Don't Be a Weirdo/Touch Grass

 

One of the best pieces of advice I got early on as a would-be Orthodox Christian was "don't be a weirdo."  I forgot who wrote it -- it was on one of the blogs I frequented back in those days (2010-ish).  But it was instructive.  As the kids say these days, it was an imperative to "touch grass."

Both of these sayings lead to the same place.  The Orthodox Church is already weird by American Christian standards.  Since 2012 I have been blessed to wear the cassock as a reader.  So I dress like the picture above for Church every Sunday (I'm the one reading the Epistle and, well, wearing the cassock).  There isn't much need to be any weirder than that.

As I wrote a while back, there is a tendency among a handful of folks to put on Orthodoxy like a costume.  Orthodox LARPing as it were.  There is a healthy expression of this, in that the outward things of the Church -- crosses, prayer ropes, head coverings, etc. -- are all good things.  The misuse of a thing does not negate its proper use.  But it is in fact a misuse of these things to treat them as accessories.  As I wrote then, wear your prayer rope, but use it.

But more than that, the potential for misuse goes way up when we forget that the outward things are connected to spiritual things. It does little good to dress up in Orthodoxy and then fail to live it out.  We fail to live it out both when we reject our neighbor and when we scare him off from the Church because we are so bizarre that he figures our parish must be as well.  

We are fortunate at St. Patrick to have a community of real people, with real lives, who live out the Christian faith within their normal lives.  That is, we don't gather a lot of weirdos, at least not any weirder than you'll find in any other place in the country.  Our priest is pretty normal.  His wife (also pictured above) is pretty normal.  Our people, as you can see above, are pretty normal.  We are neither monastic fetishists nor ethnic and cultural appropriators.  We aren't trying to remake Holy Rus in this little storefront church.  We have actual Russian people who attend our parish, so our nods to the old country are authentic, not pretentious. Then again, our Russian friends are from the present, so that's what you'd expect.

I don't say all this to come down on those who are new to the faith and still discovering all the shiny new exotic toys the Russian, Greek and Arabic worlds have to offer through our parishes. Our food would be poorer if we didn't absorb some of that (then again, theirs would be too if not for our fried chicken and banana pudding).  I don't mean to criticize those who are serious about maintaining a prayer rule or are diligent about reading about the faith.  Those are all good things.  But remember to get out and touch grass.  Orthodoxy is lived right where we are.  I tell our catechumens frequently, "salvation starts right now -- God isn't waiting for you to die."  That's the Orthodox faith.  We take it into the world, and in so doing transform the world.  That is not bound up in monastic and cultural trappings.  It happens wherever you may be.  Bloom where you're planted.

It is notable that there would be no Russian Orthodox culture if St. Vladimir hadn't Christianized Russia. The Arabic and Greek-speaking worlds were Christianized early on, as was the Latin world, but the Russian Church is evidence that Orthodoxy takes the culture as it is and transforms it into itself.  The reason OCA and ROCOR parishes look and sound different than Greek and Antiochian parishes is the Russians took their own music, culture, tradition, and piety and made the faith their own.  Not by changing the faith, but by being authentically Russian in their practice of the Orthodox faith.  You only need to note the four-part harmony in any Russian-descendent parish to understand this.

We are called to do the same here. Which is not to say we should eradicate Russian (or Greek, or Arabic) language or music from our liturgies, or stop enjoying their food or venerating their saints.  The Church is One, for sure, and our forefathers have left us a blessed and beautiful inheritance.  I absolutely adore Russian chant and Byzantine chant alike.  But the Church is also not bound up in a previous time, when it was supposedly "more authentic" or "purer."  The Church is for our time just as much as the high water mark of the Byzantine Empire or the full glory of Holy Rus.  We aren't called to recover those moments in the past.  We are called to recreate them right where we are, in a way that works in our culture and our country and among our people today.  We can no more recreate the 7th century Hagia Sophia than we can recreate 1st Century Palestine.  We live in the 21st Century.  The Church is relevant here and now.

So yes, please, more Obikhod chant and Kievan chant.  More Pascha cheese and chotkis.  We love that stuff too.  Just don't forget the burgers and dogs, and don't make it weird.

Spiritual Fatherhood

 

I wrote approximately six months ago about our then-new priest, our father in Christ, Fr. Seth.  Fatherhood is an important part of the priesthood, and the Church in general.  As I wrote in that post, fathers are the glue that holds a family together, and we thank God for ours.

There is also, however, a more pointed definition of "spiritual fatherhood," and I fear it is often misunderstood.  Part of this is simply that the various Archdioceses are not consistent in how they discuss it, and sometimes, even within an Archdiocese there are discrepancies.  There are, however, some commonalities, and I thought it worth discussing the notion and how it plays out in Orthodox parishes.

First, the notion of a "spiritual father" comes from the monastic life, not the parish.  In that sense, a young monk is often assigned to a wise, experienced elder to assist him in the monastic walk.  Eventually, the practice of private confession expanded beyond restoration of lapsed heretics and monastic life to the parish, and the notion of "spiritual fatherhood" in the parishes developed. It is the same principle, but not the same application.

His Eminence, Metropolitan Saba, wrote a few years ago that:

The Orthodox tradition does not recognize the phrase “spiritual father.” This is a modern term that appeared in Western languages, possibly influenced by Catholic spirituality. The Orthodox tradition uses the term “elder,” which corresponds to geronda in Greek and starets in Russian. This term embodies the Orthodox understanding of what is now commonly called a “spiritual father.” One who has grown old in his life with God and has come to know it through personal, living experience is called an elder (geronda). This means that he has spent time as a disciple in the spiritual life and has advanced in it to the point of becoming a great expert, capable—through the testimony of recognized and holy fathers—and guiding others in it. Likewise, the Orthodox tradition does not recognize an academic method that one follows to obtain the role of a spiritual father. The only path is discipleship under an experienced elder for growth in what we call “the life in Christ.” The gift of serving as an elder comes from God, not from studying theology academically or only holding the priestly office.

On the other hand, the Orthodox Church in America's clergy guidelines say that:

The priest is the spiritual father of his parish, and every parishioner ought to respect him as such. 

So you can see, there is some overlap, and also a little confusion, about what is being discussed.  For example, Metropolitan Saba indicates a "spiritual father" is to be an elder, someone who has grown old in his life with God and has personal, living experience in the spiritual life.  And yet, the OCA says every priest is a "spiritual father" in his parish, even though many priests are sent to their parishes straight out of seminary, in their 30s.  What gives?

I would suggest that Metropolitan Saba and the OCA's clergy guidelines are using the same words to describe different things.  His Eminence is discussing the idea of a "spiritual father" as equivalent to an elder in a monastery, someone who will guide you through your spiritual walk and assist you in things of the faith.  The OCA is stating the reality that, as I wrote in my earlier blog post, the priest is in charge of his parish, and is responsible for the faithful there, but not suggesting that every priest is a monastic abbot who ought to be neck deep in the personal lives of his faithful.  We can see this by the fact that Metropolitan Saba makes clear that what he calls a "spiritual father" is really, in the Church's Tradition, more properly called an "elder."  That is, he is using that term exclusively to refer to the sort of elder-novice dynamic you find in the monastic life.  This is further discerned by evaluating the rest of His Eminence's encyclical, particularly where he draws a distinction between a "confessor" and a "spiritual father":

A confessor, on the other hand, holds a significant position in the Church as institution. He is a canonically ordained priest whom his bishop deems qualified to hear confessions, offering guidance from the Holy Gospel and the teachings of the Church Fathers to help believers walk their Christian path in a way that pleases the Lord. If the elder is a priest, he may fulfill both roles, serving as a confessor while providing spiritual fatherhood. The faithful, as guardians of true faith, discern who possesses the gift of spiritual fatherhood based on the fruits of his guidance over time. 

So as Metropolitan Saba understands, there is a difference between "spiritual father/elder" and "parish priest/father confessor," though the two can rarely be embodied in the same person.  His Eminence goes on to say:

St. Basil the Great describes the spiritual father as “the physician of souls who heals with great tenderness according to the teachings of Christ.” He also calls him the “healer of the passions” (Letter 45:5-6). A true elder is a spiritual doctor who heals the soul from its diseases and struggles, liberating the person from the bondage of sinful passions. He focuses on the inner transformation of a person rather than external behaviors. The elder, through the guidance of the Holy Spirit, creates a new person in Christ, not the other way around. One of the greatest qualities of an elder is the gift of discernment. Spiritual guidance requires deep understanding of the human soul, its struggles, and the ways in which the devil tempts people. A confessor who lacks this discernment may offer wrong spiritual advice which can harm rather than heal. Metropolitan Athanasios of Limassol, a disciple of St. Paisios the Athonite, states: “Bad spiritual advice is like giving the wrong medicine to a sick person.” He warns that if an elder lacks discernment, he can misguide his spiritual children away from salvation. In one of his talks to nuns, he advised: “You must learn how God works in the hearts of people so that you do not give advice that could harm them” (Gifts of the Desert, Chapter 8). 

It is this last part that I think distinguishes true spiritual fatherhood from either a father confessor or, worse, what the Slavic Tradition refers to as a "mladostarchestvo" or "young elder." It is notable that what the word "starets" in the Slavic Tradition implies, the word "geronda" in the Greek Tradition makes plain.  "Geronda" means "old man."  One who lacks experience, training, and years of discernment is not an elder, no matter how much he might wish to be.  He can be a father confessor, a priest, a good person, a solid Christian. But he is not an elder.  If he attempts to act as one, he is likely to give sick parishioners the wrong medicine.  That is bad enough when it is a confessor giving imprudent penances or too-strict prayer and fasting rules.  It is positively destructive when it gets into marital advice, psychological counseling, financial guidance, or other things the priest has no business concerning himself with.  A former priest is an actual psychological counselor, and he told me on more than one occasion he tries to never mix the two disciplines.  That is wise.  

More, a "spiritual father" or "father confessor" (whichever applies) is there to guide you in spiritual matters. It is one thing for your priest to advise you on a prayer rule, or fasting.  Even if he does so poorly, the damage is rarely so bad it cannot be contained.  But you don't need a blessing to decide what color refrigerator to buy or who your friends can be.  A parish priest who thinks he can effectively guide you in financial matters or tell you who you are allowed to date is probably not a "spiritual father" so much as a narcissist and control freak.  There may be exceptions to this -- Metropolitan Saba wisely notes that a "spiritual father" is discerned by the fruits of his guidance.  But note well -- he also said this discernement is made by "the faithful, as guardians of the true faith . . . ."  It is not made by the priest himself.  No priest can impose on you such a relationship of power and control. You must submit to it voluntarily.  Do so with extreme caution outside a monastic setting.  The good priests will tell you the same.  I've met many good priests who are wise and capable, but not one who is clairvoyant.  The vast majority of monks aren't either.  We aren't enthusiasts nor charismatics.  Spiritual gifts are many and abundant, but everyone doesn't have all of them.  If your priest doesn't float when he prays, it might be wise to assume he doesn't know how your employment decisions will turn out, either.

I wrote on social media recently that "guru priests profane the office."  One who wants to be an elder likely will never actually become one unless he changes course.  The reason why ought to be simple enough to understand -- the chief virtue is humility, and wanting to be seen by the world as wise and learned and experienced is the opposite of humility.  The greatest priests I have ever had the good fortune of serving never told me how good they are.  Usually, quite the opposite.  Both of them, not for nothing, were older.  Our current priest is neither old nor young, and he has a fair amount of experience.  He still doesn't tell everyone he's an "elder," nor act as a guru.  That is because he is wise and pastoral.

There are no shortcuts.  The walk from young, zealous Christian to seminarian to priest to confessor to wise elder does not allow for the skipping of steps. Metropolitan Saba noted that "the Orthodox tradition does not recognize an academic method that one follows to obtain the role of a spiritual father." It also does not contemplate a path where a seminarian can graduate, get ordained, and go straight to the status of "geronda."

Spiritual fatherhood is a good thing. If we equate "spiritual father" with "elder," it is also a rare thing. Most priests are, or should be, father confessors, in Metropolitan Saba's formulation (with which I agree). We should be careful to discern the difference.