the world with Orthodox Christianity.” Still have doubts? Write us! But in any case we need your prayers and support to make it happen. And if you haven’t heard any music of Arvo Pärt, now’s the time to give him a listen.

Some links to explore:

• The Arvo Pärt Project website
• New York Times article

Dr. Peter Bouteneff (SVOTS ’90) teaches courses in theology, patristics, and spirituality at the St. Vladimir’s Seminary, where he is Associate Professor in Systematic Theology and Director of Institutional Assessment. After taking a degree in music in 1983 he lived and worked in Japan, and traveled widely in Asia and Greece. Together with Prof. Nicholas Reeves, he is co-directing the Arvo Pärt Project, an exciting collaboration with the great Estonian Orthodox composer. Tune in to his podcast on Ancient Faith Radio, Sweeter than Honey.

The Year of our Lord

By The Very Rev. Georges Florovsky, D.D.

Editorial from the St. Vladimir’s Seminary Quarterly, Winter 1952, Vol. 1, No. 2

That we begin our reckoning of time with Christ’s birth is a fact which has long been but a mere convention for many. Seldom does one recall and recognize the great event from which we count time. So do we betray our ignorance and insensitivity. In ancient days, time was computed from the Incarnation of God the Word. It signifies that we live in a world which has been renewed and redeemed already, that even now we live in the realm of grace and already reckon the years of the new creature. Time itself has been illumined by the light which the darkness cannot consume. In a new and higher sense God is with us from that mysterious day forward, from that mysterious night in Bethlehem. “God was manifest in the flesh.” (I Tim. 3: 16) Since then we worship God who came down from heaven.

Annunciation, end of the 12th century, St. Catherine’s Monastery, Mt. Sinai.

In the fullness of time God sent into the world his Son born of a woman. The Son of God became the Son of the Virgin. Here is the assurance and the beginning of salvation, the guarantee and source of eternal life. This is the reason for both, those on earth and those in heaven, to rejoice—the mystery of Godmanhood, the glory of the divine Incarnation. The kingdom of God then began and was truly revealed in history itself; in the meekness and humility of a simple life. The star of the eternal covenant stopped and shone over the cavern in Bethlehem. The humiliation of the cavern testifies that the kingdom then revealed is not of this world. Although it happened then, in the days of King Herod, in the city of Bethlehem, this “then” is, in the true sense of the word, an everlasting “now.” It was truly a beginning, the beginning of something new—of the Gospel history: It was then the New Covenant was revealed. The prophecies came true.

Virgin Kardiotissa, 1st half of the 15th century.

The divine descent is not only divine condescension, but at the same time it is the revelation of glory. Then was human nature healed through the ineffable divine assumption, and was reintroduced into communion with everlasting life. The action of grace reentered the world where it had been stopped by human sin. “Christ is born and earth and heaven are united: today God came down to earth, and man ascended into heaven.” From now on human nature is inseparably united with the Godhead in the indivisible unity of the hypostasis [=Person] of the Incarnate Word. Everything became new. Thus was accomplished the pre-eternal mystery and council of love divine. “He, who established the being of every creature, visible and invisible, by a sole act of will, before all ages and before the existence of the creaturely world, determined ineffably that He himself should truly become united with human nature in the true unity of his hypostasis [=Person], thus making man God through union with him.” So spoke St. Maximus the Confessor about the pre-eternal council of God. God creates the world and reveals himself in order to become a man in this world. Man is created in order that god may become man and it is by this union that man is deified. Or as St. Irenaeus of Lyons expressed it: “The Son of God became the Son of man in order that man would become the Son of God.” This purpose was realized in the mystery of Christ’s birth, when the foundation of the Church was already prefigured.

The Virgin of the Burning Bush, tempera and gold on wood, ca. 1598. The four corners illustrate the prophetic visions of Moses, Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Jacob. In the center is the Virgin of the Burning Bush; the Unburnt Bush is understood as a prefiguring of the virgin birth of Christ. The Theotokos gave birth to the Incarnate God without suffering harm, just as the bush was burnt without being consumed.

But the road from Bethlehem to Zion is long, and is leading us through Gethsemane and Golgotha. Already in Bethlehem the newborn Godchild is presented with funeral offerings by the Wise Men from the East. “Today God leads the Wise Men to worship through the star, prefiguring His three-day burial in gold, frankincense, and myrrh.” The very doors of the Bethlehem cavern are nearly stained with the innocent blood of the children who were killed for Christ’s sake. The way of the Cross is mysteriously foreshown. The Lord is born for this very hour of the Cross, “For this cause came I unto this hour.” (John 12:27) The Lord is born for death and crucifixion: “He had a body that he might take death upon himself.” So wrote St. Athanasius the Great. Through the voluntary passion and death is the Christmas joy transfigured into Resurrection joy. This is the second and higher victory of life. In the very birth of Christ the order of nature is potentially overcome. It is not so much that the natural birth is sanctified as that the higher is prefigured and revealed. “The tongue cannot tell the mystery of thy birth.”

The Tree of Jesse, Michael Damaskinos, ca. 16th century, St. Catherine’s Monastery, Mt. Sinai. The Theotokos is depicted with the Lord held in her arms, surrounded by the thirteen ancestors of Christ.

In the birth of Christ is revealed not only the glory of Godmanhood, but also the mystery of Godmotherhood. The Church testifies to the mystery of the Incarnation in very precise and vigorous terms, calling us to a responsible firmness and exactness in our confession of faith. Through the use of the important name “Theotokos” the Church confesses the glory of the divine Incarnation, the glory of the Only Begotten who was then born of the Virgin, according to his humanity. St. John of Damascus said: “This name includes the whole mystery of salvation.” For this glorious name testifies to the oneness of the divine human personality. We contemplate the duality of natures in the inseparable unity within the indivisible hypostasis [=Person] of the Incarnate Word. To the Indivisible One are ascribed both glory and humiliation. “If the one who gave birth is the Mother of God, then the One who is born of her is a true God and a true man. For how could God, having existed before all ages, be born of a woman without becoming man!”

Theotokos and the Christ Child, ca. 13th century, St. Catherine’s Monastery, Mt. Sinai.

The incomprehensible mystery of Godmotherhood is not exhausted by birth only, even as natural motherhood is not exhausted by the fact of physical birth. The fulfillment of motherhood lies in sacrificial love. By this love for the one born the passive self-centeredness of the heart is broken. In this love is shown the natural image of love for another person, for the neighbor. “As thou lovest thyself.” In its depth and its fulfillment motherhood has not only a physical, but also a spiritual meaning. These features of the true natural motherhood are transcended in the ineffable virginal Godmotherhood. The love of the Virgin for the one who was born of her can be neither transient nor limited.

Flight into Egypt, Guida da Siena, gold and tempera on panel, ca. 1275- 1280, Altenburg, Lindenau-Museum.

In the pure love of the Mother of God there is nothing arbitrary, nothing casual, there is no partiality. This love includes the Cross; it is crucified with the redeeming love of the Son. Actually one cannot truly love Christ if one does not follow him in his love of the Cross; if one does not love the whole human race with Christ and in Christ. The love of the Mother of God receives its fulfillment in that it becomes our protection and intercession for us. The word mother always indicates love, especially the name of the Mother of Light. “Great is the power of the Mother’s prayer to the merciful Lord.”

Resurrection of Christ, tempera on wood with gilding, ca. 1350-1375, Walters Art Museum.

In the mystery of Incarnation the Divine Love is disclosed as descending and bringing peace and goodwill into the world. But human love is also disclosed as answering the Divine Revelation in meekness and obedience.

“If one should ask what we are worshipping and adoring, the answer is ready: we are honoring love.” (St. Gregory of Nazianzus) “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son…” (John 3:16)

This is the mystery of Christmas—and now in the days of sacred memories we sing and solemnize it. We are remembering not only what has already happened and passed, but that which was fulfilled.

We are now reckoning the years of grace, the years of our Lord. For so has God loved the world.

Father Georges Florovsky (1893–1979), renowned theologian, served as dean of St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary from 1949–1955. Under his leadership the school acquired a definite pan-Orthodox orientation, and the faculty and curriculum developed to the point where the Seminary was granted an Absolute Charter from the Board of Regents of the University of the State of New York. 

Remembering Father Alexander Schmemann: Ministry and Vocation

Father Alexander Schmemann (1921-1983) was a world-renowned priest, professor, seminary dean, theologian, speaker, and author. His life was devoted to the liturgical renewal and revival within the Eastern Orthodox Church, especially the Orthodox Church in America. The following excerpts on priestly ministry are taken from a new book by Father William Mills (SVOTS ‘97) entitled Church, World, and Kingdom: The Eucharistic Foundation of Alexander Schmemann’s Pastoral Theology (Chicago, IL: Hillenbrand Books, 2012).

Fr. Alexander with Met. Kallistos Ware and Prof. David Drillock

Father Schmemann strongly argues that there is no special or unique vocation of the priesthood other than to reveal to others the common vocation of the entire people of God: to always offer thanksgiving to God. He was adamant that any theological or doctrinal separation between the vocations of the clergy and the laity is a false one, which reduces the priesthood to a separate caste of people, much like the Levites in the Old Testament, and thereby encourages clericalism. According to Schmemann, “If there are priests in the Church, if there is the priestly vocation in it, it is precisely in order to make the whole life of all the liturgy of the Kingdom, to reveal the Church as the royal priesthood of the redeemed world.” Thus the priest fulfills the calling of everyone who is a member of the royal priesthood, to offer prayer and praise to God and become fully a priest over creation, always giving thanks for everything.

Schmemann begins his discussion on the ordained priesthood by speaking about what is asked of all Christians as stated by Jesus, “So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matt. 5:48). Likewise he regards the spiritual life as not something separate from daily existence, but something that organically flows from within, “In short, spiritual preparation of future priests consists in deepening by all possible means the Christian faith and life, in making religion not something added to life—as it is understood in our nominally Christian societies—but as life itself.”

Fr. Alexander Schmemann

When speaking about spiritual preparation for the priesthood, Schmemann also emphasizes the need for intellectual training and preparation as well. The candidate should read and pray the Scriptures, regularly attend worship, and practice the basic tenants of the Gospel: love, mercy, peace, forgiveness, humility, and generosity. He also emphasized that the priest must have a well-rounded theological education. He often fought against minimalism in the Church, especially in theological training. Since the priest is the main liturgical celebrant, as well as the primary teacher and preacher, he needs to be well versed in the doctrines of the faith, and needs to know intimately the Christian faith and teachings.

He also contends that since we work out our salvation in a specific culture and society, the priestly candidate should be well versed in contemporary ethical, moral, and political struggles and temptations, so that he can adequately address these issues and concerns in his sermons and teachings. He points out that in the age of the ecumenical councils, even the great theologians such as Basil the Great and John Chrysostom were aware of the culture and society around them. The priest is called to engage the world in which he lives. In his journals, Schmemann frequently reflected on the current events of the day, always rooting them within the larger framework of the Gospel and salvation. At one point in his personal notes on pastoral theology, he says:

“All the great Fathers of the Church were well instructed in the “culture” of their time and it is evident that the proper understanding of Orthodox theology is simply impossible without good philosophical, historical, and literary preparation. One can memorize the catechism and decisions of the Ecumenical Councils but unless one’s mind is trained to understand them, this knowledge will remain dead and fruitless…”

Furthermore, Father Alexander identifies the need for practical preparation of the priestly candidate. Practical preparation includes knowledge of the outline of forms and services, the customs and traditions, practice and conduct of the local Church administration—which includes keeping parish records, and maintaining correspondence with bishops and other priests—as well as the ability to perform marriages, funerals, and memorial services. This liturgical element is especially important, as the congregation will themselves feel the tension and anxiety of a priest who does not feel comfortable at the altar. This also extends to delivering homilies. If a priest is not well prepared, the congregation will certainly know. This does not mean that the priest has to be the perfect liturgical celebrant, but he really ought to have enough understanding of the rites and rituals to perform the liturgy in a way that is prayerful and smooth, and can be understood by his parishioners.

Fr. Alexander Schmemann

Ultimately, priestly service is a ministry of love, founded on Love itself, Jesus Christ, who was sent into this world in order to show us how to love (emphasis added). A priest cannot be a priest apart from love. His only example is Christ himself, who repeatedly demonstrates his long-suffering love through his acceptance of the stranger and outsider, through his miracles, through acts of kindness such as the washing of the feet of his disciples, and ultimately through his own sacrifice on the cross. At Golgotha we see the greatest gift of love, the giving of oneself for the neighbor, a theme that comes up throughout the Scriptures. Golgotha is where Christ affirmed his role as the High Priest for us, where the unblemished Lamb was slain. Christ became the high priest so that we could continue his priestly ministry from generation to generation, as expressed in the Eucharistic offering. It is here in the Eucharist that the entire Church, clergy and laity, is seen side by side, fulfilling their priestly roles in different ways. The same Eucharist provides a lens through which we can re-envision pastoral care for the contemporary Church.

Fr. William C. Mills (SVOTS ‘97) is the rector of Nativity of the Holy Virgin Orthodox Church in Charlotte, NC and is also the author of A 30 Day Retreat: A Personal Guide to Spiritual Renewal (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 2010). 

Peanuts, Popcorn, and Christmas Cartoons

When I was young, I would get to watch some great TV cartoons during the Christmas season. Waiting to devour a bowl of popcorn, I would anxiously anticipate the appearance of the “special presentation” logo and with abandon throw myself into the stories of Frosty, Kris Kringle, and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Nowadays, kids can watch these cartoons any time, through iTunes, Hulu, and Netflix, but in my day kids could only watch them around Christmas time, which added to the excitement of the season. These shows reminded me that soon we would be celebrating the birth of Jesus—and that soon I would be opening my presents.

However, at my young age I usually “reversed” that order. If my parents or my priest were to have asked me what Christmas meant, I would have had quite a bit to say about what Santa might bring me for Christmas. If I had remembered—and that is a big “if”—I might have mentioned that Christmas is also about the birth of Jesus and the salvation of the world. In my youth, I had offered Jesus a backseat to Star Wars, and I had displaced the truly wonderful gift that I had received from God with opening my own Christmas gifts.

I could easily excuse my behavior as youthful exuberance, blame my immaturity, or point to the commercialization of the season. What I could not get around (even now) is that Linus—the character from Charles Schulz’s “Charlie Brown” comic strip—taught me better; he taught me what Christmas is really about.

Most of us probably recall “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” a TV cartoon special that debuted in 1965 and has been aired every year since. In the cartoon Charlie Brown—the main character in Schulz’s strip—laments the commercialization of Christmas and falls into an emotional depression. Acting as the resident psychiatrist, Lucy (Charlie’s ever-present antagonist) suggests that Charlie Brown direct the school Christmas play, and in so doing find some peace within the Christmas season. However, rather than finding peace, Charlie Brown instead finds greater frustration: the Peanuts gang wants to modernize the Nativity story rather than highlight Jesus’ birth.

Seeking to create a more appropriate mood, Charlie Brown and Linus (Lucy’s gentler and kinder younger brother) set off to find a Christmas tree for the play. As they leave, Lucy requests that they get a “big, shiny aluminum tree.” However, in the midst of the many extravagant and fake trees in the lot, Charlie Brown finds and chooses a humble, unassuming evergreen—the only real tree available.

Despite Linus’s misgivings, Charlie Brown returns with this tree to rehearsal, where the Peanuts gang promptly laughs at him for his seemingly poor decision. Shaken by their response, Charlie Brown cries out, “Will somebody tell me what Christmas is all about?” Responding to his question, Linus takes center stage and recites six verses from the Gospel of Luke:

And the angel said unto them: “Fear not, for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you this day is born in the City of Bethlehem a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel, a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men.” (Luke 2:10–15)

After recounting the Gospel’s “infancy narrative,” Linus states, “That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

Inspired, Charlie Brown decides to take his tree home to decorate it, to show the rest of the gang its true beauty. Charlie Brown borrows an ornament from the prize-winning Christmas display created by his own dog, Snoopy, only to watch the little tree droop from its weight. After crying out “I’ve killed it!”, he flees in despair.

Now sorry for their rough treatment of Charlie Brown, the Peanuts gang (inspired by Linus), follow after him, only to discover the humble tree bowed down by the weight of the ornament. Linus lovingly props up the tree to give it strength, and wraps his security blanket around its base. The gang decorates the tree with the rest of Snoopy’s ornaments as they sing “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” Upon returning, Charlie Brown is stunned as his friends shout, “Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown!”

Charlie Brown learned something valuable that day: the joyful gift of our salvation comes wrapped not in worldly glory but in humility. The Messiah comes not in earthly splendor but in heavenly glory, wrapped in swaddling clothes rather than royal garments. The small tree chosen by Charlie Brown symbolizes the truth of the Incarnation of the Word of God: our salvation resides in an outpouring of love, not in self-glorification.

We can perhaps find even deeper symbolism in Linus’s security blanket (usually an ever-present fixture; he does not leave home with out it!). As Linus recites the gospel verse, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy,” he lets go of his security blanket. Linus has always depended on his blanket to have peace of mind, to feel protected, to feel safe. Yet, in this dramatic moment, he lets his blanket drop, symbolically reaching for the Savior to find true peace, protection, and safety.

Linus also wraps his security blanket around the tree after Charlie Brown flees in despair. This hopeful act suggests that Linus wrapped his fears around the Christmas tree, because perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4:18). In the light of Jesus’ birth, anxiety loses its grasp upon humanity; our security is no longer in earthly vessels but in the Lord Himself. Like Linus, we might consider letting go of our own security blankets in order to offer the same gratitude.

The brilliant Charles Schulz, through his thought-provoking and heart-warming characters, tried to convey to the world the true meaning of Christmas. Although I now enter into the Advent Season through the rich services of the Orthodox Church, I still carry in my heart the simple but profound lessons taught to me by the Peanuts gang.

And, now, when considering my “Christmas presents” I muse: Am I presenting the Lord with gold, frankincense, and myrrh, like the Magi? Or, am I offering him pride, covetousness, envy, and judgment?

What do I really want for Christmas?

The Rev. Dr. David Mezynski currently serves as the Associate Dean for Student Affairs at St. Vladimir’s Seminary. From 2004-05 Fr. David served as Assistant to the Dean, and from 2005-09 as Director of Student Affairs, at St. Tikhon’s Orthodox Theological Seminary, South Canaan, PA, before joining the staff at St. Vladimir’s.

Witches in the Basement

Hans Baldung Grien – Hexen (Witches; woodcut, 1508)

When I was a child, I enjoyed playing in the basement. There were nooks and crannies to hide in, and decades of accumulated stuff to explore. It was a little spooky down there, and I was convinced that witches lived down there. But as long as the lights were on, I was unafraid. When I had to go back upstairs, I had a problem. The switch for the lights was at the bottom of the stairs, so I had to turn off the lights before I was safely upstairs. When I flipped that switch and the light went off, I was sure that the witches would come grab me if I didn’t get up the stairs in about five seconds. Every time I came up from the basement, I turned off the lights and sprinted up the stairs as fast as I could, just to be safe from the witches. I must have been fast enough, because I’m still alive today!

Like the witches in the basement, sins and temptations can’t grab me if the light of Christ is shining in the basement of my soul. When we confess our sins openly to Christ in the presence of a witness (the priest) the light comes on, and our sins can’t get a hold of us. Our problem comes when we hide our sins out of shame or pride. This is why David prayed, “Cleanse me from my hidden faults.” (Psalm 19/18) When we look honestly at ourselves and confess our shortcomings, we begin to get freedom from the sins and temptations we try to hide from others.  As St John Cassian wrote, “The devil, subtle as he is, cannot ruin or destroy [someone] unless he has enticed him either through pride or through shame to conceal his thoughts.”

Confession is not meant to produce guilty feelings. It is a safe place to be open about the secrets that bother us and cause sinful behavior. Honest confession cleanses us from hidden faults.

Fr. David Poling

The son of a Church of the Brethren pastor, Fr. David Chandler Poling (SVOTS ’12) grew up in rural Pennsylvania. He and his wife, Emilita, married in 2000, and moved to New York City in 2002. A few years later they joined the OCA at the Cathedral of the Holy Virgin Protection. They have three children: Elias, Mariam, and John. Fr. David is the acting rector of St. Innocent Mission in Oneonta, New York. You can read more of his writing, where this reflection originally appeared, on his blog: Fruits of the Spirit.

Forty Two

Recently I ran across an article mulling over the reasons young adults leave the Church. It’s no secret that as a group we Orthodox haven’t done a very good job of keeping our children connected to our Faith. Indeed, attrition estimates among college aged adults range as high as 60%. The article offered a few sensible explanations as to why young people walk out the door of the Church when they walk through the gates of the university, but as I was reading another question, almost the opposite question, formed itself in my mind: why should they stay? What justification can we offer for asking someone to forego sleeping in on Sunday, giving up meat and dairy for about 6 months of the year, abstaining from the premarital sex their friends are enjoying, and all the other “no’s” that seem to crop up when you’re talking about being a Christian? Our young friends aren’t likely to find the answer, “to stay out of hell” or, “to go to heaven” very persuasive for the simple reason that heaven and hell seem very abstract, very far away, and the pleasures of life seem intensely close, tangible. If we are honest many of us would admit that those answers don’t motivate us either. So why should we ask them to stay? Perhaps we should ask ourselves the same question. Why do we bother with the trouble of being Orthodox Christians, accepting the effort and sacrifice that it requires, rather than just enjoying whatever makes us happy?

In his work, On The Apostolic Preaching, St. Irenaeus of Lyon, reflecting on the fall of man, describes Adam and Eve as little children, biological and spiritual babies, in Paradise. As Irenaeus sees it, Adam and Eve were created immature but with the dynamic capacity to grow and become more and more like God, sharing increasingly in the brilliance of His holiness. St. Symeon the New Theologian says that the human spirit was created to be filled with God and that grace was meant to overflow into our very bodies, filling our whole being with the power and glory of God. But Adam and Eve were young and this capacity was not yet developed when they were tricked by the serpent and cast out of the garden. As a result their growth was stunted. Adam and Eve grew up biologically but their spirit withered outside of Paradise and they never became what mature humans are, the meeting point of the created world and the uncreated God, all full of glory. This was the fate of every person before Christ but through His death and resurrection Christ overturned our sad, unfulfilled lot and made it possible once again for us to come alive and share in the boundlessness of the Father’s eternal life. By washing away our sins in baptism, sealing us with the Holy Spirit in chrismation, and filling us with Himself in communion, Christ draws us up again into the life we are made to experience. This provides what I think is the most powerful answer to the question, “why bother with the trouble of being Orthodox?” We bother with fasting, confession, long services, and all the rest because we want to know what it’s like to be fully human. We want to experience the communion with our Creator that fills us with life. We want to enjoy the awake-ness, the intensity of being, that belongs to a creature wholly itself, shot through with the glory of God.

Young people, perhaps all people, need a purpose in life that is worthy of their effort, worthy of their sacrifice and this is it. If you want to know what it’s like to be fully awake and alive in this life, be a Christian. If you want to experience the fullness of the glory of God that humans are made to experience, put God first in your life and pursue him hard. Don’t settle for a merely biological life that will not last. Reach out for a share of God’s divine life that will not end. Through the disciplines of the Church, we can be, if we are willing, transfigured by the grace of the Holy Spirit into fully human persons capable of experiencing God’s brightness and sharing it with a darkened world. When we reach for that grace, we become more and more alive, more our true selves, more capable of bringing healing to the world around us. Fasting, confession, communion, and all the rest are the road to awe; they make us fully alive and restore us to our calling as stewards of all creation. That is a goal worthy of our sacrifice, and it is what makes all of the trouble worth it.

Fr. John Cox is a 2011 graduate of St. Vladimir’s Seminary. Following graduation Fr. John and his family were assigned to Dormition of the Theotokos Orthodox Church (OCA, Diocese of the South) in Norfolk, Virginia.

Triumph and Transformation

Christianity is peculiar, there’s no doubt about that. We serve the crucified and risen Christ, who revealed Himself as God in the way that He died. Instead of self-fulfillment Christ offers us self-sacrifice; instead of power he offers us a cross. As Holy Week expertly teaches: we must go through the cross to get to the resurrection; there is no empty tomb without Golgotha. We learn that with God our expectations often go unmet, yet if we have patience, his plan transcends our expectations. The Jewish religious leaders of Christ’s day, and many of his own followers, did not grasp this concept. They wanted military triumph over the Romans and instead were offered a kingdom not of this world. They were so bent on victory in this life that they unwittingly rejected victory over sin and death.

I was thinking of these things as the Church celebrated the Sunday of St. Thomas, because a mere week after we share in the great Paschal triumph we are immediately confronted with the question of doubt. Courtesy of St. Thomas, our own doubts about Christ’s resurrection are brought to the forefront. But something different and altogether new sprang to my mind as I listened to the juxtaposition of the Epistle and Gospel readings. I found an entirely new way of thinking about the nature of doubt and the role it plays in our lives.

In the Epistle we are presented with the early days of the apostolic ministry and we are able to see the disciples, especially Peter, anew. They are boldly proclaiming Christ with little care of the consequences. It is even said that the sick were carried out on pallets that “as Peter came by at least his shadow might fall on some of them.” It was only a little over a week ago, during the Gospel readings of Holy Thursday, that we saw Peter, weak of will and overcome with cowardice, deny Christ three times. Yet here he is, so infused with the grace of the Holy Spirit that people crave a brief encounter with him. The Sadducees are so overcome with jealousy at this development that they throw the apostles in prison, yet again rejecting the work of God within their midst. Even this doesn’t dissuade the apostles from their work. They are set free from prison by an angel of the Lord, only to be charged: “Go and stand in the temple and speak to the people all the words of this Life.”

How powerfully this speaks to our own fears and doubts. It’s as if we instinctively want to turn victory into defeat. It’s one thing to believe in the reality of the crucified and risen Lord and quite another to act on that belief. And yet here we have a powerful testament to God’s ability to transform our doubts and us with them. We are often like Peter in the Gospels, unable to see God’s hand in the chaos and tragedy around us, so ready to give in to fear and doubt. We are more like the Jewish leaders than we give ourselves credit for, too…ready to abandon Christ when God’s plan doesn’t conform to our expectations. We forget that God is more than the God of triumph; he is also the God of transformation. To truly reflect Christ, we must take up our cross. We must also see our doubts about God’s ability to work in the trials and tragedies of our lives for the imposters they are. When St. Peter stood between Christ and the cross, Christ admonished him saying, “Get behind me, Satan.”  Similarly, we must not let our doubts get between us and the cross. For God’s grace to transform us, we must fight through our doubts, knowing that the cross always comes before the empty tomb. It isn’t the doubts that count, it’s our reaction to them. God is always waiting to transform us the way he transformed St. Peter.

Fr. John Ballard (SVOTS ’10) is the assistant priest at St. Paul’s Greek Orthodox Church in North Royalton, Ohio. He currently lives in Cleveland with his wife, Rebecca, who is a neonatology fellow at Rainbow Babies and Children’s Hospital. They have one child named Max and are expecting their second child at the end of May.

Holy Thursday: A Feast of Humility

Every year, the services of Holy Week bring before us selections from the Old Testament, of Jacob, of Joseph and his brothers, the great prophets Moses and Job.  We hear the ancient prophecies of Isaiah and Jeremiah with an awareness that everything that has happened before, everything that has been spoken, reaches its fulfillment in our Lord’s passion. During the services, the Gospel passages recount Christ’s final teachings to his disciples, as well as the events that lead to his Passion.  As the week moves on, the pace quickens as our Savior hastens to the events that are so familiar to us: the dinner, the trial, the scourging, the haggard procession with the cross, and the brutal crucifixion itself.  The Church speaks of an end, but now as the end of this week draws near, we must also speak of the beginning, and understand both what is old and coming to an end, and also what is new and coming to life.

All around us outside, the natural world proclaims this pattern: the sun casts more light upon the earth than night’s darkness.  As the prophet says, “For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.  The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come.”  (Song of Solomon 2.11-12)  The Hebrews even reckoned the annual commemoration of the date of Pascha according to this natural order: “In the first month, on the fourteenth day of the month in the evening, is the Lord’s Pascha.”  (Lev 23.5-6)

Commenting on the Lord’s Pascha, some Church fathers seized on this idea of annual re-creation and used images from it to describe this liturgical season of the death and resurrection of Christ.  Many noted that this was even the traditional time of the original creation of the World; it was a natural transition to see Holy Week and our Lord’s death and resurrection as a recapitulation of that original creation.  The new creation begins on Lazarus Saturday and Palm Sunday when our Lord once again separates light from darkness as he calls forth the dead to life.  And as the great King and true light of the world, meekly bearing salvation, he enters into his city, Jerusalem, with great acclamation.  This great light increases even more as his death, burial, and resurrection draw near.  In the face of the brilliant light of our Lord’s passion, the two lights of creation, the sun and the moon, diminish and no longer illumine the world alone.  The week goes on, and on this holiest of all Fridays, our God fashions man anew, as his Christ is crucified.  From the side of this new Adam will not come a rib, but blood and water, by which he establishes and nourishes the Church.  After this will be the Great and Holy Sabbath, the last day of the old creation; God will rest again.  And on the next day, the eighth day, the first day of the new Creation, the man of the earth, once bound by death, will be freed in the life of Christ Jesus.  There will be a new Creation, peopled by those who have been formed by his word, nourished on the food of his body, and illumined by the light of his power.

Here, on this fifth day, on this Holy Thursday, our attention is drawn to numerous themes – the mystical supper, the scheming of the elders, the treachery of Judas.  But let us stop and consider only one event of this day, the washing of the feet.  For here again on this fifth day, the waters splash as they did on the original fifth day, not with every sort of sea creature, but with our Savior calling forth a new way of life for his new creation.  With the knowledge “that the Father had given all things into his hands,” (Jn. 13.3) the eternal Word of God stoops down and humbly puts his hands in the basin of water to wash his disciples’ feet.  By this humble act, as he washes away the filth and grime from feet that trod upon the dusty paths of Palestine and the alleys of Jerusalem, he will create new winged creatures, as man will soar to the heavenly heights of virtue and will keep company with the angels in the presence of God the Father, with his Son, in the Holy Spirit.

The hymnography of Holy Thursday speaks of the washing of the feet as the time “when the disciples were illumined.”  Illumination is, of course, also the way the Church speaks of the mystery of Holy Baptism.  The Church can use this term for both the washing of the feet and Holy Baptism, because the results are the same: we put on Christ, who is our Teacher and Lord, and strive to be all that he is, by doing what he has commanded.  He says as much plainly: “If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.  For I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”  (Jn 13.14-15)  This is how the heavenly heights are opened for us: we will ascend to the heavens when we understand what he did to his disciples and for us, and when we follow his command to “wash one another’s feet.”

We should make no mistake; “foot washing” is not an easy task even now, in our world with all the benefits of modern hygiene.  The extent of our Lord’s love for us can be seen precisely in this, as he takes the filthy, dirty feet of his disciples and washes them clean.  The dirt and grime are precisely what makes this act so beautiful.  In that soiled water, our Lord has called forth new life, a life purified and clean.  He has called forth life that proclaims power in weakness, the triumph of humility and service, the victory of love, and the death of selfishness.  Out of these waters, just like the waters of baptism, he has not called us to be proud or powerful.  He has not empowered us to be self-centered or self-interested.  He has not challenged us to become successful men or women by the standards of the world.  No, he has called us to emulate him.  If we have called him our Lord and King at our baptism, we ought to “wash one another’s feet,” just as our Lord and Teacher has done.

On this day, we are given a vision of God’s new creation.  For all of us who live in this new creation, “washing one another’s feet” means giving ourselves to one another in all love, humility, and service.  The new creation is to be populated by those who are willing to beautifully debase themselves and wash the feet of their brothers and sisters, to offer themselves, to humble themselves, to give entirely of themselves, not being concerned by position, status, authority, pride, pomp, or any consideration other than loving their brother and sister the way the Lord has loved them and in exactly the same fashion.

Fathers, brothers, and sisters, as we stand now at the foot of the steps, ready to ascend to the upper chamber and, as companions of our Lord, to partake of the Divine Word, let us commit ourselves once more to this same Lord, who is going to his voluntary passion for us and for our salvation, to inaugurate a new creation.  Let us pray therefore that by emulating in him in our words, deeds, and thoughts, we may find ourselves in that chamber with him and with all those who have been well pleasing to him from all the ages.  Amen.

Archpriest Alexander Rentel (SVOTS ’95) is Assistant Profess or of Canon Law and Byzantine Studies and the John and Paraskeva Skvir Lecturer in Practical Theology. Fr Alexander finished his doctoral dissertation under the direction of Fr Robert Taft, SJ, at the Pontifical Oriental Institute in Rome in January 2004. Prior to coming to St Vladimir’s as a professor, Fr Alexander was a 2000-2001 Junior Fellow in Byzantine Studies at Dumbarton Oaks, Washington, D.C. He has taken numerous research trips to Greece, Italy, and France. He was ordained to the priesthood in July 2001. He and his wife, Nancy (née Homyak, SVOTS ’95) are the proud parents of three children, Dimitrios, Maria, and Daniel.

The Matins of Holy Thursday: A Meditation

“Great are you, O Lord, and marvelous are your works, and there is no word which suffices to hymn your wonders!”

These words, which come from the blessing of water at the baptismal service and at the water blessing on Theophany, are probably not the first words that come to mind now, at the midpoint of Holy Week. (The matins of Holy Thursday, a rich and beautiful service, is usually celebrated on the evening of Holy Wednesday. In many parishes in North America, however, the Service of Anointing is celebrated at that time, and the matins service is omitted.) This is hardly a time for celebration.

We are now at the point in Holy Week when things go from bad to worse. The shouts of “Hosanna” have long faded, and the crowds will soon be yelling “Crucify him! Crucify him!” The religious authorities, threatened by Jesus’ popularity and his assaults on their traditions, are plotting to kill him. The civil authorities have their own agendas, focused on maintaining their positions of power and preserving the pax Romana. Judas, one of the Twelve, is laying his own plans to betray the Master even as he eats and drinks at the Last Supper with the Lord and the other disciples. And immediately after the supper, the disciples begin to argue among themselves about which of them is the greatest. Soon, the disciples will abandon him as he undergoes the passion. Peter will deny him three times, and all the apostles will scatter after Jesus’ arrest. Only a few women remain faithful as they accompany him at his crucifixion, and later as they come to anoint his dead body—and for this reason they become the first witnesses to the resurrection.

No one knows or comprehends the cosmic events that are taking place. The world at large is completely oblivious, and the story of Jesus leaves almost no mark on the official historical records of the day. The Jewish nation rejects the Messiah as, at best, another prophet who met a sad end—he was certainly not the triumphant, worldly king they were expecting. Jesus’ followers, bewildered and confused, give up. Even the women who remain faithful do so not because they understand the significance of what is happening, but because of the personal love they feel for him.

And what about us, who gather together some two thousand years later to remember these events? As the texts of the Holy Week services make abundantly clear, we are just like those weak, sinful individuals portrayed in the scripture readings and in the hymnography. Indeed, it is to us that these texts are addressed. We are just like those crowds that yell “Hosanna” one day, and a few days later crucify our Lord. We do this whenever we despise or ignore our neighbor, who is the living image of Christ. We do this when, like the Pharisees, we concern ourselves more with the externals of the faith than with the law of love. We do this when, like Judas, we value the thirty pieces of silver more than the gift of eternal life.

For the Holy Week liturgical cycle functions as one big parable: a story that first draws us in, and then pulls the rug out from under us as it reveals the weakness of all our own arguments, our own rationalizations. We think that it is the Jews who are responsible for crucifying Christ—and at one time people calling themselves Orthodox Christians would launch pogroms against Jews on these days. We may even consider that some of the Holy Thursday and Holy Friday texts are anti-Semitic, and we fail to realize that they are actually speaking about us. For it is by our own sins and actions that we crucify Christ. It is we who stand condemned.

These Holy Week services thus paint a dark picture of the fallen world in which we live. This is a world in which darkness reigns, where individuals and nations commit the vilest atrocities and genocides. Modernity, despite bring much improvement of the lives of so many people, has also made the extermination of entire peoples ever more efficient and impersonal. Our cities are full of suffering and crime, and that in the richest nation on this earth. And in many parts of the world, conditions are far worse.

In short, these services unmask the reality of this world, a reality we try so hard to conceal even from ourselves. Like the emperor in the familiar fairy tale, we are revealed as having no clothes. Or, in the language of the exaposteilarion that we sing at the matins services from Monday to Thursday of this week, we have no “wedding garment” to enter into the bridal chamber.

Yet it is only when we become aware of this absolute emptiness that we can begin to understand why it was necessary for Christ to come into the world in order to overcome this darkness. We begin to see this now, as Christ first washes the feet of his disciples, then offers his Body and Blood to us in anticipation of his own death on the Cross for our sake. He, and He alone, is under no delusion. He alone sees this fallen world for what it is—a world that rejects its Maker. And yet, as we hear in John’s Gospel, God so loved the world that he sent his only-begotten Son, who, by his presence among us, fills the darkness with light. The One who created the world never stops loving his creation, even when that creation does not return his love and chases after idols.

Later today, as we celebrate the Eucharistic liturgy of Holy Thursday, we shall sing “One is holy, one is the Lord, Jesus Christ.” As we do this, we confess not only that he alone is holy, but also that we, because of our sins, are not. Yet we do this with the certainty that through him, we too become holy, not because of anything that we do or have done, but because he freely bestows his holiness on us. We become holy when, at our baptism and chrismation, we are clothed with the “robe of righteousness.” And we reaffirm this each time that we approach the chalice.

The garment that we lack is provided to us freely by the Master. At the time of Christ, the host would provide a wedding garment to all the guests he invited. They did not have to purchase or earn it for themselves. So, in the familiar parable about the wedding feast, the man who comes without the proper attire does so only because he has rejected the free gift of the garment from the Master (Matt 22:11-13).

Our calling today, as we prepare for the liturgy of Holy Thursday, is not to reject that gift, that festal, baptismal garment, but to accept it with gratitude, knowing full well that we do not deserve it. It is for this that Christ comes to us, and why he accepts to suffer and to die on our behalf. This, even more than the many miracles that Jesus performed during his sojourn among us, is the greatest wonder of all.

“Great are you, O Lord, and marvelous are your works, and there is no word which suffices to hymn your wonders!”

Dr. Paul Meyendorff (SVOTS ’75) is a leading specialist in the history, theology, and practice of the Orthodox liturgy and is The Father Alexander Schmemann Professor of Liturgical Theology at St. Vladimir’s Seminary.