Kat Von D

 

Kat Von D is a famous tattoo artist, entrepreneur, and musician, a lady whose fame began on the show "Miami Ink," and later spawned her own show, "LA Ink."  I've always found her a fascinating person for a lot of reasons.  She dresses like a goth princess, but one of her subspecialties is tattooing religious art (usually Catholic, but others as well).  She is a well known alcoholic and drug abuser, though thankfully recovering.  She has dabbled in New Age religious practices, and has been vocal about that.  

She was also baptized as a Christian not very long ago, and posted it on social media.  I found this largely unsurprising.  Despite her appearance and previous lifestyle, she has always struck me as having a kind and loving heart and a real passion for helping people.  She loves her parents and she loves her clients and co-workers and friends.  She was "living the life" before her conversion, despite her many sins, in many ways more so than some who bore the name of Christ long before she did. She, at least, wore her sins on her sleeve. We tend to hide ours with pretense and self-righteousness, and then lecture to others based on superficial nonsense.

I generally dislike pop-culture Christianity, and I don't like the practice of taking popular figures and blowing their conversion stories out of proportion.  In general, I wouldn't write about a Baptist Christian's conversion on an Orthodox Christian blog, not because I have anything against Baptists (most of my family is still Baptist), but because it doesn't really fit here.  In this case, however, there are several things about her story that I find compelling.

Kat, whose actual name is Katherine von Drachenberg, was raised by Christian missionaries, but left the faith, more or less, as a teenager, around the time she began tattooing and also drinking.  She ran away from home and then was sent to a couple of homes that were sort of "scared straight" type places.  She did not have kind words for them in this interview.  In fact, she suggested they should be illegal, and that she witnessed abuse there.  She talked a lot about her upbringing and the fact that she abandoned the faith not because she was driven away, but rather because she had questions and her parents and other authority figures did not have answers for her.  But it was obvious being sent to a couple of group homes to "straighten her out" really did more harm than good.

She talked about the impact of fame on her life, of seeking out tattooing because it was a way to meld her artistic talent with her love of helping people.  She talked about the negative impact of addiction and her lifestyle on her personal life, overcoming addiction, and then eventually making her way back to God.

Some of the most fascinating parts of the interview dealt with her conversion story itself, and how it was received not only by her non-Christian fans, but also by Christians who responded to her.  Her strongest criticism was of the Christians, and hearing her tell her story, I can see why.  She talked about self-righteousness, smugness, and the holier-than-thou attitudes of some of the respondents.  Many of them criticized her for being insincere and engaging in a publicity stunt.  Some criticized those who celebrated her baptism -- in the church building -- as looking like witches.  She spoke specifically about people who commented that they will not believe in the sincerity of her conversion until it "bore fruit," which apparently should include a change in her appearance.  And on the opposite side, she spoke of how her journey back to Christ included the influence of two men -- Marilyn Manson and Alice Cooper -- who a lot of Christians might think demonic, simply because of the way they look.  This even though Alice Cooper has been a Christian for a long, long time at this point.

Another interesting line of discussion was the fact that she appreciates the concept of sacred space, and does not want to go to church to see a concert or performance.  She thinks the music in church ought to be set aside for that purpose.  She doesn't judge those who think differently, but it's interesting to see someone so new to the faith embrace the idea that worship ought to be worshipful.  She also spoke about this from the opposite perspective.  She said she doesn't think being a Christian means she has to stop listening to The Cure or Depeche Mode, although she did say her faith now influences the type of music she makes and listens to, and has also influenced her husband, a musician, in a similar way.

She talked a lot about the difference between New Age "seekers" and truly demonic practices, emphasizing that while she wanted to get rid of her books on Tarot and spells and meditation and the like, it was more because she saw them as crutches, or as she later put it, "band aids on a sinking ship."  They gave her some temporary relief, but were never life-changing in the way her conversion to Christ was.

There were a few main points of emphasis that I took away from this interview, which I think are pertinent to the Christian faith in general, and to Orthodox Christianity in particular.  

She spoke a lot about not being a stumbling block to people who are different, or struggling.  One can easily see someone who looks like her walking into a church and being received coldly.  Thankfully, she was not.  But she spoke a lot about the fact that we cannot know where someone is in their journey, and that superficial judgment can drive people away from the faith. She emphasized that outward appearance, or even just being different, tends to invite judgment, and she specifically spoke about instances where Christians had spoke about her poorly or treated her poorly.

She talked about how despite her departure from the faith for a long time, the seeds were sown in her childhood, and it was those seeds that brought her back.  Her parents' lack of judgment, and obvious love for her, ultimately allowed her to return to the faith of her childhood.  As parents, we never know how our children will fare once we let them loose into the world.  But we can teach them well, and pray for them, and love them.  And sometimes, it is that faith and love that ends up paving the way for their return to Christ. 

She discussed how she deals with people who attack her, and this was perhaps the most interesting part.  She sees a cultural sickness, especially on social media, where people have a zeal to try to "pick apart" (her words) others, to criticize them and drag them down.  And she said at one point, instead of doing that "I wish people would just pray for them." She also mentioned having friends who are still addicts and prostitutes and have troubled marriages and so forth, and how she will not abandon them now that she is a Christian. She simply loves and prays for them.  

She talked about the historical proofs for Christianity, and the fact that there were, in fact, answers to the questions she had.  I found this particularly fascinating since it is Christian history that ultimately led me to the Orthodox Church. 

She seemed perturbed that some people called her a "baby Christian." I think this is because it was given to her as a pejorative.  And that is tragic.  Everyone was at some point a "baby Christian."  And many Christians who have been Christians for decades have a superficial understanding of the faith.  Kat Von D is a baby Christian, for sure, but there is no shame in that.  She said in this interview she did not see her zeal ever waning (the byline in the video is "I'm on fire for Jesus" after all).  But it might.  As baby Christians, everything is new and exciting and there is so much to learn and explore.  Christianity on the ground is messier than that, and it can be discouraging, overwhelming, and depressing at times.  So while I hope her zeal never wanes, if it does, it will be the encouragement and love of her fellow Christians that will bring her through it. More to the point, if it does, having a bunch of online Christian nannies saying "I told you so" will only drive her away, maybe for good this time.  This is one reason I tend to dislike overinflating the conversion stories of the famous.  They might disappoint us, and in our disappointment, we might be tempted to forget that it was love that drew her in, and only love that will see her through tough times.

And that is probably the main takeaway from this interview that I think is instructive to us Orthodox Christians today.  Kat Von D is the opposite of a poster child for what most people think a Christian should look like, or even be like.  But despite that, she has love, and she seeks only love.  There is a lot of talk of late about the newly coined concept of "othering."  Meaning, we treat people like they are not one of us, often superficially.  But this has no place in the Christian Church.  I recently ran across a quote from Fr. Thomas Hopko that is on point here:

"Now some kinda fancy thinkers like to think things, and say: 'Oh, well, people are sinners, but you love Christ in that person, you love the Image of God in that person.'  Well baloney!  Jesus didn't say 'love the Image of God in that person.'  He didn't say 'love Me in that person.' He said: 'love that person, and you will be loving Me. Because I have identified with every human being on the face of the earth.  Everyone, whoever they are.'"

Father Tom was the Dean Emeritus of St. Vladimir Orthodox seminary, a learned man, well credentialed, who looked exactly like you would expect a Christian to look, and who is beloved of Orthodox Christians the world over.  It is worth noting that a "baby Christian" covered in tattoos who dresses in black and wears white makeup on her face and wears bright red lipstick and has lived a hard and at times overtly sinful life came to the same conclusion he did.  Glory to God.

It's Simple, Part 2

I wrote a while back on the simplicity of the Orthodox Christian life, and I return to it because of a conversation some friends and I had about mutual friends who were raised in a non-Chalcedonean church but made their way to our little parish and are the most delightful people.  The conversation centered around things like reception and worthiness.

Now, people who know me know I am not some wild-eyed ecumenist, looking to paper over real differences and just get along despite very serious doctrinal errors.  I take the truth of the Orthodox Church seriously.  It's one reason why I am an Orthodox Christian.

But there are a lot more people in the world who are not, as the comedian Brother Dave Gardner once said, "educated beyond their capacity," than those who are.  And a seminary degree, or a St. Stephen Certificate (as I hold), is not a sufficient condition for salvation.  These things are nice to have, and it's interesting to study the faith and Church history, but knowledge does not save.  Belief does not save.  And certainly, ideology does not save.

The people we were talking about have no seminary education.  They likely do not know precisely why the church they grew up in believes differently than the one they found themselves in, halfway around the world.  To the extent they do, it obviously does not matter enough to them to maintain the division (with apologies to our non-Chalcedonean friends).  But they pray, and they love, and they enter into the Christian life far more deeply than I do, to my shame.  And they have done this, simply, their entire lives.  They are model Christians.

So I'm not writing this to suggest our differences do not matter.  They do.  I am writing this to suggest that perhaps those differences, once they are sorted out and identified sufficiently to warn the faithful of error, ought take a backseat to the simple, faithful, loving act of living within the Church and praying for the salvation of all.  I don't know how precise the theological constructs of our Oriental Orthodox turned Eastern Orthodox friends are.  I could not tell you what the depth of their knowledge about God is.  But knowing about God is not our aim.  Knowing God is our aim.  And I can tell you with certainty, these folks know God.  Because knowing God is simple, and we tend to complicate it.

Truth, Error, Ecclesiology, and Unity

"We who wish to remain in the true tradition of Orthodoxy will have to be zealous and firm in our Orthodoxy without being fanatics, and without presuming to teach our bishops what they should do. Above all, we must strive to preserve the true fragrance of Orthodoxy, being at least a little 'not of this world,' detached from all the cares and politics even of the Church, nourishing ourselves in the otherworldly food the Church gives us in such abundance."


-- Fr. Seraphim Rose

"An Orthodoxy, even an eschatologically motivated Orthodoxy, that prioritizes self-will, prelest-ridden certainty, and fanaticism about every jot and tittle, over charity, unity, and obedience to rightful episcopal authority is not Orthodoxy at all. History is littered with the detritus of sectarians who thought their own issue de jour worth disobedience and schism. They lie in unconsecrated ground, forgotten by all but historians, while the Body of Christ remains."

-- Fr. Cassian Sibley

The second quote above is a comment Fr. Cassian Sibley, a ROCOR priest, made to someone who implied, through a series of disjointed quotes from various Fathers and saints, that Fr. Seraphim's quote did not teach what it says.  The first is the quote from Fr. Seraphim Rose, who was a ROCOR priestmonk before his untimely passing, that was the subject of Fr. Cassian's post.  I am in agreement with what Fr. Cassian writes, and obviously also with what Fr. Seraphim wrote.  But I think Fr. Cassian's response deserves some unpacking to demonstrate why he is correct, particularly in these times.

Fr. Cassian's main point was that Fr. Seraphim is often misquoted, and is done a disservice by his fans and critics alike.  I also agree with this point, having dove into Fr. Seraphim's writings of late and discovered they do not really resemble either the rigorist Phariseeism of some of his more vocal fans, nor the disjointed novelty of some of his more vocal critics.  But leaving that aside for the moment, it seems to me what he says above is properly basic Orthodox doctrine, as is what Fr. Cassian writes.  

I wrote recently about the anti-ecumenist movement, a movement with which I share some sympathies, but cannot fully embrace because in my estimation it, or at least certain corners of it, has metastasized into an ideological purity cult rather than a healthy desire to keep the Church and her teaching pure.  The Orthodox Church cannot dilute her dogma in order to appease those who might join us and increase our numbers.  Nor can we afford to pretend differences in dogma don't exist, or perhaps worse, don't matter.  But what I tend to see from this camp, which to be fair is mostly on the internet, is a movement that repeats the false teachings of schismatics, but still operates from within the Church, eating apart the Church from the inside out.  This is seen in some of the replies to Fr. Cassian, which draw from the words and thinking of actual schismatics (and in some cases in this particular post were actually written by actual schismatics), and also from the reply of the person to whom Fr. Cassian replied.

The Church, if it is anything, is the communion of Orthodox bishops, preserving the faith from the Apostles through the present day.  To hear some tell it, the bishops today are all (or mostly) in error, having given into the ecumenical movement in 1965 and ever since having watered down the true faith.  And yet, if this is true, why do those same people remain in communion with those bishops?  Rather than staying behind and attempting to strong-arm the bishops to repentance, and in some cases encouraging disobedience to them if they say something "uncanonical" (which tends to be in the eye of the beholder in these discussions), why not join one of the schismatic groups that are no longer in communion with the supposedly erring bishops?  Or why not utilize the process one can go through to escalate concerns above one's bishop?  I have only contacted my bishop one time to complain about anything, and not having received a response I found satisfactory, I could have elevated that to the Metropolitan and, if need be, higher.  Everyone in the Orthodox Church is in obedience to someone else, after all.  I elected not to do that for reasons that are mine, mostly because I did not think it worth any greater breach of peace and my family and I, with the express blessing of both our former priest and our new priest, had already moved on to another parish under another bishop.  So in the end, I elected to move on in peace rather than continue to quarrel and cause more discord.  And yet, for some reason, some folks stay within the Church, remain under canonically Orthodox bishops and priests (or not, in at least one case), and refuse to work within that organizational structure, opting instead to encourage disobedience and open rebellion.  

I think the reason why is pretty simple -- incrementalism, which is a fundamentally dishonest pursuit, at least as applied here.  Rather than do the honorable thing and leave, or stay and openly confess against the supposedly erring hierarchs, they wish to change the teaching of the Church to suit their narrow view of it, and are willing to wait things out in order to do it, taking ground where they can.  They know they cannot change the teaching of the Church by consensus.  If they could, they would not resort to dishonesty and encourage disobedience, but rather would enter into dialogue with the bishops and others in order to reach fraternal agreement in love.  Instead, they apply outside influence on the Episcopacy, sort of a pressure campaign, which on the internet tends to overstate the reach and influence they actually wield, and lacking a similarly coordinated and organized effort in support of the bishops on whatever issue is being pushed, it is hoped the bishops will cave. And in some cases, they have, and I assume over time, more will. It is, then, up to the bishops to maintain proper Orthodox teaching and practice and refuse to give in to pressure groups, whether they come from within or without the Church.  And it is my prayer and belief that while some have caved and more will cave, most have not, and most will not.

Ironically, this incrementalist approach is not at all unlike the approach taken by others who wish to change the teachings of the Church in the other direction.  Birds of a feather might not see eye to eye on what the problems are, but they sure seem to flock together when it comes to how to achieve their ends.  It is an uncomfortable irony, then, that the Church's "right wing" and "left wing" (I acknowledge these political terms don't fit neatly in this context) seem to share the same playbook.

In my limited experience, the line for "canonical" or "Patristic" Orthodoxy is narrowly drawn by these pseudo-schismatics.  In the case of the insistence of baptizing converts, as just one example among many, it is drawn directly from St. Cyprian through a handful of his contemporaries, and then through the Kollyvades Fathers and current Athonite factions.  The history of the Church is long and varied and not nearly as neat and clean as they pretend it to be.  In addition, Mount Athos is hardly one conglomerate of Orthodox thinking, but rather is a group of 20 monasteries with at least some variance in their stances on issues of importance in the Orthodox Church.  More, the Athonite monasteries and their associated Sketes are not independent communities, but are themselves under the authority of a bishop.  When they disagree with their bishop, they tend to do so directly, not behind the scenes, and certainly not by merely ignoring the bishop, or worse, by lying to him. Saint Maximus the Confessor did not have his tongue cut out and his hand cut off because he snuck around behind the backs of the hierarchs.  He was mutilated and tortured precisely because he stood firm and resolute, defying those bishops (including debating the Patriarch of Constantinople and winning him over to the Orthodox position!) and ultimately dying in exile.  Confessors confess, and they do so directly, not in secret.

So what Fr. Cassian writes is both on the nose and directly relatable to what we see in the world of internet "Orthodoxy" today.  Fr. Cassian is no shrinking violet.  He tends to speak his mind and speak it well, and I have always valued his insights.  More, as a ROCOR priest, it is at least possible, perhaps likely (though I have not asked him), that he receives converts from heterodox traditions by baptism.  So one would not necessarily assume he is "against" the position I use as an example in the preceding paragraph.  Nor am I, as my current priest receives converts typically by baptism.  But Fr. Cassian knows, and says forthrightly here, that whatever his preference, it does not allow him to disobey his bishop.  Persuasion is how consensus has historically been reached in the Church.  People encouraging priests and laity to be disobedient to their bishops refuse to let their "yes" be yes and their "no" be no. And it is not limited to them -- their incitement and encouragement lead others to do likewise. 

As I posted on my Facebook page recently, you have as one example this person who literally lied to his priest about whether he was baptized in order to get the reception into the Church that he wants, rather than that which the Church has prescribed him:

And this person, who suggests that lying is somehow both a Scriptural and Patristic behavior, and a virtue among the Fathers (rather than a gross exception, and probably one worthy of a confession at that):

False witness is not a virtue.  Lying to your priests and hierarchs to manipulate them is not a Christian behavior.  And leaving aside the issue of baptizing converts, we could as easily discuss the Church's response to COVID, and the varying ways in which hierarchs tried to balance public safety and political concerns (such as the threat that their parishes would be shut down entirely rather than being allowed by the government to remain open partially), over and against the sacred Mysteries of the Church, and how best to ensure the faithful are able to receive them in proper abundance.  I am not so bold to suggest that any hierarch or jurisdiction got that exactly correct.  They, on the other hand, have a tendency to suggest they mostly got it incorrect, and that their failure to navigate an unprecedented circumstance with precision and purity amounts to the bishops being "wolves," "heretics," and the like.  So I ask again, if you think your priest and bishop are "ecumenists," and that "ecumenism" is a grave sin (both of which seem apparent from the comment to which Fr. Cassian replied), or if you think they are "wolves" ravaging the flock openly, why are you joining them to begin with?  Why not go to a communion that will receive you as you wish to be received?  They exist, both within and without the Church. Why not fraternally and lovingly exhort them to greater faithfulness, instead of amplifying their supposed faithlessness?

The answer is some of these folks want what they want, and they are willing to sacrifice fraternal consensus and unity to get it.  In the end, this is all self will and pride, neither of which leads to salvation. It is dangerous to the unity of the Church.  And it is wrong.  The bishops are not always right.  But they at least have the Episcopal grace to make those calls.  Where we disagree, we are to do so openly in love and in the spirit of truth, not by backbiting, slander and rebellion.  God help us if we forget that.

Orthodox Cosplay

I feel like I'm writing a lot about authenticity, and to a great extent that's because I'm still gathering my thoughts on several trends I've observed in the Church.  I saw an older (several years ago) discussion online yesterday that I thought hit the nail on the head regarding some of the issues that have concerned me of late.  The issue was what I have termed "monastic fetishism," and what others have observed as laity seeking a monastic type of life while not being monastics.

There is a sense in which this is perfectly healthy and not at all a concern.  Without more, wanting a fuller service schedule, wanting to live near a monastery to have access to such a service schedule, wanting a deeper spiritual life, greater asceticism, etc., are all good and worthy goals.  Burnout is real, and I do fear too many young Orthodox converts try to do too much too fast.  But absent other motivations, it is well and good to enter as deeply into the life of the Church as one is able, and certainly the fullest expression of the liturgical life of the Church is found in monasteries. Being close to a monastery, or visiting one as a retreat, or adopting some of the prayer life and liturgical life of monastics, is generally a good thing, and ought to be encouraged.

But there seems to me to be a secondary motivation that sometimes enters the picture.  In America, we do not have a well-formed spirituality that is common to the people.  We see this reflected in faddish pop-Christianity in such things as the Prayer of Jabez book and 40 Days of Purpose and so forth.  American Christians without access to the full treasury of the Church tend to grasp for meaning.  We do not take Holy Week off of work.  Stores don't close on feast days.  We are not, obviously, an Orthodox society, culturally speaking. And so we seek out deeper spiritual meaning because our culture is so utterly banal and spiritually impoverished.

This temptation to attempt a deeper spiritual life within a culture that doesn't really make room for it is worsened, it seems to me, when laypeople want to live as monastics, without taking the monastic tonsure and without entering into that life fully and completely.  That is, the danger is not wishing for a fuller spiritual life, but putting on the dressings of a fuller spiritual life without actually doing the work.  It is, as the person in the discussion I referenced above called it, "Orthodox LARPing."  Instead of actually living out the Orthodox life in humility and reverence where God has placed us (in the world), the temptation is to play dress-up and attempt to monasticize our little portion of the world because we think it makes us more holy.  And as I note above and have noted a lot of late, the problem with this is it is inauthentic.  Which is not to say it is utterly inauthentic.  Certainly people who attempt to live this way have good intentions and deeply desire holiness.  It is only to say that without taking the tonsure and entering into the life of a monk or nun, it is not fully authentic. There is some degree of self-deception involved.  And the problem with that is it tempts us to think we are holier simply by putting on the appearance of monasticism, when in fact, holiness for laypeople is more often found in service to those around us, loving, forgiving, and carrying the very same holiness that monks aspire to into the world and using it to serve Christ through our neighbor in the most mundane of ways.  

A former priest once told me "everyone wants to go to the chanter stand or the choir or serve on a committee before the chrism is even dry, but nobody ever wants the 'ministry' of taking out the trash or cleaning the toilets."  That same priest's son-in-law did those chores, faithfully, and literally for decades.  Most people never noticed, but things just got done and everyone sort of assumed it was someone's responsibility and it always got taken care of.  There is no glory in such a role in the eyes of men.  But there is much glory in God's eyes in simply serving the Church in such fashion, neither seeking recognition nor puffing one's self up over it.  

It is obviously a great thing if those things are done while saying the Jesus Prayer or after having done 30 prostrations during morning prayers or while attending every service every time the Church doors are open and while wearing a cassock and serving in the Church.  But it is no less a good work and no less spiritual to do them wearing khakis and still having dirt on one's hands from working in the yard or coming home from a hard day's work. 

It's simple

Orthodoxy is complicated, for sure.  There is a lot to learn, and with a 2000 plus year history, you will never learn all of it.  The theological formulations are such that converts have to "un-learn" as much as they have to learn, because we carry so many presuppositions into the Church with us, it often takes time to let go of them and let the Church speak to us and through us.

But in a very real sense, Orthodoxy is simple.  Simple to the point that the very word "Orthodoxy" is not really accurate.  "Orthodoxy" might be bound up in a set of beliefs, an ideology, things we think about Christ and His Church.  The truth is, the Orthodox faith is not simply believed, it is lived.  And the simple fact is, being Orthodox means living life as an Orthodox Christian, simply.

When I was about to be chrismated, an internet "friend" gave me some great advice.  He said "don't be a weirdo."  He didn't mean "don't act like an Orthodox Christian," because most people think we are weird enough as it is and he was aware of that.  What he meant was don't wear a cassock to cut the grass and swing a censer as you walk around the house.  That is, be as normal as an Orthodox Christian can be and still authentically live the faith.

As Orthodox Christians, many of the habits we have, the things we do, the things we wear, how we pray -- the "externals" to use a word my priest tends to disfavor because it carries some baggage with it -- ARE weird.  Objectively.  The world sees us doing them and wearing them and saying them and thinks "well, that's odd."  Or, too often, "they're odd."  But there is a balance between being a "normal" Orthodox Christian (which is to say, to be a baseline level of weirdo), and being what one famous Orthodox meme-maker refers to as "hyperdox."  I teach my children that the world already thinks we're weirdos.  And yet, I also teach them, by word and example, to take the faith seriously.  They often cover their heads in Church.  They own and use prayer ropes.  They attend the services.  They say their prayers.  And they live out the faith and identify in the world as Orthodox Christians.  And that is more than enough.  

Something the Orthodox Church offers that too many other traditions lack is authenticity.  So it seems to me that we ought to own the things that are of the Church and not shy away from them.  Wear your cross.  Own, use, and, if you wish, wear your prayer rope.  Go to the services.  Keep the fasts.  Keep the feasts.  Say your prayers.  Have your priest come and bless your house and your automobiles and your office and whatever else you would like to have blessed.  But own it.  Live it authentically.  We should neither shy away from the things of the Church, nor try to amplify them beyond the norm.  Having an Orthodox identity is a good thing.  But the faith is not merely something to which we assent, much less put on as a costume.  It is something we live.  We should live it authentically, humbly, and simply.

In the World, but not Of the World

 As Orthodox Christians, we are called to be in the world, but not of the world.  In discussions with some close friends recently, we had occasion to ponder some of the hyper-ascetical movements in modern Orthodoxy, primarily on the internet.  I will decline to discuss the particulars of those movements or the persons who are part of them, as I am not trying to slander anyone or hurt any feelings, and I also have no desire to draw further attention to that sort of thing nor draw their attention to me.  I would like to focus instead on some of the issues we discussed.  

One thing we all noticed was a very narrow focus on canonical rigidity and what they perceive as a "return" to a very strict and vigorous liturgical life.  One bemoaned the loss of daily Orthros and Vespers, claiming these used to be commanded, but then citing to a 6th century decree by the Emperor Justinian.  The concern here is not with the offering of daily offices, obviously.  It is with the denigration of those who either do not or cannot offer them, or attend them.  But even that is not the issue.  To all of us in the discussion, this rigorist insistence on what strikes us as something closer to a monastic-type Christian life came across not as a desire for greater and deeper spirituality, but as a self-righteous means to judge others as insufficiently ascetic. 

We did not conclude this lightly.  One particular comment claimed that the very use of words like "rigorist" or "legalism" is itself indicative of a desire to eschew ANY spiritual work. When the truth is, I own and use a prayer rope, I try to keep up with my daily prayers, I try to read the Scriptures daily, and I try to read something from the life of the saints or other works from prominent Orthodox authors.  Somewhat ironically, given the stereotypes surrounding certain internet personalities, I am currently reading "The Soul After Death" by Father Seraphim Rose.  There are certainly those who are able to draw nearer to the Church, doing far more than I do, and they are to be commended for their labors.  But to make those efforts normative over others, to insist that we "approximate monastics" as one fellow did, and to denigrate those who are unable or unwilling to adopt such strict asceticism, is not a deeper Christian spirituality.  It is Pharisaical. If you wish others to follow your example, you should start by humbly doing your own labors and not judging others.

In addition, it seemed to all of us in the discussion that there was an implicit desire to withdraw from the world, not as monastics per se, but as those who are emphatically not monastics and yet endeavoring to live as if they were.  This struck us as a sort of monastic fetishism, a covetous desiring of that to which one has not been called.  Part of that is what I note above -- the judgment of others who do not follow suit.  But part of it is that there also seems to be a spirit at work here that suggests that the world taints us, as if the world is itself unclean.  And while I agree that Orthodox Christians ought not embrace the world and all its worldly temptations, we are explicitly called by our Lord to go out into the world, taking the light of Christ with us.  In the High Priestly Prayer, Christ said:

I have given them Your word; and the world has hated them because they are not of the world, just as I am not of the world. I do not pray that You should take them out of the world, but that You should keep them from the evil one. They are not of the world, just as I am not of the world. Sanctify them by Your truth.

So it is not that we are to withdraw from the world and all its temptations.  Certainly those temptations existed during our Lord's time on this earth, as St. Paul's letters to the Corinthians, the story of St. Photini, and other Scriptures attest.  No, we are called to go into the world with all its temptations (as our Lord Himself did), and we pray that the Father would "keep us from the evil one" as we go.  In this way, Christ sanctifies the world not because of us, but through Himself working in us.  As my priest said in a homily a while back, "even pumping gas becomes a holy act." So the desire to withdraw from the world and its temptations comes across at least like a fantasy, something that goes against that which our Lord Himself called us to do. And that is not to mention, if anything monastics face far greater temptation than those of us in the world.  They have chosen a life of constant spiritual warfare, and they withdraw out of the world precisely to focus on that battle.  Their prayer for the life of the world allows us to enter into the world, girded in battle, to face worldly temptations.  But their life is not ours, and ours is not theirs.  And one ought not pine after the other.

As we were discussing all of this, it occurred to me that what is missing from those who would seek the deepest possible ascetical life and withdraw from all earthly temptation, as best they are able, while simultaneously judging others who live a more normal parish life, is virtue.  And while there is good to be found in limiting temptation within reason, especially those temptations we know ourselves to be most susceptible to, trying to withdraw from the world in order to avoid temptation strikes me as folly.  First, it is impossible.  Even if you try to live in a Christian commune, venturing into the world only to do as little as possible while shielding your eyes, temptation will find you.  Second, it is not truly virtuous.  There is no virtue in never being tempted.  We are called to change our habituation to sin by habituating ourselves to the virtues instead.  And that is done not by avoiding all temptation, but by actively rejecting temptation when it finds us and striving to make the good habitual.

As normal, everyday Orthodox Christians, then, we are to follow the sacramental life of the Church as best we are able, keep the fasts to the best of our ability, pray, read spiritually edifying works, and do good works.  But we are to take those actions into the world, normalizing them, and thereby showing forth Christ, and seeing Christ in our neighbor.  We are not to hide away from the world, nor make a show of our piety as the Pharisees did.  Which is not to say we do not carry our Christian lives into the world.  By all means, wear your cross.  Wear your prayer rope.  Say your prayers.  Carry your well worn copy of Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church.  Read it on the bus or at lunch.  But wear them and say them and carry them and read them because you make use of them, authentically.  And above all, try to see your own sin and not judge your brother.  

It is the authentic Christian life that sanctifies the world.  And for most of us, it is enough of a struggle to simply try and live that life authentically.  That is where you will find virtue.  In the world, but not of the world.

Executing Death

 

Father Paul is the sort of priest people gather around when he speaks.  Part of this may be his British accent, hearkening back to his place of birth.  This means he sounds smarter than everyone else in the room every time he speaks.  Part of it is he is a seasoned homilist, able to distill complex theological thoughts into easily understandable statements.  And part of it is, well, we love him and enjoy listening to him speak.

I think most of it, though, is that he tends to see the obvious things about Orthodox theology that are easy for most of us to miss.  Such was the case this past Sunday, Palm Sunday for us in the Eastern Church.  

The homily was really amazing from top to bottom. The topic, of course, was our Lord's entrance into Jerusalem, where He will, this coming Friday (liturgically speaking), meet His death.  Father Paul dealt with the abandonment of Christ on the cross, by the same followers that were cheering Him as He entered the city.  He dealt with the palm branches as symbols of victory, and how those waving them had no idea what sort of victory that entailed.  But there was one thing he said that really struck me.  He said that Jesus' entrance into Jerusalem would not end in the execution of some barbarian king, as was common in ancient Rome, but "in the execution of death itself."

The Christian life is so easy to distill into the wrong sorts of quips and pithy sayings.  "Jesus loves me."  Well, sure.  He loves those who are not united to Him as well.  Or "God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life."  That one is a bit more dangerous.  He loved the martyrs too.  He loves those stricken with illness or injury too.  He loves the poor, certainly as much as any.  He loves the imprisoned.  God is not a self-help director.  God loving you is no guarantee that you will not suffer.  In fact, for the Christian, quite the opposite.  It is often in our suffering that we most vividly meet Christ, as He warned us would be the case.

Which brings us to this beautiful statement: Christ entered Jerusalem to "execute death itself"  

That one says a mouthful.  And in so few words.  Christ did not come to end our suffering, but to enter it, and by so doing, end the hold that death and suffering would otherwise have over us.  It isn't that it is such an original thought.  The Church, as you will see below, sings about it quite a lot.  But I certainly have never articulated it in word or thought as neatly as that.  The Christian suffers.  The Christian mourns.  The Christian doubts.  But the Christian has hope.  Because Christ has gone to the tomb before us to pave the way to eternity.  Death to the Orthodox Christian is not the end.  It is not even a new beginning.  It is a transformation, for Christ has transformed death.  Death cannot hold the author of life.  And so He entered it, and as the Resurrectional Troparion in Tone 7 reminds us, "shattered" it.  

Thou didst shatter death by Thy cross, Thou hast opened paradise to the thief!  Thou didst turn the sadness of the myrhhbearing women into joy!

Death is no longer what it was.  It is now something new, a passage into eternity that is welcomed by the Christian.  Not something to be sought after in a nihilistic or suicidal fashion, but neither something to fear and avoid at all costs.  Death is our eternal rest.  And we rest in the arms of a God Who, as Father Paul reminded us at the close of his homily, and as the Church reminds us at every dismissal "is good and loves mankind."  It is that statement, obviously, that inspired the title of this blog way back in 2010.

Similarly, in the Paschal Canon, we sing:

Thou didst descend into the deepest parts of the earth, 

and didst shatter the ever-lasting bars that held fast those that were fettered, O Christ. 

And on the third day, like Jonah from the sea monster, Thou didst arise from the grave.

Death is shattered.  It could not hold the author of life, and it can no longer hold us.  And in a few short days, the Church will sing "Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life!"  This is the Gospel, distilled into the shortest of sentences.  In a few short days, Christ will take up His cross, and execute death itself.  Glory to God.

To my single Orthodox friends.....it's okay......

 

There seems to be a lot of discussion on the internet recently about "marriage or monasticism."  Some of this is healthy and good, and some of it is destructive and dangerous.  In particular, the rigorist approach that suggests there are only these two paths to salvation is, in my opinion, anachronistic, narrow and wrong. This post, I pray, will detail the short version of why that is.

First, let us be clear, monasticism and marriage are two paths to salvation that are specifically and liturgically blessed by the Church.  That much is true.  One might say they are the norms.  That is, what we tend to expect is that those who have no plans to get married because they have chosen not to be married should probably, and normally, seek out a monastic community.  So far, so good.

The reasons for this are multitude, but briefly include the idea that we are to seek out our salvation in community with others, learning to give to others of ourselves.  Marriage in this sense is neither a sex-based nor power-based institution as it perhaps was in medieval times, but a true martyrdom where we die to our spouse every day of our lives.  In a monastery, the brothers do the same to each other, and obviously a monastic community thrives neither on sex nor power.  So there are some obvious parallels.  And a person who is open to neither marriage nor monastic life may have legitimate spiritual issues that raise concerns and ought to be addressed. 

It is also true that the so-called "single life" is not something that was known in Christian antiquity, or even until recently.  So searching the Fathers for quotes on how to be a chaste single person is not as likely to bear fruit as quote mining them for thoughts on monasticism versus marriage.  That is not to say the Scriptures do not speak of this, because monasticism was unknown to the Apostles, and yet St. Paul has much to say about the celibate life.  The point is, a person who is single and not open to marriage, and also single and not open to a monastic life, may struggle with selfishness, self-centeredness, inability to give of himself to others, etc.  

The key word in both of these statements above is "may."  Because as we know, there are those who are open to marriage, but simply waiting for God to present them a proper spouse.  There are those who are open to marriage who, for various reasons, may struggle to find a partner.  And there are those who fall into other categories for whom marriage may be undesirable at present or unlikely for whatever reason.  That does not mean those people should become monastics, and it certainly does not mean they must become monastics.

Despite this, of late, I have seen multiple internet personalities (I will not name them because I do not wish to draw attention to what I think is their error), who suggest that marriage and monasticism are not merely two paths to salvation blessed by the Church, but in fact they are the only paths blessed by the Church, such that unmarried, non-monastics must be seeking to either get married or join a monastery.  It is my opinion that this is a flawed understanding of the history of the Church, the Holy Scriptures, the writings of the Fathers and the Orthodox life.

As a matter of history, monasticism developed in the late 3rd century.  It grew out of the peasant class and was based on a desire to separate from society.  The movement was concerning to bishops, who felt it threatened the unity of the Church; however, over time a greater appreciation for monasticism began to develop as the bishops witnessed the fruits of this life.  Early monasticism was eremitic (the word "monastic" derives from the Greek word μόναρχος, meaning "solitary."  That is, early monastics were not living in monastic communities, but were hermits.  So right away we can see that this notion that one must be married or monastic because salvation requires community ignores the very history of monasticism itself.  St. Anthony of Egypt went into solitude in the desert, and came out able to heal and reconcile enemies, which showed forth the fruits of his solitary engagement in the spiritual warfare.  Around the same time, cenobitic monasticism began to develop.  When people say "there are two paths," they typically mean marriage versus cenobitic monasticism.  They do not typically mean wandering off into the desert without a tonsure, as St. Anthony did (or as St. Mary of Egypt, as another example, did).  So the attempt to limit the Christian life to these two narrow forms is historically flawed.

Moreover, as noted, monasticism developed in the late 3rd century.  This means for more than a quarter millennium, there was no Christian monasticism.  There were earlier Christian ascetics, but none who lived a formal monastic life, either eremitic or cenobitic.  There was an actual order of widows in the early Church, but they did not live as a monastic community as we think of today.  There were almost certainly unmarried Christians who were not widows. What to make of this?  Well, for starters, unless we are willing to say those people are damned because God had not yet created the monastic life, we must assume there is at least one other path to salvation.  So it is hard to suggest that monasticism is required by our God, but for nearly 300 years He hid that path from His people so that those who preceded the advent of monasticism are outside salvation.

Perhaps the biggest problem with this approach, however, is that not all are called to the monastic life, and you do not discern that calling merely in opposition to marriage.  That is, just because you are not married, and not likely to become married, does not mean you have been called to live out your days in a monastery.  For one, nobody is entitled to live in a monastery.  One must be blessed by the Abbot or Abbess, and one must be received.  One who joins a monastery and is deemed unfit for monastic life may be asked to leave.  So what are people who are unable to find a marriage partner and also unable to find a monastery that will have them to do?  

I hope I have made clear above, I have no issue whatsoever with marriage (I am, after all, married) or monasticism.  I do think it is worth noting that this notion that there are only two paths, and that single Orthodox Christians who are open to marriage but for whatever reason find it unlikely they will find a spouse must rush off to be tonsured or lower their standards drastically to find a spouse, is nonsense.  If you are Orthodox and single, it's okay.  If you want to join a monastery, you should.  But you don't have to, nor do you have to rush into marriage simply to "pick a path."  There are two paths that are liturgically blessed, but those who are not on a liturgically blessed path are still on a path to salvation.  Please don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Standing in the Light

 

In the Orthodox Church, we speak a lot about "light."  We refer to those received into the Church as having been "illumined" in baptism and/or chrismation.  We sing about the "Gladsome Light" during the Vespers service.  During the Presanctified Liturgy during Great Lent the priest intones "the light of Christ illumines all," and at Pascha we sing "come ye, take light, that is never overtaken by night, glorify the Christ, risen from the dead."  Monastics speak a lot about the "uncreated light," which we and they long to experience.

The significance of this light is sometimes misunderstood, both within and without the Church.  When we stand in the light of Christ, we are illumined, this is true.  But what does that illumination achieve?  Why is it that the saints, on their deathbeds, so often pray for more time to repent.  And like the goats, their faithful followers ask "what do you have to repent of?"  And the saints so often respond, "I have not yet begun to repent."  Why do those closest to God become so utterly aware of their own unworthiness and frailty, and seemingly unaware of their own glorification?

I would submit that it is because when we say "the light of Christ illumines all," as a dear friend once said, we begin to see ourselves for who we really are.  That is, the light of Christ illumines us in the same way we are illumined in His eyes.  We see all of the things we hide away from the world.  We see how very dark and sinful we really are.  And it is because of that illumination that we can begin to heal, as He would have us healed.  Remembrance of sin is prolific in the Fathers.  St. John Climacus devotes large portions of The Ladder to discussing it.  The Prayer of St. Ephraim, which we pray at pretty much every Lenten service, is along these lines as well.  "Grant me to see my own sin, and not to judge my brother . . . ."  This is not to say that we should sulk around mourning our sins all the time and be joyless self-scolds or, worse, bask in a prideful false humility.  It is to say that a proper Orthodox outlook on standing in the light of Christ is one of mortification, not glorification.  We are not to bathe in this light as if it speaks anything good of us.  Rather, we are to show it forth as we see our own sin clearly and learn to show humility and deference and temperance and forgiveness toward all others, who are sinners, yes, but no worse than we are.  The light does not belong to us.  It is not of us.  It is ours only in the sense it is given to us by Him in Whose possession it properly resides.  And so we have no right to claim it as ours, and pridefully stand in it as if we have no sin.

We fail at this, obviously.  Yet we struggle, because in the end, to stand in the light means being willing to face our own iniquities and renounce our own pride and embrace the virtues of selflessness, humility and meekness.  Being illumined is not being set above.  It is, in a very real sense, becoming truly self-aware, truly human, and learning slowly to take on the light of Him Who gives it, and in that way, learning to view humanity as He does, with perfect love, submission, and self-sacrifice.  The light does not show us forth as we would like to be seen.  It shows us forth as we really are.  That we might see our own sin and not judge our brother.

Encountering God

 

I've had a lot of thoughts lately about Orthodox distinctives, and what qualifies as such, and what such distinctives are foundationally Orthodox versus what distinctives qualify more as theologoumena or pious opinion.  And in terms of Orthodox distinctives, I think one that escapes most people, including certain Orthodox Christians, is the idea that in Orthodox Christianity, we are not merely trying to do the right things to get reward or avoid punishment.  Rather, the point of the Orthodox Christian life is to encounter God.

I suppose in some sense every Christian could say this.  After all, if you believe God forgives your transgressions for the sake of His Son, and this is the goal of the Christian life, to receive that forgiveness, in a sense you have "encountered God."  And obviously, more sacramental communions (Lutherans, Anglicans and, obviously, Catholics) have a more tangible understanding of encountering God, even if all they believe they receive from the sacraments is forgiveness through some direct or indirect connection with God.  But that is not what we mean in the Orthodox Church. 

As Orthodox Christians, when we receive any sacrament, and in fact in the Sacramental Life (which is not limited to a strict numbering of sacraments), we believe God works in and through us.  For the Orthodox Christian, grace is not, as some of our Protestant friends suggest, merely "God's unmerited favor." Part of this is, for us, merit doesn't really enter into the equation formally.  Rather, for us, grace is the operation of the Holy Spirit in the life of the Christian. We receive this first and foremost in our baptism, then we receive the seal of the gift of the Holy Spirit in chrismation, then we receive God's Divine Energies through His Body and Blood in the Eucharist.  The Eucharist is the central act of the Christian Church for this reason -- it is the Sacrament to which the others point.  We are baptized so that we might be chrismated, and chrismated so that we might commune.  We are married so that we might receive the Eucharist together, strengthening the bonds of love between us.  We are ordained so that we might assist in serving or even ourselves serve the Eucharist.  We are given repentance that we might return to the Eucharist.  And we are given Holy Unction that we might be restored to full bodily and spiritual health, that we might receive the Eucharist to the greatest benefit.  This is the point of the Christian life.  All else leads us to this moment where we receive Christ's own immaculate Body, and His own precious Blood.  This encounter with God is tangible.  It is real.  And it is powerful.

This is why mere Christian ideologies are so vapid and empty.  What we believe about God is not nearly as important as how we encounter Him.  That is not to say what we believe about God is unimportant.  Only that our beliefs about God ought to point us to union with Christ, Who is God for us.  God with us.  God in us.  Belief about God that does not lead to an encounter with God is a belief that cannot save.  The Orthodox Church is not an ideology, or a set of beliefs about the Holy Trinity.  The Orthodox Church is a pathway to encounter the Holy Trinity.  More, belief in an intellectual sense does not really capture what the Church means by "faith."  Faith, in a Christian sense, is more akin to trust, as a child trusts his parent.  It is not merely saying the words, or even believing them truly, really in your heart.  Rather, it is clinging to the object of faith.  Faith is not something we do, or even something we try to attain.  Faith is something we live by, trusting in the Creator, the promise-giver, the life-giver.  This is true even when our faith is shaken.  As I've said here before, I don't trust me.  I trust Christ.

This is why efforts to narrow the Orthodox faith to a particular set of beliefs, especially in those areas where the Church has not dogmatized those beliefs, is doomed to fail. It isn't just that those beliefs are not exclusive or required or dogmatized.  It's that belief itself is not salvific.  Faith is, but belief is not.  What you believe cannot save you.  But trusting in the One Who saves?  That is where salvation lies.  And while this trust requires a certain set of beliefs, that requirement is not found in the particularities of Orthodox little "t" tradition.  It is found in the Scriptures and the Ecumenical Councils and the big "T" Holy Tradition of the Church, and not beyond those.  

This is not to say that pious opinions are invalid or improper.  It is only to say they are no more than what the word suggests -- opinions.  Orthodox Christians are free to believe them or reject them.  Orthodoxy is not found in the tightening of the noose around the neck of believers.  The faith is not a yoke.  The Orthodox faith is trusting in the One Who removes the yoke, freeing us from all worldly opinion and imprisonment.  Belief doesn't save.  Christ does.  We believe in Him, not in our own believing.  And we believe in Him, that we might encounter Him.

Fear and Self-Righteousness

Something occurred to me today while having lunch with a friend.  Christian rigorists tend to have two things in common.  First, a desire to be set apart from others, which inevitably tends to lead to self-righteousness.  Second, operating predominately from a position of fear.  

As to the first of these observations, at least in my own experience, those who embrace theological rigorism tend to have a very inflated view of their own group, at least those who are sufficiently rigorist as they are, and a very low view of those outside their group, and often even those within their group who they view as insufficiently serious or devoted or correct.  It seems to me that this stems from a Pharisaical desire for certainty, which will be discussed more below, and the remedy for this desire is to ensure that one's self is set apart, distinguished, separated from those for whom such certainty is absent.  This, it seems to me, has the commensurate effect of leading the rigorist to believe he is more righteous than he really is.  The desire to define Orthodoxy not by what we believe, nor even apophatically by what we cannot know, but predominately in opposition to others we deem to be inadequate, ends up putting us in the place of judgement over our brother's perceived failings.  And as we know, judgment stems from pride, and pride is mother of all the passions.  So rather than ending up in a place that authentically satisfies the rigorist's desire for certainty, we end up in a place that has us committing the greater sin in order to separate ourselves from those who would never judge us in return.  Such self-righteousness damages not only our neighbor and the Church, it also damages us.

As to the second observation, it seems to me that this desire for certainty stems from a position of fear before God.  Not the healthy fear of God that every Christian should have, but rather a fear-centered Christian life that results from a misunderstanding of Who God is and how God relates to His creation.  The Pharisees were not unholy people, at least to the extent externals allow one to claim to be holy.  The Pharisees, to the contrary, were the most holy people in terms of law keeping and rule keeping.  The Pharisees did not simply build a fence, but like Eve in the Garden, built a fence around the fence.  They were not satisfied with "do not eat of the fruit."  No, they had to go a step further -- "do not eat of the fruit, nor touch it."  In this way, their fear of punishment was allayed by the certainty that they had kept the rules, because the rules they kept were stricter than those God had given them.  Our Lord had harsh words for them.  They kept the Law, often perfectly, as far as anyone observing could tell.  But God said "I desire mercy, not sacrifice."  And thus they did not keep the Law in their hearts.  Instead, they wielded the Law as a sword against their neighbor, and even against their Savior.

This approach does not produce mature Christians.  If I tell you you must do this thing or else, then you will do only the minimum required to assuage me and no more.  That is, you will do only that which is needed to get "past the post" and avoid the punishment.  Even if the rules are made by setting fences around fences, as the Pharisees did, you still will not do more than required to stay on the correct side of the second fence.  Because your goal is not to seek the good, but rather to avoid the punishment.  As a former pastor once told me, "those who live by the Law are always looking for loopholes."  This is not a proper Christian outlook toward God.  God does not desire us to obey rules to avoid punishment.  He does not desire to punish us at all.  God desires that we enter into His life, encounter Him, and find Him in our neighbor.  That is not to say rules are unimportant, or canons ought to be disregarded, or that prayer and fasting disciplines are bad in and of themselves.  None of those things is true. Rather, we keep the Law because it is good for us to do so.  We forgive because it is good for us.  We pray and fast because those things are good for us.  We follow the canons because the Church has put them in place for our benefit. But that obedience, that desire to do good and follow the rules, must come first from a place of love and trust in the One Who gave them to us to begin with.  We obey because He is good, and just, and merciful, as the Psalmist said, "I follow the thing that good is."  We love because He first loved us.

The Christian lives to encounter God.  God is not found in fear and despair, nor in self-glorification and self-righteousness.  God is found first and foremost on the cross, and through the cross, we find God in our neighbor and our selves.  And so we pray not because we fear God will abandon us if we do not, but rather because we desire to encounter Him.  We fast and attend services and do good not to avoid His punishment, but to live in His glory.  God forgives.  He does not need us to keep His rules for His benefit.  We need to keep them simply because they are good.  Not because the end is worth the means, but because the means are an end in themselves.  

Holy Theophany

 

Holy Theophany is a celebration somewhat unique to the Eastern Church.  Some Western churches do celebrate it in conjunction with Epiphany (also on January 6), but others do not.  The distinction among us comes from the emphasis placed on the baptism of our Lord.

Epiphany is a Greek word meaning "to manifest" or "to appear."  Usually, in the Western traditions, it celebrates the visitation of the Magi in addition to the baptism of Christ.  In the East, however, it is bound up in Christ's baptism, which is why it is called "Theophany," meaning "appearance of God."  

At Christ's baptism, the first earthly manifestation of the entire Trinity was revealed.  As the Troparion of Theophany tells us:

O Christ our God, when Thou was baptized in the river Jordan

Worship of the Trinity was revealed

For the voice of the Father came forth to testify and name Thee His beloved Son

And the Spirit in the form of a dove, confirmed the truth of His Word

Wherefore, O Thou Who didst appear, and didst enlighten the world, Glory to Thee

The baptism of Christ has deep meaning for Christians.  First, He bowed His head to receive from John the Forerunner, His unworthy servant, the baptism of remission of sins.  Christ took on our sin so that we might take on His righteousness.  Second, in doing so, He cleansed the waters, calling down the Holy Spirit and hearing the voice of the Father "this is My beloved Son, in Whom I am well pleased."  Third, He changes the water from a mere washing of dirt from the flesh, into a baptism of rebirth and regeneration, as St. Peter tells us.  

This is not to say that Jesus became "a sinner," but rather, as St. Paul says, the Father "made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him."  That is, Christ in entering the waters meant for our cleansing, cleansed the water Himself, taking on the form of a servant, that in entering the same water in baptism, we too might live in His righteousness.  Baptism saves us not by mere symbolism or some transactional occurrence, but by the power of the Holy Spirit granted to us in baptism and chrismation, changing us as He changed the water.  This is why the water that is blessed at Theophany is reserved -- set aside -- for our use as Christians.  It is, truly, holy water.

"That baby boy was circumcised..."

The Feast of the Circumcision of Our Lord, God and Savior Jesus Christ

January 1 has the Church celebrating the circumcision of our Lord, God and Savior, Jesus Christ, along with the feast of St. Basil.  I had the good fortune of celebrating both in a parish that claims St. Basil as its patron.  What moves me to write this however, is a comment a dear friend, Emily, made years back about the circumcision of our Lord in connection to the oft-repeated claim, "God is neither male nor female -- God is spirit."

Obviously, God the Father is a spirit, and yet the Church, following our Lord, His Son, calls Him "Father."  Obviously, the Holy Spirit is, as the name suggests, spirit as well.  Both are incorporeal.  Both lack human sexual genetics.  Both could as easily be called by any number of self-chosen pronouns in fashion these days.

And yet our Lord became incarnate as a man.  And not "man" in the generic sense used in the Creed, but as a male human.  How do we know this?  Because, as Emily wisely noted, "that baby boy was circumcised."

Granted, we do not want to get into the weeds of looking up God's skirts.  That is, we do not want to make too much of anthropomorphisms.  It's why we're careful about ascribing words like "anger" to God, and even why we suggest God is not merely love, but is in fact beyond love.  We cannot fathom God's existence, because He is divine and we are created and contingent.  

And yet in the case of Jesus Christ, we know He is male.  He was born that way.  In the parlance of the day He identified that way.  And no small detail -- that baby boy was circumcised.

There is, of course, a sense in which this doesn't matter much.  There is no ontological reason why Christ being born as a man impacts our salvation any more than if He had been born a woman.  But the mystery of the incarnation is that He was born at all.  In order to save us, He entered into our human frailty and sanctified it with His divine presence.  More, in order to fulfill the Law, He entered into the Law fully, submitting Himself not only to the moral commands of God, but even to circumcision, the entrance into the Jewish religion.  That circumcision is fulfilled, as we will soon celebrate at Theophany, in the Baptism of our Lord.  So it matters first and foremost as a matter of historical fact, and secondarily as a matter of proper fulfillment and keeping of the Law.  

The other thing notable about Jesus being born a man is that we do not stop there.  Jesus was born of a woman.  And not just any woman, but the Theotokos, the Mother of God.  We hold her as the greatest saint in all of the Church.  We reverence her and fervently request her intercessions before the Throne of God.  It is often said (typically by Protestants) that the Orthodox pay "too much attention" to Mary.  My own observation, having been an Orthodox Christian for 12 years and counting now, is this perception exists because most Protestants pay almost no attention to Mary beyond the recitation of the Nativity story and perhaps the Wedding at Cana.  So when attending an Orthodox liturgy, perhaps it seems she is all we talk about. The truth is, she is only referenced very occasionally, in the litanies and at the dismissal, as well as in a handful of hymns.  But I would also argue it is this emphasis on the Mother of our Lord that gives balance to the maleness of God, particularly in the Person of His Son.  Because in a very real way, the Incarnation points not merely to the sanctification of Jesus' flesh, but also to His mother's flesh, and through Him (and her), ours.  He enters our flesh and makes it holy with His presence.  He entered her womb and made it (and her) holy with His presence.  And He gives us His flesh and blood to make us holy with His presence as well.

It is fashionable of late to discuss what is inaccurately called "gender" as no more than a social construct.  The Christian Church has never spoken this way, and never will.  Jesus was true man, born of a woman.  That baby boy was circumcised.  And thanks be to God, for in His circumcision, we find the first steps of our own salvation.