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.

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.

Can you hear the wolves?

A homily delivered in the Three Hierarchs Chapel at St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary on the Feast of St. John Chrysostom (Tuesday, November 13, 2012).

At night, the shepherds would have heard the wolves. The shepherds in the time of Jesus took their flocks out into the countryside to find pasture and water. Journeying far from the safety of the village or the city, settling down for the night, they could hear the hungry wolves that prowled in the distance. Remember, this was not the Wild West; shepherds did not carry lever action Winchester rifles to fend off predators. The shepherds in Jesus’ day would have had a wooden staff, a sling, and a bag of small round stones. Shepherds had to be brave folks who could face danger. But at night, as the small fire would have been dying down to embers, and as the sheep settled down, they would have heard the wolves, and it would have sent a chill up the spine of the bravest shepherd.

Can you hear the wolves?

When Hurricane Sandy knocked us off the grid and devastated the Tri-State Area, could you hear the wolves?

As the national election shook the country and inflamed passions of anger and bitterness between brothers and sisters, could you hear the wolves?

Hearing about scandals and controversy within the Church on the national level, in the parish, or between friends and family, can you hear the wolves?

It is awfully tempting to run for it, isn’t it? Just give up the whole thing and run for your life. Today Jesus tells us that if the shepherd was a hired hand, if the sheep weren’t his own and if he caught a glimpse of those ravenous wolves advancing towards the sheep, he’d abandon the flock and run for his life. And the sheep scatter, and the wolves attack at will. Now, if we are merely talking about livestock, then a shepherd might fare pretty well if he ran for his life. There are only so many wolves, maybe a dozen or so, and odds are that a pack of wolves would much rather go after a young lamb, a slow pregnant female, or an old feeble sheep.

But here is the problem.

Jesus is not giving advice on caring for livestock; he is speaking of a spiritual reality.

And the wolves that Jesus is talking about are not of this world. They are demons, intent on dividing the Body of Christ and devouring human souls. So, if the shepherd runs away and leaves the flock of Christ to the demonic wolves, there is no safety for anyone. The demonic powers of Satan will not only hunt down every last one of the sheep but also go after every shepherd that runs and tries to save his own life.

But our shepherd is not a hired hand.

Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ lays down His life for His reason-endowed flock. He offers His life as He is suspended on the Cross so that we would know, without a doubt, that He loves us and that we belong to Him. Jesus Christ is the Good Shepherd. He knows His own flock, and His flock knows Him. We hear His voice and we follow Him.

St. John Chrysostom, 13th c. manuscript illumination

Today we celebrate the life of St. John Chrysostom, a man who listened to the voice of the Good Shepherd, a man who followed in the footsteps of Christ, a man who did the work of the Gospel. He served the flock of Christ in the midst of a wilderness of sin: Constantinople, with its spectacles and games, its greed and its wealth, its lust and its passion. The demonic wolves in that capital city threatened the flock of Christ more than any predators in the Jordan Valley ever threatened a flock of sheep. In the midst of that danger, St. John stood by the poor, the weak, and the vulnerable, constantly providing for spiritual and material needs. Ravening wolves attacked him from every side. On one side, strict disciplinarians said that he was too soft in his merciful appeal to sinners. He would say, “If you have fallen a second time, or even a thousand times into sin, come and you shall be healed.” On the other side, influential and wealthy bishops and priests mocked him for his austere lifestyle and publicly accused him of mismanagement, claiming that his care of the poor was a “waste” of Church money. Finally, he was attacked head-on by a vain and decadent empress and her imperial court, who did not feel it was right for a bishop to criticize their public spectacles.

Exile of St. John Chrysostom, Menologion of Basil II, ca. 1000

Yet in spite of it all St. John stood by his flock and never ran for his life. Facing the imperial threat he said, “Though the sea roar and the wave rise high, they cannot overwhelm the ship of Jesus Christ. I fear not death which is my gain, nor exile for the whole earth is the Lord’s, nor the loss of goods for I came naked into the world and I can carry nothing out of it.”He stood by his flock until armed guards dragged him out of the city into exile. But even in exile, he wrote letters and exhorted his friends and spiritual children, reminding them of the love of God and the mercy of Christ. And in his death, out in the lonely, harsh place where he had been literally dragged in chains, he completed his course by laying down his life, in emulation of Christ the Good Shepherd. And with his last breath, saying, “Glory be to God for all things.”

Hearing the Word of God, preaching the Gospel and standing by the weak and the vulnerable, even when it costs you your life: this is the legacy of St. John Chrysostom.

This is our life. This is our work. This is our calling.

Today we follow Christ the Good Shepherd. When a stranger is hungry, we feed him. When a sister is lonely, we sit by her side. When a brother is angry, we patiently listen to him, just like God always patiently listens to us. We follow Christ the Good Shepherd; we hear His word and know that we belong to Him. And we lay down our life for others, just like He laid down His life for us.

Christ the Good Shepherd, 5th c.

The Rev. Dr. J. Sergius Halvorsen (SVOTS ’96) received his M.Div. from St. Vladimir’s Seminary and completed his doctoral dissertation at Drew University in 2002. From 2000 to 2011 he taught at Holy Apostles College and Seminary in Cromwell Connecticut, where he also served as Director of Distance Learning. He was ordained to the priesthood in February 2004, and currently serves on the faculty of SVOTS as Associate Professor of Homiletics and Rhetoric and Director of Field Education.

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.

Pascha: A Feast of Theology

As we approach Pascha, the Feast of Feasts, it is fitting that we consider once again the nature of the banquet to which we are invited.  As we will sing at Matins on Holy Thursday, we are called to ascend, with our minds on high, to enjoy the Master’s hospitality, the banquet of immortality in the upper chamber, receiving the words of the Word.  The nourishment that we are offered is a feast of theology; the food that we will feast on is the body and blood of the Word, the one who opens the Scriptures to show how they all speak of him and provide the means for entering into communion with him.

Our chapel here at St Vladimir’s Seminary is dedicated to Basil the Great, Gregory the Theologian, and John Chrysostom.  Although they each have a particular day of celebration, our patronal feast celebrates them together, as the Three Great Hierarchs.  The hymnography for the feast celebrates first of all their words, their words of theology, how they spoke about God.  The feast was conceived in the eleventh century as a feast of oratory: it was a celebration of those who found the words adequate to express the Word of God.  Such theology is a sacred art – the Byzantines even called it a mysterion, a sacrament – and it is charged with divinity.  It embraces and elevates the words of men to convey Jesus Christ, the Word of God.

The Church celebrates the Three Hierarchs as great examples of those who took on this work.  Having studied at Athens and other intellectual centers of the ancient world, they used all their God-given intellectual powers for the celebration of this divine task.  If we too wish be disciples, or, more accurately, “students” of Christ, we must take on this task of theology, learning Christ and being renewed in our minds.  And there are two very important aspects of this that we always need to bear in mind.

First, that theology is not an abstract discipline or specialized profession.  It is not speculation about God himself, separated from his own revelation or what his revelation says about us.  It is not taking all the things that humans might think of as divine – omnipotence, omniscience, immortality – and then projecting them into the heavens.  This approach creates nothing better than a “super-human”, with divine attributes, perhaps, but nothing more than the best we can humanly conceive.  Rather, theology begins and ends with the contemplation of the revelation of God, as he has shown himself to be.  Anything else is not theology at all, but fantasy.  We do theology when we contemplate God’s own revelation: God, whose strength and wisdom is shown in the weakness and the folly of the cross.  Christ himself, the Word of God, demonstrates his strength and power in this all-too-human way, by dying a shameful death on the cross, in humility and servitude – trampling down death by death – showing that true lordship is service.  This one is the image of the invisible God: in Christ the fullness of divinity dwells bodily – the whole fullness, such that divinity is found nowhere else and known by no other means.

All of us, therefore, all of the people of God, must focus on the transforming power of God revealed in Christ by the power of the Spirit.  As the Great Hierarchs affirmed, we cannot know what God is in himself, but we know how he acts.  We are invited to come to a proper appreciation of the work of God in Christ by the Spirit.  We are called to understand that Jesus Christ is indeed the Word of God, whom, by the same Spirit, we must convey in our words.  To recognize him as the Word of God is not a matter of human perception, but to find the words to convey him certainly demands the application of our minds.  It requires that we raise our minds to a properly theological level, that we may be transformed by the renewal of our minds.  As Great Lent prepares us for the Feast of Feasts, so also honing our mental skills should prepare us for the feast of theology.

The second point to remember is that the theology that we celebrate is a pastoral theology.  The hymns for the Great Hierarchs proclaim that the pastoral power of their theology has overthrown the illusory words of the orators, of those who play with words, speaking on a merely human level.  Their theology is pastoral, in that it shepherds us into true life.  It invites us to understand ourselves, and the whole of creation, in the light of God revealed in Christ by the Holy Spirit.  This is not simply a matter of asking “What Would Jesus Do?”  Nor is it simply a matter of being “pastoral,” as we often hear that word used today, in the sense of ministering to others on their own terms, enabling them to feel comfortable with themselves.  Rather, it is the challenge to transfigure our own lives by allowing God’s own transforming power to be at work within us.

This means that we must confront our own brokenness and weakness, for this is how God has shown his own strength: it is only in our weakness that God’s strength is made perfect.  And we will only have the strength to do this, we can do this only if we begin with God’s own revelation, if we begin with the theology taught to us by the Great Hierarchs.  We have to abandon what we humanly think divinity is, and to let God show us who and what he is.  We must begin, therefore, with the God who confronts us on the cross, who shows his love for us in this:  the love that he embodies.  Reflect on this: that when we are confronted with divine love in action, it is in the crucified Christ.  This reality reveals two things: how alienated we are from the call that brought us into existence, yet, at the same time, how much we are loved and forgiven.  In the light of Christ, we can begin both to understand our brokenness, our emptiness without him, and also to be filled with his love.  Theology shows us that the truth about God and the truth about ourselves always go together.

So, as we approach the Feast of Feasts, let us prepare ourselves to receive this revelation of God on his own terms.  Let us prepare ourselves for the challenge that his revelation presents, so that the Resurrection will transform us and renew our minds and we will find the words appropriate to offer the Word to others.

Fr. John Behr (SVOTS ’97) is Dean and Professor of Patristics at St. Vladimir’s Seminary. His early work was on issues of asceticism and anthropology, focusing on St. Irenaeus of Lyons and Clement of Alexandria. After spending almost a decade in the second century, Fr John began the publication of a series on the Formation of Christian Theology, and has now reached the fifth and sixth centuries. He has recently completed an edition and translation of, and introduction to, the remaining texts of Diodore of Tarsus and Theodore of Mopsuestia. He has also published a synthetic presentation of the theology of the early centuries, focused on the mystery of Christ. He is also a passionate cyclist, often rescheduling family events around the Tour de France. Fr. John’s wife, a Tour de France enthusiast and armchair cyclist, teaches English at a nearby college, and their two sons and daughter are being taught to appreciate the finer points of French culture: the great “constructeurs” of the last century, Le Grande Boucle, and … cheese.