The Very Real Danger of Indifference

 

It should go without saying -- and this isn't the first time I've talked about these issues -- that the Church can hurt you. Sometimes badly. I've witnessed it, my friends have witnessed it, and it has harmed us all in various ways that we are still sorting out to this day.

In nearly every instance where we've had conflict in the Church, someone's personal preference was more at issue than whatever "the thing" was that caused the conflict. Specifically, I am reminded of a former priest who wanted everything his way. Even where he was actively harming people with his insistence and self-will, and even when he was undermining his own bishop (who, obviously, was also our bishop back then), the fact that he wanted something was good enough reason to do it, and people who were in the way were treated as expendable. This behavior included dishonesty, active manipulation, and gaslighting. It included abuse involving reception into the Church and abuse in the confessional. It involved the priest actually instructing people to lie to others about what he was doing and what they had done.  It was really, really bad, and it went unchecked for far too long, mostly because this priest was willing to deceive his flock, his bishop, and his hierarchs and they naively took his word for it. I do not say this lightly. I'm not going to name names, but rest assured, we have the receipts in abundance.

What brings this to mind is I have recently become aware of more damage left in the wake of the very same situation we dealt with, continuing to this very day.  To put this in perspective, we left nearly four years ago, we wrote the bishop very shortly after that, and about a year later, the Metropolitan of that Archdiocese was informed of all of the issues by someone else. These things did not happen yesterday, but they continued long after we left and are still hurting people today. So I am reminded again of how the Church's failure to address real issues leaves good people floundering and wondering if the Church is for them. 

Part of the problem in these rare instances is that, in the Orthodox Church, we are patient, kind, and long-suffering, and we expect others to be as well. It puts us at a distinct disadvantage when someone instead is actively and intentionally manipulative, because they prey on the Church's weakness, take advantage of her kindness, and demand absolution from those they have harmed without any real repentance taking place. This sort of deception can irreparably harm souls. The Church's long-suffering and kindness become a shield for the wrongdoer and a sword for those being wronged. It feels like "forgive me, a sinner," but delivered with a smirk and crossed fingers.

I do want to be clear -- we have moved on, and I do not write any of this out of anger. We have a good priest and a good parish and we are well cared for. Mostly, I write out of sadness at the fact that four years later, people are still being hurt. And I don't have sufficient answers. I wish I did. Part of the problem is there just aren't that many truly deceptive priests, so this is not a common problem. But the other issue is, the Church takes a very honest view of suffering. We are to bear suffering, mistreatment, and criticism with grace. Ordinarily, this is a good thing, but the Church dare not sanction the cause of suffering, and dare not shield those who harm others within the Church. Spiritual deception and abuse are at least as bad as physical abuse, and the Church cannot afford to tolerate them. 

Of course, the Church cannot simply defrock priests and sanction bishops who either cause or ignore suffering, without first attempting to ensure that the priest and/or bishop actually did something wrong. Abusers in the ranks of the laity are as much a danger to good priests as abusive priests are to good laypeople. I have seen, in my Protestant days, good pastors run off by manipulative and abusive laypeople. So we can't simply swing the pendulum all the way to the other side. That's just keeping the abuse, but changing the identity of the abuser. In our situation, "attempting to ensure that the priest and/or bishop actually did something wrong" might have entailed actually speaking to those of us who alerted the Archdiocese. Still, I understand the Church cannot act on the bare word of anyone, clergy or laity, without attempting to sort out the facts.

All that said, the real problem strikes me as a communication problem. The Church reaching out to those who have been hurt, helping them process what happened, and attempting to reconcile the parties, could go a long way. Apparently, that was something that particular Archdiocese did not desire to do in our case, for whatever reason. I pray she begins to see the need for such a process. Indifference is cold. In many ways, it is worse than the abuse itself. 

Sometimes just hearing "I hear you, I see you, and I'm sorry that happened to you -- we will try to do better" is enough. I hope somebody is saying that to those who were hurt more recently than we were. If you know someone who is hurting in the present, please give them an ear, a shoulder, and some compassion. And encourage your clergy and hierarchs to do the same. They need it.

The Sacrament of Holy Matrimony, reprise

 

the wedding of Malachi and Hannah

It was 13 years ago, plus a couple of months, when I first wrote about my wife and I entering into the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony. Since that time we've left one parish and jurisdiction (Antiochian) to join another parish in another jurisdiction (OCA), we've begun a mission and left the second parish to become full-time members here, and that mission just celebrated its first wedding, both members having come to the Church through the mission. It was a joyous celebration, and warrants a return to the Church's teachings on matrimony.

As I wrote previously, the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony in the Orthodox Church is not the same as going to the Justice of the Peace, or even your typical Protestant wedding in a church. That is not to denigrate those things -- my wife and I were married in a little Baptist Church in Bremen, Georgia, one my father helped build with his bare hands. We certainly do not think God refused to bless our wedding because the parish and the pastor lacked the right credentials, or belonged to the "wrong" church body. We have never questioned our union, nor considered it lacking. Neither did the Church, our priest, or our bishop. We were accepted and treated as a married couple from the very beginning.

But we still went ahead and got crowned in the Orthodox Church. Why? Because, as our friends Malachi and Hannah learned this weekend, an Orthodox wedding is something God does to and for us, not something primarily we do before God. We submit, but God joins. We assent, but God unites. This is why in the Orthodox wedding service, there are no vows. We are not focused on what we say. We focus on what God says. My wife and I are what God says we are. And now Malachi and Hannah are what God says they are.

The focus of married life in Orthodoxy is leading one's spouse and children to salvation. Children are an expected part of marital union, though one ought not get too tightly wound about the parameters of that. Metropolitan Saba wrote a lovely piece on marriage and childbearing recently. In it, he wrote:

As implied by the petitions for childbearing in the marriage service, Orthodoxy does not teach that sexual marital intimacy is in any way sinful. Neither does the Church teach that intercourse in matrimony is merely tolerated for the sake of conceiving children, as does the Augustinian tradition of western Christianity. Nowhere in the New Testament does one find a denigration of sex in marriage or the view that it requires justification through procreation. St. Paul does warn, however, against excessive abstinence from marital relations: “Do not deprive each other, except by mutual consent and for a time, so you may devote yourselves to prayer. Then come together again, so that Satan will not tempt you through your lack of self-control” (1 Cor. 7:5).

The discipline of marital fasting in Orthodoxy should be embraced freely by mutual agreement between the spouses in light of their current state of spiritual maturity, not as a matter of rigid law. Especially in this most intimate dimension of married life, misguided ascetical strictness may have disastrous consequences that are counterproductive to the healing and wellbeing of all concerned.

While children are certainly one of the great blessings of marriage and the Church encourages couples to “be fruitful and multiply,” there are no canons in the Church that forbid the use of non-abortifacient means of birth control by married couples—and some barrier method contraception was known in antiquity. The canons of the Church have detailed descriptions of sexual offences, but none limiting births apart from the condemnation of abortion. What some identify as the rare patristic condemnations of contraception reflect the identification of them with abortion considering the limited medical knowledge of those times.

As ever, the Church's focus in the marital union is not on mere childbearing, but a life in Christ, the giving of one's self to the other, and to the children born of the union.  We are not trying to breed more Christians, like livestock. We are trying to fill and subdue the earth by uniting ourselves, one another, and our children to Christ. So yes, we value and expect children in an Orthodox marriage, and we ought to have as many as God will bless us with. But the Church has no per se prohibition on contraception, nor does the Church endorse the novel idea that once a married couple is past childbearing age they should "live together as brother and sister." The marital union is a mirror of the love of the Holy Trinity. Withdrawing from that love to pursue man-made "rules" is folly. As His Eminence reminded us above, and as St. Paul says explicitly in the Holy Scriptures, husband and wife ought to deny one another only by mutual consent, and only for a short time. Thus, marital fasts (where the couple refrains from normal relations, for example, during fasting periods, on fast days or the night before communion) are fully appropriate in the Church, with the blessing and guidance of your parish priest. "Living together as brother and sister" is anomalous and ought be undertaken carefully, and rarely. The neo-monastic, Orthodox cosplay influence is not a pattern for normal married life in the Church.

Father David Bibeau once spoke at St. Elias in Atlanta, to a men's group. He said "you men are the priests of your households," and then he started talking about something of which I was previously unaware. He said that a startling percentage of families where the children continue to go to church as adults are families where the father goes to church weekly. The mother's influence is strong too, but not nearly as strong as the father's. Statistically, if you want your children to go to church, their father is going to have to take them and set the example and expectation. I'm not sure why that is, but I trust Fr. David and thus I believe it to be true. This means a huge part of the success of the marriage, if success is defined as leading one's spouse and children to salvation, hinges on the husband being willing to take on this role, being willing to die to himself and his desires, and take his family to Church regularly. It does not mean the wife cannot make up for that -- for sure if your husband will not go to Church, you go anyway, and take as many kids as you can. It does mean that if the husband is on board, the kids are far more likely to stick around into adulthood. Husbands should take this role seriously.

And yet, while we Orthodox do believe that the husband is the head of the household, it is in a priestly role, not a position of power, much less coercion or manipulation. The husband offers himself on behalf of the family.  He isn't the "boss" so much as he is the head servant. At Malachi and Hannah's wedding, Father Seth said God took Eve from Adam's side, not from his head, nor from his feet, but from his side. Not to Lord over him, and not to be under his feet, but to stand beside him. This is a good image.

One of our former (Lutheran) pastors once told his flock (including us) that we are too quick to pay attention to what God says to our spouse and too slow to listen to what God says to us.  And so, when St. Paul admonishes the wife to submit to her husband as to the Lord, that is not something for men to enforce, but for women to aspire to. Likewise, when St. Paul admonishes the husband to love his wife as Christ loved the Church, even being willing to die for her, that is not something for the wife to insist upon, but for the husband to attempt to live out daily. The roles of husband and wife, in a God-pleasing marriage, are not competing for power and glory, but are complimentary, designed to enrich the union at the expense of the pride and selfishness of the individuals. In marriage, we learn to put ourselves aside and live for others. That is the way of salvation.

The Authentic Christianity of Dolly Parton

 

It feels weird to speak of a world without Dolly in it.  I grew up on her music, her variety show, and in the shadow of her influence on our culture, particularly here in the South. To call her an icon is to understate the case.

It feels a bit weirder to talk about her "authenticity."  Put mildly, Dolly had some aesthetic work done.  The photo to the left shows only a part of that work over the years.  Dolly dressed garishly, on purpose, wore a lot of makeup, had big hair and big ..... other things.

But the biggest part of her was her personality, and beneath the fake hair, complexion, nails, and ...... other things...... I doubt anyone ever encountered a more real person.

A friend of mine commented yesterday, quoting someone from Twitter, "she was the real that people in this country strive to be."

Her faith is well known.  Dolly played up the "spiritual but not religious" aspects, but one listen to her catalog begins to reveal some deep roots in Southern Christianity.  The realest part of her was her faith.  In a 2019 interview, she said "I always felt responsible to God that I was supposed to be doing something for God. I still feel like that, and I'm still doing it, trying to. Sinning all the way, but trying my best, and asking forgiveness seventy times seven."  She lived her faith, out loud, unapologetic, and real, just like her. Christianity wasn't something she believed.  It was a life she lived.

Our Lord teaches us, "you will know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes from thornbushes or figs from thistles? Even so, every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Therefore by their fruits you will know them."  The list of Dolly Parton's charity efforts is far too long to recite here, and is mostly well known, though Dolly only spoke of them herself to help further the charities.  From paying schoolchildren if they graduated high school (reducing the dropout rate in her hometown from over 30% to around 6% in the process), to giving away free books, to helping victims of fires or funding COVID vaccines, she tried to give away substantial portions of her fortune, estimated at over $450 million.  She likely will continue funding charity long after her death yesterday. Money neither saves nor condemns, but what you do with it matters. But it was never just the money -- Dolly spent time in her communities, pushed up people, and was a guiding light for goodness, mercy and charity in this world.

But that is not all.  She was married to her husband for 59 years until death parted them last year. "Jolene" is a testament to her love for her husband and appreciation for the sanctity of marriage, and yet still manages to give the auburn-haired, emerald-eyed foil a measure of grace.  Every community, every group, every clique in the world seems to love her.  It's not because she caved into every demand of special interest groups.  It's because she loved every human person, unconditionally, and without apology.  She purposely avoided taking political sides, even at times when such was demanded of public figures.  She would not stoop to degrade anyone. She always radiated love for her fellow man.  It was this love, in part, that pushed her to eschew divisive rhetoric and public posturing:

"I ain't that good a Christian to think that I am so good that I can judge people. That's God's job, not mine. So as far as politics, I hate politics. Hate politics."

Hating politics, but loving people and refusing to judge them?  It's hard to conceive of a better example for modern Christians to emulate.  

She wasn't perfect, of course.  She would be the first to tell you that. But in a world of Kardashians (all of whom Dolly surely loved too), I hope we can all agree we should try harder to be like Dolly.

The Problem of So-Called "Liberal" Theology

I say "so-called 'liberal' theology" not because it's a poor descriptor, but because I think most people tend to equate the word "liberal" with a host of secular political opinions that may or may not be accurate (for example, we can distinguish between "leftist," "Marxist," and "liberal," not to mention the rise of the use of the term "classical liberal" to define what we now usually call "conservatives").

In any event, this isn't a post about politics, and it is certainly not about secular politics. It's about essentially three competing approaches to theology: innovationist (liberal), traditional (what most people would call "conservative" in a positive sense), and rigorist (what most people would call "conservative" or "fundamentalist" in a pejorative sense).

I'm a traditionalist.  I've written a fair amount in recent years about the dangers of rigorist theology and the legalistic boxes it tends to put us in.  But I'm in a discussion now involving an atheist/former Lutheran, some liberal Lutheran theologians, and some more traditional Lutheran theologians. In that discussion, the basic problem of "liberal theology" sort of jumped off the page.

I won't recount specific here.  The discussion isn't private so much as the participants likely do not expect to have their words broadcast outside that conversation.  I want to respect that for all involved.  So without getting into the details of the discussion, what jumps out is this: Liberal theologians tend to approach the Scriptures, the Church, even the miracles of Christ, with skepticism.  That is, if secular science, culture, politics -- whatever -- enters into the picture, it usually is expected to act as a trump card for whatever Christians have believed for millennia now.

I had a professor in the Antiochian House of Studies whose teachings may illustrate this.  He, too, will remain nameless.  But his basic view was that the Apostle John Mark of the Seventy wrote most of the New Testament.  I don't recall off the top of my head whether he was claiming John Mark wrote down what the Twelve were teaching, or whether he was a disciple of someone.  That's mostly because I didn't buy the argument to begin with.  In my paper for the class "Scripture II: New Testament," I wrote the following:

Contrary to the view put forth in our text, this student has always considered John the Apostle to be the author of both the Gospel of John and of Revelation . . . I will avoid a lengthy discursus on this point beyond this paragraph and defer to the assigned text and my esteemed professor throughout this paper that John Mark is the author of Revelation.  I would like to note, however, that one reason I hold this view is John’s portrayal in our iconography and the tradition behind the icon.  John the Theologian is my Patron Saint.  The icon I have of him in my home is of St. John dictating Revelation to St. Prochorus. 

Granted, I wrote these words, so I obviously believe them and stand by them.  The point is, this strikes me as a pretty on-the-nose objection to "liberal theology."  Liberal theology defers to modernity and innovation.  "New ideas" must transplant the old.  Proper theology defers to tradition.  Not blindly, and not as a "religion of dead men," but properly.  Using this example, there is no reason beyond pure academic skepticism and innovation to think anyone but St. John wrote Revelation (and the Gospel of John, and the Epistles of John).  To the extent literary criticism and so forth might call into question the authorship, the Church usually has answers.  For example, modern scholarship often notes that St. John likely would not be a very good writer because of his background. The Church answers, "there is no such concern about St. Prochorus, and the Church has always said St. John dictated the texts anyway, or at least some of them, so why would we choose another author when we know from history how these writings were made?"

It is so with nearly any issue where it is contended the view of the Church through the centuries has been "proven" wrong by modern scholarship.  It is assumed that the assertion and argument is "proof," but the tradition of the Church is simply man-made, utterly fallible, and therefore may be discarded. Not for nothing, archaeology has "proven" many of the things that scholars believed were "myths" to be historical facts. For that reason alone, naked skepticism ought to be tempered with some respect for those who went before us.

As a former Lutheran, we were not taught to believe the Bible was a plaything that could be read apart from the witness of the historical Church. The Lutheran Confessions make that clear, and while I believe the Lutheran Church broke with Holy Tradition on numerous points (including the relative authority of Holy Tradition), there was still a lot of solid ground to stand on in terms of the Patristic witness set forth in those Confessions. Some Lutherans today do not maintain this, and feel free to depart from the Tradition of the Church on certain points (the ever-virginity of Mary, the intercession of the departed saints, etc.).  Not all of them are liberals.  The Radical Reformation, however, is where the wheels truly came off.  If anyone can read the Bible and their interpretation of what it says is more authoritative than the Church and her Saints, then truly anything goes.  This has spawned both fundamentalism and wide-open innovationism, depending on how one runs things. Certainly Lutherans, like Orthodox, have people in both camps.  But theology doesn't operate that way, so those camps ought to be confronted rather than embraced.

In and of itself, some level of skepticism is not unhealthy.  There are cultural practices in the Church that are not dogmatic, what our Greek brethren often call "Yiayia theology," though they exist in the Arabic and Slavic Churches and others as well.  Cultural practices are not dogma, as I wrote here. But where the Church speaks -- in her iconography, in her teaching and in her liturgy and offices -- we are not free to simply discard what she says. As I put it in the discussion I mention above, "you're not going to find a direct parallel to what is a novel interpretation of (the Bible). The Fathers were perceptive, but we can forgive them for not knowing some 20th century smart boys would try to upend what the Bible says." 

The basic problem, thus, is not whether we wish to be kind and loving to people.  I am convinced and believe that liberal theologians believe they are simply being kind and loving.  They take "God is love" as an overriding theological principle that undoes words of condemnation and correction.  As if loving parents are always considered "nice" by their kids, when in fact loving parents correct, discipline, and teach.  Tossing aside the correction, discipline, and education is to toss aside love itself.

No, the real issue is, do we wish to be faithful.  In Orthodox theology, God has given us a life to live.  As I've written many times before, God loves us and wants us to be whole, and so He gives us the opportunity to unite to Him and enter into His life, which is Life itself.  Walking with Him is not mean, even when others do not wish to walk with him.  We ought not go around berating others for their sins, as if we do not have a log in our own eye.  We also cannot whitewash the teaching of the Church to avoid hurting feelings.  Liberal theology too often lands in subjective feelings. As the image I chose above implies, liberal theology doesn't want to offend anyone or hurt feelings.

Of course, the problem with this is nobody wants to offend anyone or hurt feelings, but we cannot sacrifice truth for feelings.  We should say everything in the kindest way, and we should avoid causing unnecessary offense.  But a truth claim about Christianity cannot be reduced to myth or fabrication simply because it offends someone.  Someone will always be offended by anything we do or say.  The ever-reductionist intersectional claims of the secular left demonstrate that well enough. We, as Christians, are to give grace where we take offense, and we are to act gracefully to avoid giving offense, but that does not eradicate the truth of our faith. And the main issue I have seen over and over with liberal theology is when offense is taken, no effort is made to see if that offense is reasonable or feigned.  Rather, the skepticism I described above is employed to answer the question: "can we get by without saying this thing that someone, rightly or wrongly, took offense to?"  It's almost uncanny how often the answer is "yes."

The Christian faith is neither conservative nor liberal.  It is neither innovationist nor rigorist.  Secular politics has no place in the Church of Christ, nor do naked secular worldviews.  Scholarship is helpful when it is employed to help us understand things. Not all scholarship fits that mold, and while it might be acceptable in the academy to find "fresh, new approaches" to the Bible and Christian history, it is not acceptable for Orthodox Christians to set aside the teaching of the Church to embrace those approaches. Scholarship is not theology, and we ought not pretend it is.

It is tempting, judging from responses I see from my friends, to drive into the opposite ditch.  That way leads to heartache, as I have discussed a lot over the last few years. There is a "reasonable middle" in the Church. We should all strive to occupy that ground.

You Had to Be There....

Coming of age in the late 80s and early 90s, we had a saying -- "you just had to be there."  In the post-COVID era, I feel like this should be repurposed to the Church.

I cannot say how many times someone has told me they realized after COVID that they can "worship God at home," or "watch the services on Facebook."  This may work for certain Christian traditions, but the more sacramental and the more liturgical you are, the less it makes any sense at all.

If going to church is no more than gathering with like-minded people to learn stuff about God and listen to inspiring messages and sing songs, then sure -- you can do that anywhere.  But if church is an encounter with the living God, Who gives Himself to us in the sacraments, and if the priest is not just a dynamic and engaging figure who happens to know some stuff about God, but someone who has submitted to Holy Orders in the Church to preside over the sacraments and give eternal life to others, then that is not something that can be appreciated virtually.

I sympathize, don't misunderstand.  I prefer doing Zoom mediations and depositions in the post-COVID world.  COVID taught us that not everything must be done face-to-face.  Telemedicine, as just one example, has grown since 2020.  Convenience is great, and anyonymity can sometimes be comforting.  But Christianity is not something that can be virtualized.  Yes, the Church is messy.  Yes other people sometimes irritate or annoy us, or tempt us to sin in other ways.  Yes, the priest might be in a bad mood or the choir might be missing some of its better voices or the reader might get a frog in his throat right before chanting something (that literally happened to me last month).  Maybe someone's toddler is crying or, worse, some adult is acting out.  Maybe the building is too hot or it's too far to drive or I was out too late and want to sleep in.

Maybe there's a football game on that morning!

Still, salvation is, at its core, a two-fold process.  We acquire union with God, then we take God's light into the world .  The former can only be done in person.  Priests consecrate the sacraments, and with the sole exception of emergency baptism, laity are not authorized to do so.  We can't give obedience to a TV screen or a YouTube video on our phone.  We must give obedience to people, starting with our priests and bishops.  We can't even forgive people virtually, for if we avoid people, what is there to ever forgive?  The problem with this is, who is there to ever love?  Because we also can't love people virtually.  Not really, not as they actually are.  At best we're loving a facsimile of the person.  So not only can't we receive God virtually, but we also cannot share Him virtually.  God's love is communal.  We are, as I've said many times, saved in community.

It remains fascinating to me, this preference for virtual "church."  The entire point of salvation is learning to love others as Christ loves us.  The only way to do that is in union with Christ, for it is in Him that we learn to love our neighbor.  It's one reason the Orthodox Church does not serve private masses -- there must be at least one layperson present to have a valid Divine Liturgy.  When it comes to God, you do have to be there.

Orthodox Soteriology

 

St. Patrick Orthodox Church,
the local ἐκκλησία in Carrollton, Georgia

I foolishly wrote about this, not just once, but twice, back when I was a baby Orthodox Christian and knew just enough to be dangerous, but far too little to presume to teach anyone.

Now, some 15 years later, I am still not quite a teacher, but I've learned a thing or two along the way.  I'd like to revisit some of the distinctions between what we believe and what most other Christians believe about soteriology.

First, that word "soteriology."  It is Greek, from two words, "σωτηρία," meaning "deliver" or "save" or "health," and the suffix "-λογία," which is a branch of knowledge, literally from the Greek "λόγος," meaning "word" or, in some cases, even ideas or conceptions.  Put simply, the word "soteriology" essentially boils down to "the knowledge of salvation" -- it is the theology of how we humans are saved by God.

In understanding this, it is probably important to understand that the "health" derivative of "σωτηρία" is more in line with what Orthodox Christians believe about salvation than more legalistic interpretations.  As Fr. Seth reminds us every now and then, we take the core of the Greek word "ἐλεῖσον," or "mercy," as related to the Greek word "ἐλαίον," which literally means "olive oil" and thus is related to the oil of healing.  This concept and understanding actually pre-dates Christianity. Orthodox Christians have never wavered from this.  We believe, and have always believed, that what the West calls "salvation" relates not so much to judgment, guilt, and punishment, but sickness, healing, and restoration.

With that in mind, how does this affect our salvation?  For one thing, as I have also written previously, we are not saved in isolation from one another.  We are saved in community  That doesn't mean the entire community (however we define it) is either saved or unsaved.  We don't tend to think like that.  What it does mean is the Body of Christ (that is, the Church), is saved, and I hope to be a part of it.  As a pre-emptive aside, I should state that this is not necessarily a statement about the canonical boundaries of the Church so much as the charismatic boundaries of the Church.  One can be related to the Church in some way, but still not quite fully within her canonical walls, so to speak. How and when this happens, God knows and we do not.  So we dare not judge the salvation of others based on whether they are in our "club."  The point is, we are saved in relation to others, not merely in relation to God alone. God saves us, not just me.

This corporate understanding of salvation is manifest in the pages of the New Testament.  The Bible talks about the company of heaven in Revelation, gathered around the altar asking "how long?"  St. Paul says "for just as the body is one and has many parts, and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body, so also is Christ. For by one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—whether Jews or Greeks, whether slaves or free—and have all been made to drink into one Spirit. For in fact the body is not one member but many." I Cor. 12:12-14. Elsewhere he writes "For just as each of us has one body with many members, and not all members have the same function, so in Christ we who are many are one body, and each member belongs to one another."  Romans 12:4-5.  The very word "ἐκκλησία," which we translate as "Church," means "those called out," and implies a gathering or assembly.  Put simply, there is no salvation without a Church, and there is no Church of one.  When St. Paul says "each member belongs to one another," there is a responsibility there, and a familial bond.  We are not alone, whether we like it or not.  We are not only among other people, but in fact we are bound to them in Christ.

This is clear in Orthodox practice.  We do not have private masses or anything like them.  For the Orthodox to celebrate a Divine Liturgy, at least one layman must be present.  The priest cannot offer a liturgy for someone by himself.  We are all, in a very real sense, in this together.

So if salvation is corporate, and it is the Church that is saved, what does this mean for our understanding of how we are saved and from what are we saved?  For one thing, as members of the Body of Christ, no sin is truly private.  Any sin I commit is as public as if I had done it in the middle of liturgy.  We still have private confession -- don't worry inquirers -- but our understanding of this is as a mercy to preserve the dignity of the penitent.  It is not because we think our sins don't affect other people.  For another, our love is also not private.  That is, we cannot love one person and hate another within the Body of Christ.  We all sin, we all fall short, we are all in need of healing.  So we forgive and show mercy and help one another.  That is the Christian way.  There are no enemies in the Body of Christ.  Even those we struggle to get along with are worthy of our prayers.  And our love for one another affects everything around us.

Beyond the corporate nature of salvation, though, there is the emphasis we place on sin as a wound or disease, and salvation as healing or restoration.  The Orthodox do speak in terms of guilt and punishment, it's just that it's not the overarching emphasis when we discuss salvation.  Some of this is our understanding of Who God is.  If God is love, then experiencing God's "wrath" as "anger" and so forth leaves us with some pretty uncomfortable conclusions.  Either the Calvinists are right, and God doesn't love everybody, or there is something more experiential about attributing the anthropomorphisms of "wrath" and "anger" to God.  The latter is how the Orthodox understand things.  We receive God's love as "wrath" when we experience the consequences of our own sin.  It's not that God hates us.  It's that God's infinite love is received by us as frightening and even painful when we are in opposition to Him.  That is one reason we take very seriously the idea of proper preparation for Holy Communion.  God loves everybody, but not everybody is prepared to receive that love.

In turn, this emphasis on healing versus being found "not guilty" leads us to understand our neighbor's sin better.  If they're wounded, and I'm wounded, then what do I have by which to judge them?  This does not mean, obviously, that we must endure abuse from unrepentant abusers.  We must forgive those who do us harm, but sometimes that forgiveness must come from a distance.  It does mean, however, that I am under a holy obligation to understand that I struggle with my own sin, and to learn to forgive even if others are not yet able or willing to either forgive or repent.

So what does this all mean, practically?  It means salvation is not being saved from the Father's wrath towards us.  God loves us.  Salvation is not being found "not guilty" because Christ, Who is innocent, was found "guilty" in our place.  God is just, and punishing the innocent for the sins of the wicked is unjust.  Salvation is not believing that I am saved because I believe the right things or do the right things, while others cannot be saved because they do not believe and act as I do.  God is merciful, and is not waiting for us to intellectually grasp every tenet of theology before He will save us.

Rather, salvation is understanding that each and every human person stands on the same footing before God, and that God loves us just as we are and forgives us just as we are.  It is taking those first steps as a spiritual toddler, with God holding our hand patiently as we stumble along, and then eventually, hopefully, learning to walk more steps without falling. It is realizing that because God loves me just as I am, He also loves me enough to want me to stop harming myself by my sin, and to stop harming my neighbor (who He loves as much as He loves me).   It is understanding that He gives us Himself to heal us and enliven us (particularly in the Sacraments).  And it is realizing that every human person on the planet is my neighbor, because our Lord, God and Saviour Jesus Christ has identified Himself with every human person on the planet.  Nobody is outside the reach of God's love, and because of that, nobody is beyond the scope of my forgiveness and forbearance.

That is, roughly speaking, how we see salvation.  Not as an angry judge punishing us for disobedience, but as a loving Father disciplining us and always drawing us to Himself.  And just as encounters with earthly fathers can be uncomfortable when we are not acting like we are members of the family, so too can encounters with God be uncomfortable when we do not act like His children.  If earthly fathers can forgive and love, despite our many failings, surely we can conceive of a God Who can do at least as much.

The Mission of Growth!

 

The Orthodox Church is growing!  

Those in the Church already know this, as most parishes are experiencing exponential growth.  Our little mission has, until recently, had steady but somewhat plodding growth.

I mentioned previously that the word from friends who have "been there and done that" is that missions tend to plod along until a priest is assigned.  We were pretty amazed at how much growth we had in 3 short years, but I have to say, the truth of that sentiment is beginning to hit home in a much more significant way.  We were averaging somewhere in the high 20s to mid 30s in weekly attendance back when Father Seth arrived in January.  The last three weeks we've averaged in the mid- to high-40s, including one week with a record 50 in attendance. This isn't mostly visitors or passers-by either.  These are new folks interested in attending our little church. It feels like a "new normal."  And it is wonderful.

But that's not all.  We're also having turnover in the catechumenate and the inquirers. We received 6 new Orthodox Christians at Pascha, and we made 11 catechumens a few weeks ago, dropping our inquirers to about 3-4. As of today, we have more inquirers than we had before we made 11 inquirers into catechumens.  Again, this is just over the course of a few weeks.  There are now people at the mission whose names I have not yet learned, and we see new faces weekly.  The communion line used to be so short we barely had time to sing a hymn before it was time for the choir to go up.  We had a literal handful of communicant members each week.  Now, it is quite long and communion takes a while.  It is really incredible to observe.  

Early on, John and I used to talk about how, at the time, we were "playing church," but we needed to get to the point where we began to look, sound, and act like an actual church.  That started with Fr. Tom almost exactly a year ago, but back then we were in borrowed space, with a borrowed priest, and were only blessed to have liturgy every other week.  We had people who, as a result, only came to church every other week.  We'd have, at best, 25-30 people for liturgy, and then something in the teens or low twenties for Typica.  Our services, including the liturgy, were not as well done due to space limitations and the fact that we did not have all of the liturgical items we needed.  Our iconostasis was a set of roll-up banners we purchased for that purpose.  It worked.  It was good enough for what we needed at the time.  But now, it's very different.

July, 2025, Foxhole Wellness Center

We now have an actual iconostasis and a reasonably full complement of liturgical implements.  We have a weekly service schedule, and we're adding to it by having midweek services.  We have a priest who is not only there for services, but has regular times for meetings and confession.  We have added an inquirer's class to the catechism classes.  We have a father and a head who anchors the parish in a way it wasn't able to be anchored before. Now, when new people show up, they're showing up to a church.  And one without the prefix "quasi-" attached to it.

April, 2026, Saint Patrick Orthodox Church

This has a very real effect on people seeking the Church, and that, I believe, is why we are seeing more exponential growth.  It was always there beyond the walls of our mission, and to a lesser extent within those walls, but people interested in the Orthodox Church were looking for a full expression of the Church's liturgical life.  We still don't quite have that, but we're working towards it every day.  

Others are, of course, experiencing the same growth in much greater numbers.  One parish in Raleih reportedly had 85 new catechumens back in February, which brought their total back then to over 200 catechumens alone.  A friend from our former parish, St. Basil Orthodox Church, told me they are about to expand the temple, but when they're done, it will already be full again.  Obviously, larger and more metropolitan areas are going to have exponentially more growth than smaller towns like the one we're in.  But seeing even a small part of it come to our little mission is a blessing and a joy.  It is, after all, why we're here in the first place.