Guest Essay: Why Matter Matters to Orthodox Christians

Source: orthodoxartsjournal.org

 by Robert Lockridge

Balancing on spent legs, I grabbed hold of the windsurfer’s uphaul rope and strained to hoist the submerged sail. The moment that it cleared the water, I grabbed the boom and threw my weight backwards catching the wind. The board leapt forward and in an instant I was skipping across the waves. But, like each of my previous efforts over the last hour, I couldn’t “beat to windward”; I couldn’t control the windsurfer and sail upwind. Attempt after attempt, the board and I kept slipping downwind, down the choppy Currituck Sound of North Carolina. 

Tumbling into the water and swimming back to the windsurfer, I “cried uncle”. I rolled up the sail on the mast, laid it down the length of the board and began paddling on my belly back to shore against the wind and tide. Despite my repeated efforts, I had blown a full mile downwind. Fortunately, my family had been watching my struggle from shore, and my sister and uncle, realizing I was in trouble, had come out to tow me in by kayak. I was both thankful to see them and humbled. Then my uncle’s words made sense of my frustration. “You forgot the daggerboard.” Looking under my belly, I saw the daggerboard slot, empty.

Without a dagger board – the removable keel for a wind surfboard – I had no point of contact with the deeper, stiller water, no leverage over the wind and current. Without a daggerboard it was simply impossible for me to windsurf upwind and against the running tide. -—

By analogy, we modern Orthodox Christians may struggle to “beat to windward,” against the secularizing forces we all encounter when we leave the Liturgy and try to navigate our day-to-day lives. I believe that despite our rich, theological, liturgical, sacramental, and ascetical inheritance, we have unknowingly forfeited the daggerboard or keel of our journey of theosis– the integration of our eucharistic tradition into the whole of our lives. Our relationship with the creation is intended to be the ballasting, steadying, means of our communion with God throughout every aspect of life. Over many generations, however, the gap between us and the creation upon which we depend has widened into a gulf, so much so that now, like when I forgot the daggerboard that blustery day on the Currituck Sound, we are entirely unaware of having left anything behind in the first place. As a result, our lives are unhooked and disconnected from the creation in a way that would be unrecognizable to generations of Orthodox faithful who have gone before us. In this way, we are trying to “beat to windward” without our natural bodily intersection with the sacramental creation as leverage for our spiritual journey. 

In For the Life of the World: Sacraments and Orthodoxy, Fr. Schmemann makes the compelling case that man is created as homo adorans –as a worshipping being who “stands in the center of the world and unifies it in his act of blessing God, of both receiving the world from God and offering it to God –and by filling the world with the eucharist, he transforms his life, the one that he receives from the world, into life in God, into communion with Him. The world was created as the “matter,” the material of one all-embracing eucharist, and man was created as the priest of this cosmic sacrament” (15).
However, through the fall, Fr. Schmemann argues that man….

“ceased to be hungry for Him [God] and for Him alone, ceased to see his whole life depending on the whole world as a sacrament of communion with God. The sin was not that man neglected his religious duties. The sin was that he thought of God in terms of religion, i.e., opposing Him to life. The only real fall of man is his noneucharistic life in a noneucharistic world. The fall is not that he preferred world to God, distorted the balance between the spiritual and material, but that he made the world material, whereas he was to have transformed it into “life in God,” filled with meaning and spirit” (18).

The Church has to contend with secularizing forces that are a “negation of man as a worshiping being, as homo adorans” (118). Fr. Schmemann posits that because of the incarnation of Christ, man is intended to be as a priest, receiving the sacramentality of the world as the gift of communion with God and offering it back to God in thanksgiving. The world received by the Church in worship finds its fulfillment, and is intended to be an epiphany of “man’s relations to God, to the world, and to himself” (118). However, secularism unhooks materiality from spirituality and Schmemann believed that the Church has been profoundly influenced by this desacramentalizing force. While theologically speaking Orthodoxy remains deeply sacramental, in its “liturgical piety” there is a dangerous drift toward the replacement of “sacramentality” and “epiphany” by “sacrality” and the “magical incrustation into time and matter (the “natural”), by the supernatural” (see 131-33 on Schmemann’s discourse on the meaning of “holy water”). In other words, while the Church is intended to restore mankind to his priesthood wherein we come to know the whole of life as illumined with Him who is the Life of the world, secularism and secularizing tendencies within piety do the exact opposite–making the world opaque and putting distance between man and his very means of communion with God. It is within this context of understanding that Fr. Schmemann sought to open the doors, so to speak, between what the secularized world wrongly understands as the divide between that which is sacred and spiritual, and that which is material and “profane”.

It is through this framework that we are to understand Fr. Schmemann’s efforts to help restore liturgical practices to their sacramental and epiphanous roles. I am deeply grateful to have received this liturgical inheritance within our parish; to hear the prayers, to see through the royal doors, to participate in the Divine Liturgy in all the ways that our congregation is accustomed. In my estimation, the liturgical distance separating man from his vocation as homo adorans has gotten much smaller within the OCA since Fr. Schmemann first published this book sixty-three years ago. Yet simultaneously, the distance or space between us and receiving the creation as “epiphany” has gotten unimaginably larger. 

Fr. Schmemann argues that there has been a profound desacramentalization of the world. Quietly, and without our even knowing it, this process has unhooked us Orthodox Christians from our intended sacramental relationship with the world, leaving us with little leverage to “beat to windward”. Without this leverage it is increasingly difficult for us to worship God through the whole of our lives as we were created to do. Instead, our lives can end up feeling very bifurcated–with our Orthodox lives and the rest of our lives separate rather than integrated. I am convinced that the theological and pastoral implications of this reality are profoundly important.

In order for the Church to be healthy, for men and women to live into their vocations as homo adorans, there needs to be not only a liturgical restoration but also a restoration of our eucharistic relationship with the creation so that we can fulfill our priestly roles and know communion with God through the whole of our lives, even while living in a secular culture.

Unlike the generations who have gone before us, we modern Orthodox Christians live largely unhooked from the bodily knowledge of our dependence upon creation. As a result, the integration of our sacramental and ascetical practices suffers. For example, throughout the history of the Church, people living in the northern hemisphere have known late winter and early spring to be the “thin time” – the time when the previous season’s harvest is running low; the time before the next harvest season begins; the time before the lambs are born; the time before the calves are born and the cows come into milk. In this way, humanity’s innate dependence upon the natural, sacramentalworld, through the “thin time” was intended to be transformed into a means of communion with God. The Lenten Fast was an offering of an already embodied and integrated reality. The “thin time” was offered back to God and used as a means of our catechesis. Undoubtedly, it stretched people to share with those who had less during a time when some struggled to trust that there would be enough. 

I think it is safe to say that our experience of fasting during Great Lent is significantly different from that of the faithful who have gone before us. For that matter, so are all of our eating habits. Rather than being an extension of innate sacramentality born out of humbling, seasonal limitations that are congruous with our shared, embodied, creation-placed lives, our modern Lenten fast can feel like a compilation of arbitrary consumer choices that are hemmed in by the prescription of the Tradition, but which, by themselves remain opaque, playing no epiphanous role on our journey of theosis. For example, many of us, my family included, enjoy our fair share of Oreos during the Lenten fast. While from the label we know that Oreos are technically within the restraints of the fast, and therefore a permissible, “creamy,” chocolaty dessert during a time when most options are “off the table,” so to speak, the snack itself lacks sacramental depth and has little ability to point us to the story of God’s faithfulness. Without this depth, the Oreo, along with many of our dietary choices can become a means to an end, merely a way to achieve the fast. But in Christ, the means and the ends are intended to be communion with Him. 

When we hear the pre-Lenten gospel reading on the “Publican and the Pharisee,” we all want to know the true humility of the tax collector, who encountered God’s grace as he knelt in the shadows, beating his breast. Yet we do not always know how to go about doing this. Inadvertently our creationally-unhooked fasting can become a means of our self-exaltation and a proof of our rigor, rather than a pathway towards true humility. Though the Pharisee fasted twice a week and gave tithes of all he possessed, his posture remained upright and proud. For him, the fruit of “doing the right things” was not humility but self-righteousness. 

The type of asceticism that is integrated into the whole of an embodied life rather than a seemingly unrelated religious accretion upon it, inculcates a sense of humility and dependence upon God that is woven into the very fabric of one’s existence. There is less space for false piety to rise up when we are being bodily humbled by our beholdency to the creation. And perhaps there is cause for greater joy as well when Pascha comes– when we celebrate the Resurrection of the Lamb of God and simultaneously feast upon the lamb born in spring.

That said, I understand that we’re not going to be literally feasting on lambs that we raise in our urban/suburban contexts!

Nevertheless, I am convinced that unless we recover a comprehensive, embodied, sacramental understanding of the creation through the whole of our lives, the hope we profess will prove insufficient against the strong secularizing tide of our time. Unless there is a restoration of our sacramental relationship with the creation, we will be as effective sailing against the current as I was, trying to beat to windward without a daggerboard. I am convinced that the health of the church, the coherence of our lives, the wellbeing of our children, and our children' s children, and the authenticity of our witness depends upon this.

Perhaps we can take encouragement from the icon of “The Mystical Church” or “The Ark of Salvation” in which the Church, including the Theotokos and the saints, are seen at sea in a sailing boat with Christ at the helm tending the rudder. In this icon, the rudder of the boat is understood as the Holy Canons of the Church that Christ uses to steer the faithful in the direction of truth, toward the waters of humility through which deeper communion with God is possible. Unlike windsurfing, where in an individual strains by him or herself atop a floating board that has no girth or weight or ability to sit down into the water, this icon reminds us that as the Church, we are journeying together with one another, and with the apostles, and saints and all the faithful before us. The stabilizing weight of the Church acts like ballast to the boat, preventing it from slipping downwind as easily as we would as isolated individuals. We are not alone in our beating to windward, in our journey of theosis. Therefore, as we consider how to reconnect with our eucharistically integrated inheritance, we should be doing so as a body. 

Over the course of the next year I am going to write a series of essays born out of my family’s life together here in Norwood over the last fifteen years, during which time we have sought to live a eucharistic life in community with fellow Orthodox and other Christians, rooted in a sacramental relationship to this particular, neighborhood of West Norwood. My hope is that through these reflections, on the theme “why matter matters to Orthodox Christians,” we may be encouraged as a body to journey deeper into our sacramental understanding of the Church’s relationship with the creation, the foundation of which is Christ himself.

Midweek Morning Meditation

Source: goarch.org

As  a fine exegetical supplement to Fr. Paul's homily from Sunday (Lk. 6:21-36), I am sharing this, prepared by our parishioner Kevin Rains. There is a good deal to assimilate here!

The text and its root (Luke 6:36 / Exodus 34:6)

• Luke 6:36 — "Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful" — echoes Exodus 34:6's "The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious..."
• That revelation comes immediately after the golden calf - Israel's worst act of unfaithfulness. God names himself merciful before any sacrifice or repentance restores the relationship. Mercy as self-disclosed nature, not a reward for good behavior.
• Jewish tradition calls Exodus 34:6-7 the "Thirteen Attributes of Mercy" — the most quoted verse about God's character in the Hebrew Bible, reused nearly verbatim in crisis after crisis (Nehemiah 9, Joel 2, Jonah 4).

The Greek word

• The beautiful, feminine tone of this passage: (Luke's word) translates Hebrew rachum, which shares its root with rechem - womb. This is visceral, maternal mercy, not a judge's clemency.
• Ginesthe ("be") is a present imperative — "keep becoming," not a single decision. Mercy is a direction like St Gregory of Nyssa talks about as an ann infinite joirney into God , not a state we ever arrive at.
• Oiktirmōn appears only twice in the whole NT: Luke 6:36 and James 5:11 ("the Lord is compassionate and merciful" — after Job's endurance).

The non-transactional nature of God (vv. 32-35)

• "If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners do the same." God is kind "to the ungrateful and the evil" (v. 35).
• The real test of mercy is never the easy case - it's the person who hasn't earned it.

Liturgical enactment

• "Lord, have mercy" is sung/spoken roughly 30-40 times in a single Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom - were basically rehearsing Exodus 34
• The Eucharist itself enacts v. 35 — given to the ungrateful before worthiness is proven.
• Confession follows Moses' own pattern (Exod 34:8-9) — mercy declared first is what makes repentance possible.

Patristic witness (catena bible app)

• Cyril of Alexandria (on Luke 6:35-36): compassion is an attribute of the divine nature; this virtue restores us to the form of God.
• Clement of Alexandria: uses homoiōsis ("assimilation to God") for what mercy produces.
• Worth noting honestly: no Father explicitly equates Luke's "merciful" with Matthew's "perfect" (5:48) but several converge independently on the same destination (likeness to God). Those passages taken together seem to suggest that becoming perfect equates to becoming ever more merciful

Justice connection - since I’m on this justice learning experience in Alabama right now this seem poignant 

• Mishpat (justice) and hesed (mercy) are paired constantly in the OT - never opposites. Micah 6:8: "do justice, and love kindness/mercy."
• Deuteronomy 10:18-19 - God "executes justice for the fatherless and the widow," grounded in Israel's own memory of being shown mercy in Egypt. (Also Isaiah 1.17, James 1 fro these categories of widows and orphans) 
• Jesus defines "neighbor" in the Good Samaritan not as a legal category but as "the one who showed mercy" (Luke 10:37).
• Acts 6 (the diaconate) and St. Basil's Basiliad (4th c., among history's first hospitals) show the Church turning mercy into institution, not just sentiment.

Reflection By An Inquirer

 

Source: ancientfaith.com

I received this from one of our more recent inquirers following the Liturgy on Sunday and the Gospel reading of the Multiplication of the Loaves (Matt. 14:14-22). I appreciate the honesty and openness of what is written, and asked permission to share it with the rest of the parish. Any given Liturgy and any given Gospel passage, can open us up to deep self-reflection, if we in turn arrive with an open mind and an open heart.

_____

Hello Father Steven,

I just wanted to expand on my feelings today during Liturgy. I spoke with you briefly, however, there was no way for me to convey everything that at once ran through me in an explosion of clarity. Writing also often helps me gather my thoughts to make more sense of them.

I have often wondered how, in the scriptures, so many directly saw the miracles of Christ and still did not believe. When reading I often try to place myself in the text to understand better. How could our Lord heal the blind and sick and still be doubted? How could He calm the seas and still be doubted? How could He run out demons from the people and still be doubted? I thought to myself that I would not have been among those that doubted. Can I, however, say that with confidence?

It is so easy to think you know something and yet still not fully understand. I have been to eleven Divine Liturgies now at Christ the Savior Church including the one held today. I knew what the Eucharist represented. And yet, for ten of those liturgies, I did not fully understand the miracle I was witnessing. I can now see that I was one in the multitudes that you described, unaware of a miracle happening right in front of me.

I now reflect that I was even resistant to the idea that simple wine and bread could be transformed into the body and blood of Christ. I have always prided myself for my scientific mind, and learning to have real faith in things I cannot logically comprehend is something I struggle with, though I wrestle with myself to change. When you said today that we may see miracles every day and not believe it due to attributing them to something else, those words rang so true to me. You described something I battle every day. How often have I been skeptical and even resistant? My mind is often closed to the truth and instead insists, “I will believe it when I see it.”

And yet I had “seen” for ten weeks, but only with an unopened mind incapable of true seeing. My “logical” mind took the Eucharist for purely a tradition passed down in honor of Christ. Today, at your words, something finally clicked and took my breath from me as I finally saw the truth that I had missed week after week. My Lord and my God was in front of me and yet I had not recognized Him, just as those who travelled on the road with Him after His resurrection.

It is deeply humbling to suddenly recognize your own blindness that stems from a misguided pride in the "logical" mind. Then I recognized the accompanying unbelief that my pride had led me to. While I felt in the moment that I was silly for the tears that then came to me, who would not weep?

The words of Mark 9:24 come to me now. “Immediately the father of the child cried out and said with tears, ‘Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!”

There is still so much for me to learn and I pray that my eyes continue to be opened to the truth. For now I will trust in our Lord that He will help my unbelief, if I but stretch out my hands and ask with a sincere and humble heart.

Deep Theology in Shallow Waters

Source: uncutmountainsupply.com

A warm anecdote that I asked the Harkins to share with the parish. 

_____

This is a small conversation Mae had with a young boy named Brightman she met playing in the waves at Fernandina Beach; he enthusiastically introduced himself, as Mae relayed to me later, and it struck Rhett and I how much the reality of the Trinity is expressed in our faith and naturally absorbed!

Brightman: “Hello! My name is Brightman…I believe in God. Do you believe in God?”

Mae: “Like Jesus Christ? You know, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?”

Brightman: “Yea!”

Mae: “So, you’re a Christian?”

Brightman: “Oh yea, I’m a BIG Christian.”

Mae: “Me too.”

Haha it was so sweet to me that that was the most natural first conversation for these kids, no agenda, just genuine interest; and that Mae immediately clarified exactly which “God” with the Holy Trinity!

In Christ,

Jenny

A Guest Reflection

 

Source: prayerrope.co

Kevin Rains here offers a very creative and reading of last Sunday's Gospel reading (Matt. 8:5-13). With insight - not artiface - he finds a liturgical/eucharistic dimension to the healing of the centurion's servant. Please read through this carefully:

_____

Most Orthodox Christians have said the words hundreds of times without noticing: “Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldest come under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.” Originally these were not the Church’s words. They are a Roman soldier’s words - lifted verbatim from Matthew 8:8 and placed at the most sacred threshold of the Divine Liturgy, the moment right before we receive Holy Communion.

But that is only the beginning.

The entire shape of the Liturgy mirrors the centurion’s movement. When the deacon cries “Wisdom! Let us attend” before the Gospel, the congregation is standing attentively, silently - that is the centurion’s posture exactly. We are gathered for one reason: to receive the commanding word of One with exousia, divine authority over all things. “Only speak the word.”

Every Kyrie eleison - Lord have mercy - is the same cry that every supplicant in Matthew 8 makes with empty hands. The leper. The centurion. The Syrophoenician woman. The Liturgy is structured around this posture of approaching the unapproachable with nothing to offer but need and trust.

Then there is verse 11, which Jesus speaks over the centurion’s faith: “Many will come from east and west and recline at table with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.”Every Divine Liturgy is that prophecy fulfilled. We - mostly (or all?) Gentiles, outsiders, those coming from east and west - are precisely those Jesus saw when he marveled at a Roman soldier’s faith.

And at the end: “Go in peace” echoes “Go; let it be done.” Sent out having received.

The whole movement is there. Approach. Unworthiness. The commanding word. Healing. Sending.

The centurion’s encounter with Christ mirrors the structure that we follow in every liturgy. From two thousand years ago! And we walk that same path every Sunday.

Coming to the Orthodox Church

Source: wikipedia.org

The following is from one of our current inquirers taking our Catechetical Class, and getting prepared to become a catechumen, and then enter the Church. Our potential catechumens are required to write an essay in answer to the question: Why Do I Desire to Enter the Orthodox Church? I found this essay most encouraging, and here are some of the key paragraphs from the essay that I would like to share with the parish.

_____

Orthodoxy has challenged the way I think about Jesus Christ and the significance of His death and resurrection. It has challenged me to pursue transformation of the heart and to strive to reflect Christ in my actions toward others. While my previous faith tradition emphasized Christ’s death as payment for our sins, I have come to appreciate the Orthodox understanding that Christ came to conquer death and restore humanity to communion with God. This understanding has strengthened my belief that God is loving and merciful rather than merely legalistic.

The people I have met at Christ the Savior have been kind, welcoming, and caring in ways I had not previously experienced. The prayers of the Church have also enriched my spiritual life. Their beauty and repetition have helped me develop greater consistency in prayer, especially during times when I struggle to find words of my own. Through all of these experiences, Orthodoxy has strengthened my faith in ways I never expected.

I truly believe that the Orthodox Church is the Church founded by Christ and preserved through the Apostles. I desire to participate fully in the sacramental and liturgical life of the Church, and I am committed to continuing to grow in faith, repentance, and service. While I recognize that struggles ... may at times affect my attendance, I remain committed to my spiritual growth through prayer, participation in parish life whenever possible.

Fr. Thomas Hopko on the purpose of Lent

 

Sent to me by Mother Paula, an Orthodox nun who was once a member of our parish. + Fr. Thomas Hopko: MP’s notes from his homilies  During Great Lent we are purposely remembering paradise. Radically repenting and changing our hearts and minds. Lent is called the tithe of the year. 10% of the year (365 days) We must be merciful. Forgiveness stops the power of evil. When one really forgives, we want everyone to be saved. Remember, we have been baptized, died, raised with Him and sealed with the Holy Spirit. Our life is not our own, we belong to God, our master. It is only through truth that we are loved by God, created, saved, wounded and healed. No matter how much we fall and sin, He takes us back. He never turns his back on us. We are God’s workmanship. During the Fast all things we do are a means to an end.Prayer, fasting, almsgiving, etc. Read the daily Lenten Bible readings. Attend the Lenten Church services. Receive Lent with gladness!Pray to God to show mercy to one another, constantly forgiving. Lent is a gift from the crucified Lord. Take it and say thank you! God gives us the grace to do this. Pray, accept the gift of life during this time. Fasting and almsgiving should all be done in secret. Pray, go into your heart, your closet. Be joyful when you fast, be not dismal. Just live one day at a time. All of our problems come from thinking, analyzing, and trying to figure things out. Instead we should think of God and have an awareness of Him. Don’t look back and don’t be anxious for tomorrow.Live peacefully, calmly and patiently. Lent is a gift given to us by God for our salvation and for the glory of God. The purpose of the Great Fast is to obtain a broken, contrite and humble heart. “Come to me all who are heavy laden and I will give you rest.Take my yoke upon you and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is good and my burden is light.” (Mt. 11: 28- 30)

In place of a meditation

 

Source: newliturgicalmovement.org

Not exactly a very "spiritual" meditation, but I received this from our parishioner Jeffrey Robinson. It speaks for itself in terms of the horrors that the people of Ukraine continue to endure at the hands of the authoritarian Russian regime. 

_____

I received this update from friends connected to Ukraine. It seems very dire for the people I know living in Zaporizhzhia. I am grateful for the continued prayers offered up in the Divine Liturgy

On February 4: “The security situation in Zaporizhzhia has deteriorated sharply over the past two months. Russian forces are exploiting the cold weather to deprive Ukrainians of heat, light, electricity, and water. 

“Russian terrorists have advanced closer to Zaporizhzhia, enabling them to fire drones and rocket artillery directly at the civilian population. … For the past couple of weeks, air raid sirens have sounded almost continuously – 23 to 24 hours each day – signaling the constant threat of shelling. Explosions echo across the city.”

The KYIV POST, a daily paper published in Ukraine, reported on February 3:

“With temperatures plunging and heating outages spreading …, Russia launched what Ukrainian officials describe as the largest strike on the energy grid so far this year.”

“The human toll is clear. Multi-story buildings are dark, heating is out.” … People try to stay alive in minus four degree temperatures. 

The city of Zaporizhzhia is about eight (8) miles from the front lines of the war, meaning that it could be invaded by enemy forces at any time.”

A follow-through commentary

Source: uncutmountainsupply.com

A fine follow-through commentary on the mediation sent our earlier this morning, from Shannon Grubb:

I may have said this before, but what has always struck me the most in reading this parable was that the Pharisee's prayer includes no petition whatever: he doesn't ask anything of God. And that, to me, shows his confidence in his Self and works. For we all need 'something' from God on a continual basis, and indeed, even when at special times we think we'll offer God a prayer of pure thanksgiving, somehow petitions always sneak in. And God does not mind those, I do not think. So for the Pharisee to stand at the temple and ask for nothing - for himself or even for his fellow man - betrays a hardened heart. 

Secondly, I'm about half way through St. Athanasius' Life of Antony (my first time!) I believe it was Antony (if so, I haven't reached that part yet, but I could be wrong) who had a vision where he saw, stretching between him and his destination (God) a field completely full of snares and traps (the Devil's), all the way to the horizon. He asked how it would be in any way possible to navigate through all of those. And the answer came back, "By humility." Also many monks since have maintained that humility is the surest way to defeat the Enemy. And I think it was the same saint who was told "you fast, but Satan does not eat. You keep vigil, but Satan never sleeps (either). However, there is one thing he cannot do: humble himself." Anyway, all good lessons on the necessity of humility. 

Shannon

The Prayers of the Saints

The Saints of North America

One of our parishioners recently shared this excellent explanation of the role of the saints in the Church, especially in regard to their intercessory prayer. This can be very helpful to all of us, but especially to people with a Protestant background, and to those for whom this is such a foreign concept and experience. For the Orthodox, it is natural.

Do we pray to saints—or ask them to pray for us?

Behind this question is a deeper one: what do we really believe about the Church, the resurrection, and the communion of saints?

In the Orthodox Church, we don’t see death as a wall that severs us from those who’ve gone before us in Christ. We proclaim the life everlasting. And if Christ is risen, then the saints are not gone—they are alive in Him.

We affirm that Christ is risen. And if He is truly risen, then death is not the end. It is not separation. It is not silence. For those who have fallen asleep in the Lord, death has become the gateway to deeper life. They are not gone—they are alive in Him.

When we ask a saint to pray for us, we aren’t replacing Christ. We aren’t offering them worship. We are asking our brothers and sisters—who now behold the face of God without veil or distraction—to intercede for us in love.

We are participating in the communion of the Church, which is not divided by the grave. The saints are members of the same Body we belong to, only now they see clearly, love fully, and pray without ceasing in the presence of God.

Revelation 8:3–4 gives us a glimpse of this heavenly reality:

“And another angel came and stood at the altar with a golden censer, and he was given much incense to offer with the prayers of all the saints... and the smoke of the incense, with the prayers of the saints, rose before God.”

What do we see here? The prayers of the saints—both those on earth and those in heaven—rising before God together. Offered with incense. Borne up by angelic hands. Received by the Lord.

Prayer, in the Orthodox life, is not a solitary act. It is communion. It is participation in the worship of heaven. And the saints, who now stand in the light of Christ, are not passive observers. They are active intercessors—part of the great cloud of witnesses who pray with us and for us.

The problem comes when we reduce prayer to a transaction—words sent upward, hoping for a response. But prayer, in the Orthodox life, is communion. It’s a relationship, a participation in the life of God. And because the saints are in Him, our relationship with them continues in love.

To ask for their prayers is not idolatry. It’s not superstition. It is faith in the risen Christ, who unites heaven and earth in His Body, the Church.

To ask for their prayers is to confess the Gospel: that Christ is alive, that His Church is one, and that nothing—not even death—can separate us from the love of God in Him.

So when we whisper, “Holy Theotokos, pray for us,” or “St. Nicholas, intercede for my child,” we are not breaking faith. We are confessing it.

So yes—we ask the saints to pray for us. Because we believe in the life of the world to come. Because we believe the tomb is empty. Because we believe in Christ.

Father-Don Purdum

Orthodox Priest/Pastor, Holy Trinity Orthodox Church-AOCC (Elizabethtown, PA), Historian, Theologian

In Place of a Christmas Meditation

 

Christ is Born!  Glorify Him!

The appointed Gospel for this coming Sunday After the Nativity (Matt. 2:13-23), is a stark and violent reminder that all was not "peace of earth" when Christ was born. The "dark side" of the Christmas story is the massacre of the innocents. Of course, we trust God's providential care for His creation, but that darkness manifested then continues to take its toll on the world today.

Below is one more stark reminder of that same "massacre of the innocents" which is a result of the barbarous and horrific war that Putin and Russia have unleashed against Ukraine and its citizens. This was shared with me by our fellow-parishioner, Jeffrey Robinson, who will explain his source of an eye-witness account of what is happening on the ground.

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Fr. Steven,

When I lived in Germany, I traveled many times to Zaporozhya Ukraine to teach. Below is an update from a colleague about the present conditions there. I can’t even fathom the suffering. These people are facing, and it makes me extremely sad to think of some of the dear people. I know that live in that city. Lord have mercy!

“Ukrainians travel – some to safer places within Ukraine itself, others leaving the country for safer places in Western Europe. Many Ukrainians do not travel anywhere – they are too old or too infirmed. Our ZBS Director of Development wrote that the invading forces are killing as many civilians as possible, destroying as much infrastructure as possible, and making life as unbearable as they can for Ukrainians. He wrote, “Every single day, every single night is a matter of survival.”

Another colleague wrote that it is hard to celebrate Christmas this year with destruction and horror all around, every day, all night long.” 

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The Ukrainian Christmas is celebrated on what the Orthodox refer to as the "Old Calendar," and that means on January 7. We pray that the birth of the Light of the world will bring some deep consolation to a suffering people on that day. The spirit of the Ukrainian people is very strong. They have endured great hardship. When peace finally prevails there, I certainly hope that it is an honorable and lasting peace - not one imposed by diplomatic pressure that does not really have Ukraine's sovereignty and integrity as a democratic nation as a priority.

On the Veneration of the Theotokos -- Learning to Love the Mother of God

Source: legacyicons.com

As a follow-up to our zoom class on Monday evening, "The Orthodox Veneration of the Theotokos;" I asked two our parishioner who have been Orthodox long enough to absorb the Church's veneration of the Virgin Mary for at least a few years now, to respond with a reflection of their own about how they now perceive, acknowledge and venerate her. Here is the first one, written by Kevin Rains:

Learning to Love the Mother of God

I did not come to love Mary, the Theotokos (God-bearer) all at once.

As a Protestant, I was taught—sometimes subtly, sometimes directly—to keep my distance from Mary. She was honored as faithful and obedient, but always at arm’s length. The concern was understandable: guard the uniqueness of Christ, avoid anything that smelled like excess, keep devotion tethered tightly to Scripture. When I first encountered Orthodox Christianity, I brought that posture with me. I listened carefully. I watched for imbalance. I told myself I would follow the logic of the faith, but I would do so cautiously.

Mary was the slowest piece to fall into place.

At first, I encountered her primarily through liturgy and hymnography. She was everywhere—named, invoked, praised. That made me uneasy. Yet what surprised me was not what the Church said about her, but what it did not say. Christ was never displaced. The Gospel was never softened. Instead, Mary seemed to stand consistently in one place: pointing beyond herself, receiving rather than grasping, magnifying rather than competing.

The first real turning point for me came through a passage I thought I already understood.

In the Gospels, Jesus is told that His mother and brothers are standing outside, seeking Him. His response is startling:

“Who is My mother, or My brothers?”

And looking about at those who sat around Him, He said,

“Here are My mother and My brothers!

For whoever does the will of God is My brother and My sister and mother.”

(Mark 3:33–35; see also Matthew 12:46–50; Luke 8:19–21)

For most of my Protestant life, I heard this as a corrective - almost a rebuke. Jesus, I assumed, was relativizing Mary’s importance, moving the focus away from biology and toward spiritual obedience. And that is partly true. But what I had never considered is that this saying does not diminish Mary - it defines her.

Jesus is not saying, “Mary does not matter.”

He is saying, “This is why she matters.”

Of course, we honor Mary as the Theotokos because she bore the Word of God in her womb. Yet, she is equally honored 
because she embodies the very thing Jesus describes: the one who hears the word of God and does it. In Luke’s Gospel, this connection is made even more explicit. After the same episode, Jesus says:

“My mother and My brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it.”

(Luke 8:21)

That verse became impossible for me to read in isolation from the Annunciation.

When the angel Gabriel announces God’s invitation to Mary, her response is neither passive nor coerced:

“Behold, the handmaid of the Lord;

let it be to me according to your word.”

(Luke 1:38)

Here is the fulfillment of Christ’s later teaching—spoken decades before He ever preached it. Mary hears the word of God, and she submits to it freely. She does not fully understand the cost. She does not control the outcome. But she consents. Voluntarily. Faithfully.

In that moment, Mary becomes both the Theotokos ("God-bearer") and the first disciple.

This realization changed everything for me. The question was no longer whether honoring Mary distracted from Christ. The question became whether my resistance to Mary was actually blinding me to something essential about discipleship itself. Mary is not an exception to Jesus’ teaching; she is its first and fullest example.

And this is where affection began to grow.

Orthodox devotion to the Theotokos is not about elevating Mary beyond humanity, but about showing what humanity looks like when it fully receives God’s grace. She does not seize authority. She receives a calling. She does not speak often in the Gospels, but when she does, her words are saturated with Scripture and trust (Luke 1:46–55). She stands at the foot of the Cross (John 19:25), not as a theological concept, but as a mother who remains faithful when everything appears lost.

As a Protestant, I was formed to think clearly, argue carefully, and guard doctrine faithfully. Orthodoxy did not take those things away. But devotion to the Theotokos revealed something I had not been trained to see as clearly: that obedience, humility, and love are not secondary virtues—they are the soil in which Christ is received.

I did not lose Christ by learning to love His mother.

I encountered Him more fully—incarnate, vulnerable, and real.

I came to the Theotokos cautiously.

I stay because Scripture, read patiently and lived deeply, led me there.

Kevin Rains

A Thoughtful Response

 

Source: wikipedia.org

Some more thoughtful responses to the NYT's article about the recent conversions to Orthodox Christianity.

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Good morning, Father!

Reflecting on the line "The Church becomes monstrous when it worships itself and reduces its identity to lists of moral principles or a retro historical ideal." Two weeks after I became a Catechumen back in 2023, I visited St Gregory Palamas for the first time with a group of guys. After Liturgy, Abbot Josef was kind enough to visit with us in the guest house. Mark Phillips asked Abbot Josef if he had any pieces of advice for inquirers or catechumens, and his response was "Learn to love Christ more than you love Orthodoxy." That has stuck with me as a way to remain grounded and focused, not overemphasizing the form of Orthodoxy or entering into a "Orthodoxy vs the world" mindset, but simply to focus on Christ through the Church. I think it can be easy as a convert to see the Church as something primarily negative, as something that stands opposed to whatever ideology we disapprove of (political, religious, modernity, etc). The Abbot's reminder was that the Church belongs to Christ and points directly at Him; becoming united to the Body for any other reason than Christ is superfluous. 

Just a thought I wanted to share. I agree with you in all of this, finding the article to be dissapointing in its caricature of the Church, though unintentionally. I think it is also a reminder that to begin to understand Orthodoxy, you really have to engage in the rhythm of Orthodox life; a cursory outside look can render these flat renditions of something that is quite beautiful.

In Christ, 

Ben Linnabary

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The Church is the Body of Christ, it is about acquiring the Spirit of Christ, of overcoming prejudice and fear; to believe that love and forgiveness is the ultimate Christian message - the Gospel message, and it should not promote any ideological agenda. There is a lot of chaos on the internet and in Orthodox parishes,  as well as to unfortunately include clergy and monastics, that is, in my opinion, in direct opposition to the Gospel. 

With respect,

Presvytera Deborah

More on Compassion

Source: legacyicons.com

A very fine response to the recent meditation on compassion from our own parishioner, John Dumancic. I thought to share this as a kind of extension/follow through on the theme of compassion:

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Dear Father Steven,

I had this thought while reading this reflection: both 'compassion' and 'sympathy' seem to have the same etymological meaning: com + passio in the Latin, σύν + πάθος (syn + pathos) in the Greek, 'to suffer with'. St. Paul commands us to 'rejoice with those who rejoice, and to weep with those who weep': this is having compassion, when we are so centered on our neighbor that we suffer and rejoice with them in their suffering and rejoicing. (And, with a broader reading of the word pathos, I think you could admit both of these in 'compassion'!) 

The Cross, then, in this reading, reveals God principally as the Compassionate One; God, who is not subject to pathos, nevertheless assumes all our suffering and rejoicing in the Incarnation of the Son: He carried all of our crosses to Golgotha, and by His suffering destroyed our suffering (the fruit of which we will reap in both this life and the ages to come). Or, if you will, by His death and resurrection, He made our suffering and our crosses to be a vehicle of glory, a pathway to eternal life. 'Blessed are they that mourn' — not because mourning is anything good in itself, but because they that love others must mourn, until the Lord 'wipes every tear from every eye.'

Sincerely,

John Dumancic

Fragments for Friday

Source: uncutmountainsupply.com

As you read the rather comprehensive and perhaps idealistic  "job description" below of what it means to be an Orthodox priest in today's world, it is imperative that you know that it was written by a 9 yr. old boy. That boy is one of our parishioners and Church School students, John Settles. John wrote this for his personal journal, and his father Spencer asked him if he would be willing to share it with the parish. John graciously agreed. There is a great deal to live up to in this remarkable personal journal entry. A great opening line!

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I really like Orthodoxy and want to be a priest. It will be an important job. To be a priest, I’ll have to be patient. Priests have to be at every service, do night services, do long services, do baptisms, confessions, house blessings, and holy unctions. You will need to be a helpful person, listen to people, work with the other clergy, help everyone, and give good sermons. You will have to be okay with traveling for your job as you may need to see bishops and serve at churches and/or meet with other priests. You will have to remember all of your parts and work with the deacon, and do extra parts if there is no deacon. You also have to already be married before becoming a priest, if you want to marry. You cannot stop being a priest until you retire, as it is disrespectful. Try not to let your mind wander during the service, as it is disrespectful. You will have to give time to do the liturgy and other services. As Jesus made time for the children, you will need to make time for God. Try to give good lessons and encourage the congregation during your homilies. Beware of Internet Orthodoxy. People post statements on the internet. They may say things about Orthodoxy that are not 100% true or aren’t vital. All of these are examples of vital concepts that help priests and make them good priests.

Thursday's Theological Thoughts

Source: pixnio.com

I received a number of responses to my most recent Monday Morning Meditation on the season of Fall: a beautiful poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, together with shared reminiscences of the season from others. (Older parishioners seem to remember those burning leaves!) I also received this from an old friend who graduated from the seminary with me. She draws a wonderful analogy between the dying leaves of Fall and what they may reveal about the "real" person in the end. I thought to share her musings with you.

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Fall has always been my favorite season, as the stifling heat of summer finally lets up and the leaves change. I remember marveling when I learned that the colors are always there, but hidden by the green of the chlorophyll, only to be revealed by the act of dying. This is so in some people, too; our "true colors" are revealed at the end. There's a lesson in there somewhere. It's a wonder that even in its fallen state, creation can still so vividly reflect the glory of the Lord. Like you, I really loved the burning of leaves, although I had thought that this was pretty much a suburban backyard thing, and am surprised to learn that this took place in a city setting too. We are no longer allowed to do this, and for good reason, but it is still a cherished memory.

A Sacrificial Act of Love

Source: iconsandechoes.com

This past Monday, on the Feast of the Nativity of the Theotokos, our friend and SUPRASL 2025 speaker Ewa Natalia Moroz-Keczyńska was found not guilty in a Polish court. In 2022, Ewa and four others were arrested for providing food, water, and shelter to two refugee families from Egypt and Iraq who had been forced to cross the Polish-Belarussian border. They faced up to eight years in prison.

While the ongoing tragedy at that border is a complex issue, and well documented elsewhere, my purpose today is simpler: to share Ewa’s story as a powerful, clear and courageous example of what it means to live out the teachings of Christ in real time.

The situation of refugees and migrants — whether in Europe or across the world—is undeniably complex, entangled in politics, national security, competing humanitarian concerns where the lives of human beings are often exploited to push competing narratives.

I understand the fears many people carry. If my own country faced a sudden influx of refugees, I too might be afraid— of losing security, of strained resources, or of cultural change. These are real, deeply human concerns that should not be dismissed.

Yet as Christians, we are called to view these realities through the lens of the Gospel. We cannot expect governments to always do the right, or the Christian, thing. And likewise we should when its seems that our political leaders or governments seem to be promoting Chrisitan values we should take care to inquire into their true intentions. That being said, while courts are not arbiters of the Gospel, the “not guilty” verdict in Ewa’s case resonates strikingly with Christ’s teaching. We can take strength not because the court validated Jesus’s teachings, but because we see that the Lord has heard our prayers; He has seen the good and justified deeds of His people.

The verdict in Ewa’s case came on the feast day of the Nativity of the Mother of God (new style). The Gospel reading for the feast gives us a clear lens for Ewa’s story. In Luke’s Gospel a woman calls out to Christ, blessing His mother: “Blessed is the womb that bore You, and the breasts which nursed You!” And Christ replies: “More than that, blessed are those who hear the word of God and keep it!” Luke 11:27-28. In this short response, as Christ is often want to do - keep it simple - all of His teaching is summed up. Keep the word of God. Keep His commandments. This is an astounding response from our Lord, for in it he places greater honor not on proximity to Him, not even on being the Theotokos, but on the simple and radical act of living His word.

And we know well from the parable of the Good Samaritan, which immediately precedes the reading for the feast, what that word, what that commandment is: to “love God with all our heart, soul, strength, and mind, and our neighbor as ourselves.” Luke 10:27. And Christ leaves no doubt about who our neighbor is: “The one who showed mercy” (Luke 10:37).

Ewa and her companions know this message intimately. They did not act for personal gain, for performance, or even as political protest. They acted as neighbors, performing a sacrificial act of love, fully aware that it could cost them their own freedom. The court’s ruling offers a rare glimpse of light in our polarized world, concluding that “helping people in desperate need, without seeking personal benefit, cannot be criminalized. To suggest otherwise would mean punishing every act of compassion.” The court went even further suggesting that, “Disagreement with an unjust status quo is often the spark that drives necessary change.”

War, injustice, poverty, and climate change force millions to flee their homes. Here lies our tension: the fears of host nations are real, but so too is the suffering of those who arrive. The Christian call does not dismiss those fears—but it also does not allow us to harden our hearts.

St. Maria of Paris, reflecting on John 3:16, wrote: “There is no following in the steps of Christ without sharing, however small, in this sacrificial act of love.”

Today, there are 122.6 million refugees worldwide. Each one is a human being created by God. To each, we are called to be a neighbor.

May we have the courage not only to hear the word of God but, like Ewa, to keep it.