During this glorious Easter (Pascha) season, I have particularly enjoyed our annual journey through the Acts of the Apostles.

New details catch my attention, leading me to wonder why I never noticed them before. And that, of course, is part of the beauty of the Holy Scriptures.

One of the things that especially struck me in the last few days was the tremendous change in religious practice that the Jewish believers faced.

First comes the full realization that they, as Jews, did not have an exclusive status with God in this New Life. Not only were Samaritans coming to the Faith, but Gentiles as well.

The very same Spirit the apostles had received descended upon the uncircumcised, leading to Peter’s confession: “In truth, I see that God shows no partiality.” (Acts 10: 34)

And the dietary laws that so clearly separated the Jews from the Gentiles were also largely dropped from the Way. Who could argue with Peter’s vision in which he was instructed to not hold profane anything that God had made clean?

It is relatively easy, from our remote perspective, to accept that Christ’s death and resurrection established a New Covenant intended for all people.

But surely this must have been confusing for the Jewish people who had come to believe that Jesus was the Anointed One.

He was their Anointed One. He was to rule forever from the throne of David, their ancestor.

Although Scripture makes clear that this new understanding involved considerable struggle and debate, it also reports that,

When they heard this, they stopped objecting and glorified God, saying, “God has then granted life-giving repentance to the Gentiles too.” (Acts 11: 18)

And when Barnabas was sent to Antioch to assist with the new Greeks believers, we are told,

When he arrived and saw the grace of God, he rejoiced and encouraged them all to remain faithful to the Lord in firmness of heart… (Acts 11: 23)

In other words, we read that these Jewish believers were rejoicing and glorifying God as more and more “foreigners” joined their ranks and as the Law they had always revered was changing dramatically before their eyes.

From a human perspective this is very unusual, is it not? To welcome foreigners, to accept them as brothers and sisters of equal status? To relinquish centuries old religious practices believed to have been given by God?

Change of this magnitude is virtually anathema among the religious. For, if the Law is true, if God made Israel His chosen people, how could this ever “change”?

For Truth, as we know, cannot change. Truth is eternally true – or it is not Truth.

And although certainly not all Jewish people of this time period accepted Christ or these changes, a great many did. So many that Christianity, as it came to be called, spread through the entire world – and is still spreading with the help of many Gentile believers.

What do we make of this? Does Truth ever become “Truer”?

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As I have been reflecting on this phenomenon in the early Church, another question arose in my mind.

The Gospel of Matthew tells us that the Lord Jesus had this to say:

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets. I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. Amen, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not the smallest letter or the smallest part of a letter will pass from the law, until all things have taken place.” (Matthew 5: 17-18)

I have noted elsewhere that I am no Biblical scholar – and surely this is evident from my writing. So, reading as a lay person, I had reason to pause as I pondered these words alongside accounts of the changes in the early Church. To me, it seemed as though much more than the “smallest part of a letter” of the Law was being abolished. More like entire chapters.

And all because of Jesus.

To think that Jesus did not know this was going to happen is ridiculous. As believers, we cannot entertain this notion – for Jesus came to carry out the will of the Father.

And these changes all appeared to be endorsed by the Father – through visions and recognizable gifts of the Spirit.

So, in my ignorance, I turned to the footnotes in my Bibles and discovered some interesting things.

One footnote suggests that Jesus’ reference to “until heaven and earth pass away” was not pointing to the dissolution of the material universe. Rather He was pointing to the “turning of the ages” that was to occur with His death and resurrection, i.e. when “all things have taken place”. (New American Bible, Revised Edition)

Interesting. But actually more compelling to me was a simple translation note in a different footnote. The Greek word that in this passage is rendered “fulfill”, literally means “to make complete”. (Ignatius Catholic Study Bible, New Testament)

Thus, Jesus did not abolish the Law but completed it.

With His death and resurrection, the first Covenant was concluded – everything it had pointed to had now transpired in time and space, demonstrating its Truth. At the same time, its completion opened the door to a deeper Truth, the Truth revealed by the Messiah.

This New Covenant was proclaimed by Christ when, the night before He died, He took the Cup, blessed it and gave it to His disciples, calling it, “My blood of the covenant” (Matthew 26:28).

And this changed everything…

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The ever-so-patient reader may, at this point, be wondering about the title of this post.

What does all of this have to do with ego?

While marveling at the “rejoicing” of the Jewish believers in the early Church when confronted with so much change, I began to consider how the issue of “change” is so controversial in the Church today.

Certainly, as a Catholic, I am much more aware of the tensions in the western Church in this regard. But I am also aware that change itself plays a part in that “great divide” between the east and the west.

Some (perhaps many) in Orthodoxy view the Roman Catholic Church as a dizzying merry-go-round of change that makes no sense in the context of unchanging Truth.

Some Catholics (among those who even know what Orthodoxy is) may view the east as stuck in the past, not recognizing the need to adapt to a modern world with its scientific knowledge, expanded view of the role of women and so on.

Within the Catholic Church, there are ongoing pushes and pulls in many directions, with regard to past changes in liturgical practice (e.g. favoring the vernacular over Latin) as well as possible future changes in practice or perspective (e.g. married or female clergy; attitudes toward homosexuality).

On these many issues, there are those who think that the Church has already changed way too much – as well as those who think it needs to change a great deal more.

In other words, there are myriad opinions within the Church.

And human opinion is rife with ego.

+++

This leaves us with quite a dilemma in trying to understand and approach change in the context of faith and Church.

Short of the Second Coming, it is extraordinarily unlikely that change of the magnitude seen in the early Church is meant to occur during our lifetimes. But does that mean that nothing in our beliefs or practices is to ever change?

If we view attitudes toward change in the Church on a continuum, at one extreme we would see a big “NO”. In other words, there is never to be any change whatsoever. Truth is an unchanging reality, regardless of what generation it is or what we know about the workings of our material world.

If the Truth doesn’t change, neither should we. The Truth was entrusted to the Church and we have no business altering anything – nor does anyone in the Church.

On the opposite extreme of the continuum, we would find an outlook claiming that the core beliefs of the Faith must remain the same, but otherwise the Church must change with the times, the culture, the new discoveries of science.

And failing to do so would stultify the Church and deny the role of the Holy Spirit as teacher and guide to the Church. The Church is a living Body, not a building of stone. And life is always in motion, always changing.

As noted, both extremes on the continuum have something to say for them. Yet, being diametrically opposed, they cannot both be embraced, can they?

Must we choose sides? And how might we go about doing so?

+++

Let us return to the Acts of the Apostles.

If we read the Acts in its entirety, so as to appreciate the full story, some interesting observations can be made.

First, while the Apostles appear to have relinquished their resistance to change fairly quickly, this was far from a universal response. Indeed, toward the end of the book, we find Paul being arrested and imprisoned when rioting broke out because of his teachings and practices at the Temple in Jerusalem.

Some Jews were passionately opposed to the “changes” they associated with Paul’s activities – in much the same way Paul (Saul) himself had been prior to his conversion. So high were their passions that several of them took a vow to not eat or drink anything until they had killed him.

Prior to this, James, Zebedee’s son, had been executed by Herod Agrippa. When Herod saw that this “was pleasing to the Jews”, he had Peter arrested as well – with the same intent.

How is it that some of the Jewish people of the time embraced the New Life so readily, while others were so passionately opposed to it that they would kill?

Although I can only speculate, my sense is that it all comes down to ego.

Nowhere are we told that Peter taught what he taught because, “After all, Jesus left me in charge and I think that Jesus would have wanted us to treat the uncircumcised with compassion.”

Nowhere are we told that Paul preached the Good News to the Gentiles because, in his opinion, they “had a right” to hear it also.

On the contrary, Peter tells the story of what was revealed to him in a vision. Paul repeatedly relates the story of how he persecuted the Way until Christ appeared to him and revealed a different plan.

Perhaps it is no accident that two of the strongest leaders of the early Church personally experienced deep humiliation before taking on their leadership roles.

If even for a moment, they were to want to promote their own opinions, they had only to remember. Peter would undoubtedly remember the cock crowing three times for the rest of his life. And Paul would remember that he had persecuted Christ Himself through his early persecution of the Church.

They could accept the “changes”, once they saw signs that they came from God, because they had forfeited their egos. Like the Savior, they had emptied themselves in order to give their lives for the Truth they had received.

How could they have “opinions” once they had received the Truth?

And perhaps it is safe to assume that those religious authorities who sought to kill Peter and Paul were much more motivated by their opinions and their egos than they were by the Truth.

Had they too emptied themselves in humility, their passions would not have driven them to attempt to violate the very Law they claimed to defend.

No, had they emptied themselves, they too would have listened – as many did – and heard the Truth.

+++

As we ponder this and strive to understand the questions of change confronting us, we are hit with a paradox.

In the days of the early Church, we see that those considered the “authorities” on matters of faith and practice were largely those most beset by passions and ego.

And those who were persecuted, reviled and scorned were the ones who spoke with true authority – authority not based on their human opinions and preferences but on signs from God.

The “authority” in the early Church was in the hands of the least, those whose betrayals of Christ were the most egregious. Having been forgiven much, they loved much. They had Christ, not themselves, at the center of their lives.

Thus it seems that we are not to be guided by a general principle about change but by following the proper authority.

But who is that authority now? How shall we know them?

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Just when I think I am nearing the end of this article, I encounter a new dilemma, one fraught with all sorts of risks and traps. Especially given my previous article on how we, the east and the west, are One Church.

Am I to name the Pope as the proper authority? The Patriarch of Constantinople? The Church councils?

To attempt to answer this question, however, would be to miss the point entirely. It is, I believe, far more important to identify who is not the proper authority.

And that is me.

As heretical as it may sound, I believe that it would be acceptable to God if, with sincere faith, I humbly obeyed any of the above-named authorities.

“But, but…” my ego stammers, “What if I make myself obedient to the wrong one, to an authority who teaches wrongly?”

What if, indeed.

I am reminded of an anecdote from the biography of St. Paisios of Mt. Athos. To ensure that he cut off his own will when living a distance from his spiritual father, the Elder made himself obedient to an abandoned 12-year-old boy who frequented the monastery.

Naturally, people who knew of this practice were at a loss to make sense of it. Yet the holy monk exclaimed, “If only  you knew how much good it did me!”

For St. Paisios understood that the only alternative to obedience was to follow his own will and, to do that, would be a far greater danger.

To err while under spiritual obedience is not as serious as it may seem to our modern, secular minds.

For, when we embrace the humility of obedience, our hearts remain open to God in a way they cannot be when we are intent upon following our own wills.

I am reminded of yet another holy person of God, Mother Gavrilia. Every morning, she signed a blank contract with God, giving herself over to doing whatever He led her to do that day. So deep was her trust in God that, if someone asked her to do something, she said yes, confident that God would create an obstacle if it was not His Will.

The only way out of these endless dilemmas is to love.

And to love fully, we must surrender our egos and become obedient to whomever Christ has put before us.

+++

When giving my life over to Christ in humble obedience, there is no longer room for me to have “opinions”.

Whether I think something should change or shouldn’t change matters not at all. Whom am I to know anything or guide anyone, much less the Church?

My ego fights valiantly against this stance. “It cannot be right to let this continue!” or “If I don’t oppose this wrongdoing, it is the same thing as endorsing it!”

The arguments from within are intense and convincing. And pressure may be exerted from without as well. No opinions? Not taking sides? It is apathy like this that leads to…

But, of course, it is not apathy. Prayer, humility and obedience are a far cry from being indifferent.

A new question arises. What about those whose charge it is to lead, to make decisions in the Church? The priest, the bishop, the patriarch or pope?

Well…are they not to do the same? To do what the holy Apostles did?

To forfeit their egos, to pray, to listen, to love?

And trust that God will make known His Truth if they but follow this Way? Yes, to follow the Way of Christ…

My ego, however, continues the fight.  “And if they don’t? What if this priest/bishop/pope/patriarch is not being true to the Way, as was the case with the religious authorities during the days of the early Church? What then?”

Am I to make the sin of another my excuse for stepping out of the Way? Can I even trust my own judgements about the sins of others?

Most certainly I cannot.

And so I must stay the course.

I give my will to God. I pray. I love. In humble obedience, I listen for His Truth.

May His Love and His Truth be ever made known among us.

Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

+++

While we are all recovering from my last post with its deep spiritual questions, I thought we might turn our attention to the month of May. A lighter subject.

While, regrettably, it is no long National Poetry Month, May has many interesting honors of its own. It is probably best known for Mother’s Day and Memorial Day, both very worthy remembrances.

But let us consider some of the lesser known. Someone somewhere has determined that, in the month of May, we are to remember barbecue, hamburgers and salads. (If you happen to read this post while it is still May 11, you may be also delighted to learn that today is “Eat What You Want” day.)

We are also to watch our blood pressure this month (especially important after all that barbecue) and to be aware of our Mental Health.

Of particular interest to me, however, is that May is “GIfts from the Garden” month and National Photograph month. I am going to help you celebrate them both at once!

(And since there aren’t any rules against writing verse in May, I proffer a short poem as well.)

This morning at 8:36 AM, I received the first of these images. There had been a light shower and the garden was coming alive.

This evening, at 6:11 PM, I received this second image (the same subject) from a slightly different angle.

A simple, natural change, this transition that occurred over a period of less than 10 hours.

What is so extraordinary to consider, however, is that this is but one tiny corner of the earth. Every day, all over the earth, life, in small and large forms alike, is living gloriously, abundantly, through its magnificent cycle.

Opening, closing. Living, giving birth and dying. All because the Creator made it so.

A “gift from the garden”, indeed.

Urban dwellers like me can too often forget what is going around us and in us. Our minds are somewhere else.

May: a time to remember to view the gifts of our earth through the lens of now – and give glory to God.

+++

But, wait – I did promise a poem. If you even want to call it a poem. (A prize to anyone who can make sense of it!)

i

ris

k

o

pen

ray (n)

son

two

live

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A strange one indeed. perhaps I shall take some time to ponder my Mental Health…  🙂

Learning to follow Christ can be quite a confusing experience at times.

Although He made it very simple for us, we are good at complicating matters. Or at least, I am.

An excellent example of this come from trying to read and understand Scripture. For a long time, I thought I knew how to read the Bible – because I assumed it was like reading any other book.

As a Catholic, I wasn’t raised with the practice of Bible study. It was not that we didn’t value Scripture. It held a very central place in every liturgy I attended. But the notion of “Bible study”, like “Sunday school”, had a sort of Protestant ring to it back in those days. We didn’t do that sort of thing.

So when I started reading the Bible more on my own, I discovered interesting things. Confusing, even troubling things, tucked in between the words of comfort and hope.

And some passages were both comforting and confusing. Here is one:

“And whatever you ask in my name, I will do, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask anything of me in my name, I will do it.” (John 14:13)

There are a number of other passages that offer similar promises that “anything” or “whatever” we ask for will be given. Some passages have specifications for the promised result, e.g. “If two of you agree on earth about anything for which they are to pray” (Matthew 18:19), “believe that you shall receive it” (Mark 11:24), or “if you remain in me and my words remain in you” (John 15:7).

Such assurance is deeply comforting.

At the same time, it is deeply confusing.

How much each of us would love for this to be true! Yet are there any among us who haven’t experienced – or known someone who has experienced – making such a request and having it not be fulfilled?

We might respond to such profound disappointments by excusing God, indicating that Jesus didn’t mean that literally. Certainly He couldn’t have meant that we could ask for anything and we would definitely receive it.

Yet to say that Jesus didn’t actually mean what the Bible tells us He said is a slippery slope if ever there was one. Especially when three of the four Gospel writers report that He said it.

Once we have crossed that line, suddenly central aspects of the Faith are called into question. He couldn’t have meant literally, “This is My Body” when He broke the bread… And so on.

And yet we cannot understand this passage to mean that we can ask for anything, tack on the phrase “in the name of Jesus”, and be sure we will receive it.

To interpret these passages in this way is somewhere between ludicrous and dangerous.

This is where we discover that reading the Bible is not like reading any other book. I cannot simply sit down, open it up, read something and assume that I know what it means.

What could be wrong with taking these passages at face value?

Perhaps the most obvious is that a person might ask “in the name of Jesus” for something that is clearly wrong.

To illustrate the absurdity, imagine the devout mobster praying that the killing tonight goes smoothly so that he doesn’t get caught. Really? Counting on the promise of Jesus that you can ask for “anything”?

I doubt any serious reader of Scripture would imagine that Jesus was promising that. We cannot ask for help doing evil and expect that because we said, “in the name of Jesus”, God must now grant our request.

Minimally, this points to the reality that “in the name of Jesus” is not a magical phrase that we can pull out when we want something very badly. God can never be obligated to us or trapped by our technicalities.

So far, this much seems self-evident. But, if we stop here, we omit from consideration the vast majority of things we pray for that are not evil.

We can readily see that there is a dilemma: how do we know what we can ask for – and how we are to ask – in order to have this complete confidence when we pray?

OK, I cannot ask for something blatantly evil. And asking “in name of Jesus” means something more than just using those words as though they were magic. I get that.

But this is where things get sticky.

What if I am simply asking for something that I want? Perhaps something I desperately want. And something that is not trivial.

Here is where it becomes more than sticky. It becomes dangerous.

Suppose that what I desperately want is for someone I love to recover from a serious illness. Perhaps it is my spouse or my parent. Or maybe even my child.

Suppose the person whose recovery I am praying for is a very good person – or an innocent, like an infant.

Suppose I ask from a heart full of love for God, humbly begging that He grant me this favor. Suppose I am living my life sincerely as a follower of Christ.

Surely there is no evil in this request. I am not seeking “magic” or anything for myself. Can I not then, in this situation, turn to the words of Jesus and feel complete confidence that God will answer my prayer?

The reality is that God will indeed answer my prayer. But not necessarily by granting exactly what I asked for, exactly when I asked for it. Indeed, the person may not only fail to recover; he or she may die.

Herein lies the danger: when the result I want doesn’t occur, it seems that Jesus has broken His promise.

In my pain, I might cry out, “How could He deny me this one thing? Didn’t He promise? What “technicalities” is He going to produce to justify breaking my heart?

In such a moment, faith can be lost, sometimes forever.

And if that were not bad enough, there is another danger lurking behind the first. “Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I didn’t ask the right way or with enough faith. If I had more faith, my loved one would still be alive.”

To console me, some well-meaning believer then says, “Do not blame yourself. It is God’s will.”

“So God wanted to break my heart, to devastate me? What kind of God wants an innocent child to die?”

What started out seeming simple has suddenly become horribly complex.

The words that once consoled now appear to be lies – broken promises. Why bother to pray at all?

+++

Before I continue, there are a couple of things that must be said.

First, I must concede that I have never personally experienced such devastation. I have spoken to more than a few who have – but it’s not the same.

What I write next is not intended to talk anyone out of their feelings of pain or anger or sorrow. Feel what you feel and find a loving person to listen as you wail and rage. Anything less would dishonor your soul.

The purpose of what follows is to open up reflection and understanding about why we pray and how we are to understand the promises of Christ.

That being said, I must also concede that I know nothing. Who am I to teach you or anyone else anything? Quite truly, I am no one. I have no answers.

But I offer myself to the Spirit, prayerfully making myself available, should He choose to guide my words.

Acknowledging my unworthiness, I will rest and pray, returning later to see where He leads me.

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Many others have interpreted these promises of Christ, most I am sure, far more worthily than me. I don’t know any Greek or Hebrew. I have no degree in theology.

But I will write of what I am being taught and pray that I not mislead anyone in the process.

Let us back up to the fundamental question: why do we pray?

Often, if we are honest, it is often because we need or want something. But, if it is no more than that, we have profoundly misunderstood the gift of prayer.

Prayer is, first and foremost, a gift. It is the means by which we have contact with God. And we could not have this contact unless God allowed it.

We would not know that God exists, that He is personal in His Being or that He cares to hear from us, had He not first revealed these truths to us.

His revelation, His invitation to us to enter into discourse with Him is gift beyond our comprehension. Considering the immensity of the universe and the billions of people who inhabit our Earth alone, it is almost unfathomable that God should want to hear from me.

And yet He does.

If this is not clear under the Old Covenant, it is certainly made plain by Jesus Who instructed us to pray.

So one reason we pray is so that we might have relationship with God. And, hopefully, this is not just a passing interest on our part but a true longing – a longing with all of our hearts to know God. To love and be loved by Him.

We pray in hopes of experiencing the union with Him for which we were made.

Truly, we do not understand fully what this means – but the longing has been built into our hearts. We will feel it if it has not been buried too deeply under the emptiness and lies that the enemy has planted in our world.

Out of such longings and exchanges with God come forth hymns of praise as we behold the goodness of God and His creation, as we experience His love and mercy. These irrepressible hymns of our hearts are another reason why we pray. We cannot help it once we begin to experience God.

Yet a third motive for prayer is that we recognize we cannot manage life in its current state on our own.

Of course, we were never meant to manage “on our own” for we were designed to live in harmony with our Creator and the Way He laid out for all living things. However, after the Fall and many, many generations of transmitting the impact of that first sin, we have become increasingly aware that we cannot manage.

Not only did our ancestral choice fail to make us gods, it left us with much pain and suffering. The seeds sown by the evil one have developed deep roots and both our personal and our global situations have grown grossly out of control.

And so we pray. We pray for help and comfort, for healing and relief, for direction and answers.

In other words, we ask for things, tangible or intangible, because we want, we fear, we need.

Is there something wrong with our prayers if God does not grant what we ask for? Or did He not really mean that He would do whatever we ask in His name?

As noted above, it is quite problematic if we expect God to always fulfill our every request, no matter how well presented. To understand the problem, we must return to the first purpose of prayer – to know God, be in relationship with Him and eventually live in union with Him.

If we treat God as a vending machine, i.e. I put in what I am supposed to put in and therefore should get out what I have chosen, there is no true relationship. God and prayer, in this model, exist only for me.

In telling Him what I want, I am expecting God to obey me, rather than for me to obey God.

Herein we find the essence of the original sin, me trying to make myself god – thinking that I should be able to control God, that my way is the best way, the right way.

If I approach prayer of petition in this manner, it should come as no surprise that there will not be complete fulfillment of my requests.

Certainly Christ’s promise in Scripture was not intended to elevate the sin of Adam and Eve to become our standard.

If then I recognize that prayer cannot involve an expectation that God obey me, I must concede that it involves me obeying God.

And if it is not for me to control God, I must also relinquish the conviction that my way is the best way.

Which brings us to that thorny problem of “God’s will”.

While humanity has never particularly liked the notion of obedience, it is especially hard for people in modern times to accepting obeying anyone, much less a God we cannot see.

We are intelligent individuals. Certainly we know what is good and bad. It cannot be good for a child to suffer and die. It cannot be good for me to be ill or to lose a job. It cannot be good for tens of thousands of people to be killed in wars and earthquakes.

If I need to tell God that things must be stopped, there’s something wrong.

If God “wills” these things, I want no part of Him. I cannot obey that sort of God.

+++

Oh dear. We are back in that uncomfortable place again. But let us not despair.

We humans have a lot of confusion about that phrase, “God’s will”. By virtue of using the same word, it seems that we are equating the “will” of God with our own “wills”.

Online dictionaries give definitions to the word “will” as involving choice, power, wish, desire, disposition.

Applied to God, we then take God’s will to mean what God “wants”.

Unable to comprehend God, we anthropomorphize Him into “wanting” things much as we want them.

This, of course, creates mass confusion among us. For if God allows a little child to die, God must “want” the child to die. If God does not grant my prayer for war to end, God must “want” war.

And obeying God then means accepting these outrageous “wants” of God. Or spending all our days pleading with Him to change His mind.

With such misunderstandings afoot, it is no wonder that so many have left the Faith – or never accepted it in the first place.

+++

So much confusion… what does Christ’s promise about prayer being answered really mean?…why are some seemingly “good” requests not fulfilled by God?…what is the meaning of God’s will, if it is not what God “wants”?

The only thing I know to do in face of so much difficulty is to turn to Christ Himself.

Jesus was a human being who prayed. In fact, Scripture gives us many examples of Him praying. Sometimes He went off by Himself to pray privately. Other times He prayed publicly, before or after performing great signs. Most often, we are given accounts of Him praying for others, not Himself.

There are, however, a few exceptions – and it is to these we will turn.

What happened when Jesus, as a human person on earth, prayed for Himself? How did He pray and was His request granted?

Here is what we find: (similar accounts are found in the other Gospels)

He advanced a little and fell prostrate in prayer, saying, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet, not as I will, but as you will.” When he returned to his disciples he found them asleep. He said to Peter, “So you could not keep watch with me for one hour? Watch and pray that you may not undergo the test. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” Withdrawing a second time, he prayed again, “My Father, if it is not possible that this cup pass without my drinking it, your will be done!” Then he returned once more and found them asleep, for they could not keep their eyes open. He left them and withdrew again and prayed a third time, saying the same thing again. (Matthew 26: 39-44)

Jesus prayed with humility, He “fell prostrate”. He called upon God as “My Father”. He told His Father what He wanted and how He felt. Then, He placed His will under the Father’s, “not as I will, but as You will”.

All of these aspects of His prayer are crucial to our understanding. But first we cannot avoid the burning question: was Jesus’ prayer answered?

If we are to understand and trust Jesus’ words of promise about prayers, we must know whether His prayers were heard.

An answer to this question can be found in Scripture itself:

In the days when he [Christ] was in the flesh, he offered prayers and supplications with loud cries and tears to the one who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverence. Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered; and when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him… (Hebrews 5: 7-9)

“He was heard…” And, even though He was Son, as a human being Who was afraid and did not want to endure the horrible suffering and death He faced, He had to learn “obedience” and be “made perfect”.

Did He get what He humanly desired? It seems not – the Cup did not pass without Him drinking it. He was not “saved from death”. How then can the Scriptures say “He was heard”, implying that His prayer was answered?

We must note that Jesus’ prayer had two parts: in the first, He told the Father what He humanly wanted; in the second, He told the Father that, even more than that, He wanted to act in accord with the Father’s will. If He could not have both, He made it clear that the second part was His choice.

And He was heard. The Father’s will was indeed fulfilled. He both died and was “saved from death” in His resurrection.

But what kind of Father would expect His Son to die such a horrible death?

Back that thorny question of “God’s will”. We have talked about what it doesn’t mean. Let us now talk about what actually does mean.

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Well, I’ve certainly painted myself into a corner here, haven’t I? I’ve led you all to believe that I’m about to tell you what “God’s will” means.

I won’t tell you – but I will point to the words of Jesus so that we might learn from Him. He is the only one who lived God’s will perfectly and therefore offered that perfect prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane.

Jesus announced shortly before He was arrested these startling words: “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life.” (John 14: 6)

What can this mean? Reflecting a bit further, I think we will see that what we call “God’s will” is the Way, the Truth and the Life. It is how everything is when in its fullest perfection. I will try to explain what I mean.

The Way – the path that all living things are to follow to be in communion with their Creator and to be fully and most perfectly themselves. The Way is automatically followed by creatures not given a free will to choose otherwise. The robin in my backyard lives out its “robin-ness” perfectly. Our sin, of course, is our willful departure from that Way.

The Truth – the One Who created all has full knowledge of the Truth of all that is. As humans, we tend to associate truth with factuality. Since we do not know all things, when we discover something with certainty (or think we have), we call it a “truth”. Our knowledge that the sun always rises in the east and sets in the west is that sort of truth. God, however, knows the essential Truth of everything – all of the how’s and why’s and when’s and where’s for everything that exists – because He brought it all into being and sustains everything as it is meant to be.

(Evil, however, it must be noted, was not created by God nor is it sustained by Him. It is not a created thing. Rather it is the product of the exercise of free will by one or more of His creatures who were given the ability to choose. And, for now, God permits it.)

The Life – God is Life and all life originates in Him. God is love and our created world demonstrates the truth that it is love that creates – not just the emotion we call “love” but also the biology and spirituality of life giving up itself for new life to come into being. Since God is continuously loving, His Life creates more Life, His Love creates more Love, without ceasing.

The pronouncement by Christ , “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life”, is one of seven occasions in the Gospel of John when Jesus employs the words “I AM” – the very words the Lord God gave Moses when asked for His name. Though completely human, Jesus hereby reveals that He is fully one with the Father. He not only does God’s will, but He is God’s will. It is His name.

Can we fully understand this? Certainly not. Our tiny created selves cannot comprehend the Creator and the entirety of His plan. Furthermore, our stepping out of the Way inevitably resulted in our death, our separation from the One who is Life. Trying to live apart from Him makes us even less able to understand.

We must note that it is not that a wrathful God punishes us with death. Rather, we stepped out of Life. It is very much like walking out of the light; we inevitably find ourselves in darkness. It is a fundamental aspect of the Truth of how things are.

And so we would remain, in death and darkness, if not for Jesus. Living the will of God while fully human, He re-opened the Way for us, both by transforming our life from its “dead” state into Life and by demonstrating for us what it means to live in the Way

All we need to do is follow Him.

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Let us now return to the prayer of Jesus in Gethsemane shortly before His arrest – the prayer that I deemed “the perfect prayer”.

One very important component of that prayer was the humility with which it was offered. It is one of the few glimpses into the prayer of Jesus involving Himself. In other words, He wasn’t saying the prayer to instruct others or to execute a healing for someone else.

It was very much about His own mortal life and self. He knew what He faced and, as a human being, He feared it.

His prostration reveals His humility. His words to the Father reveal that, humanly, He knew He was not in charge. “If it is possible” are not the words of someone who is full of his own power.

Next, He addressed God as “Father”. Now this certainly wasn’t the first time that Jesus called God His Father – in fact, this familiarity was one of the things that got Him into trouble. And He had taught His followers to say “Our Father”. But here, in this prayer, it is especially important.

Jesus does not call Him “Father” because He biologically begat Him – rather, because “Father” is the closest human image for the nature of their relationship. Ideally, fathers love, guide, protect and know what is best for their children. Addressing God as “Father” in this moment when humanly He did not feel in control, reveals His ultimate trust in His Father to love Him and know what was for the good.

Thus, in the next part of His prayer, He shared with His Father what He felt, what He wanted. He was open and vulnerable, not pretending otherwise.

And, crucially, in the final part of His prayer, He essentially told the Father that He trusted Him more than He trusted Himself, “not as I will, but as You will”. In such intensity of human fear and dread, He could not trust Himself to see clearly. And He was not about to let His natural feelings cause Him to leave the Way and fracture His union with His Father.

It is not difficult to see that, in so doing, He did the exact opposite of the sin of Adam and Eve.

He humbly brought His dilemma to God, trusted in His Father’s perfect knowledge of the Way and pledged His obedience to the Way, no matter how hard it was going to be.

And why was His suffering and death a necessary part of the Way? Because the Way is inextricably based on and bound up in Love.

As noted elsewhere, Love cannot help but sacrifice for the other – this is the deepest truth we know about Love. The sacrifice could be rooted in love only if made by one who had a choice. And, in order to redeem us, it needed to be a human choice made from the depths of all the fears and temptations to protect the self.

This was Jesus. And He chose Love instead of self.

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It seems as though I have gone off on many tangents from the question where I began. Let us see if, drawing them together, we can better understand prayer in the light of the promise of Jesus.

We have learned some things about what it means to ask “in the name of Jesus”.

To ask as Jesus did is to talk to our Father as Father, humbling acknowledging that He knows the full Truth in a way that we cannot. We tell Him honestly how we feel and what we want. At the same time, we concede that we cannot trust our feelings to actually know what is best. What looks best and feels best to us may be totally at odds with the Truth that transcends this moment in time and space.

And so we trust Him. We trust that His love is greater than our love and His knowledge of Truth far exceeds ours.

Let us return to the enigmatic words I wrote above, that Jesus “not only does God’s will, but He is God’s will. It is His name.” We see more clearly here what it means to pray in His name. It is to pray in God’s will – which we can only do with our lives firmly united to Christ.

And we have come to see that “God’s will” is not some capricious desire of a more powerful Being. No, it is the Way, the Truth and the Life which emerges from the fullness of Love in its most pure and creative form. Love and Being totally beyond our comprehension.

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Some questions may arise in light of the perspective offered here.

What if I do not know how to live my life “firmly united to Christ”? What if I’m not there yet?

That, of course, is perfectly fine, assuming we are genuinely seeking. To describe the promise of Jesus in the above terms does not mean that no prayers will be answered if they do not meet these criteria! Surely not.

God hears and answers every prayer. How could He not hear them, He Who knows the fullness of Truth about all that is? That He answers every prayer is something we believe. Why would the Lord Jesus emphasize that we pray relentlessly if the Father were to selectively ignore some prayers?

What is at issue is that, if not yet firmly united to Christ, the Father’s answer may not appear to be what we asked for. We may not recognize it as the answer or as being best for us because we are still outside of the Way. We are still blind to God’s Way, waiting for Jesus to apply the mud to our eyes that we might soon see.

It might be noted that this is where most of us are most of the time. When we read of the saints, both contemporary and of old, praying with complete confidence, it is because they are firmly united to Christ in their prayer. St. Peter did not pause and wonder if the beggar at the Beautiful Gate would be healed (Acts 3: 2). So united was he to Christ that he knew the man would stand up and walk.

Though we may seldom if ever pray with that level of assurance, recovering sinners that we are, God still can and does great things in us and through us. He is not limited by our weakness.

When He doesn’t appear do the great thing that we had hoped for, it is not that He has broken His promise or that we have not prayed correctly. It is simply that we do not yet have the eyes to see what is best – to see what is for the glory of God and our sanctification.

The question might also be posed as to why we pray, if God can and will do what He already knows to be best.

Returning to the question of why we pray, we are reminded that our primary reason for praying is to have a relationship with God, to praise Him and ultimately live in union with Him.

When we bring to God our feelings, wants and needs, when we come to Him as our Father, we are binding ourselves to Him more and more with each prayer. He is teaching us to trust in Him and He allows us to experience His love.

I read somewhere that God delights in answering our prayers because, through this process, we discover how much He loves us. If everything were given up front, our hearts would not burst with love and hymns of praise (the second motive for prayer described above). Our relationship with God would not be dynamic and growing without this exchange.

Further, the process of praying for one another bonds us more and more deeply to one another.

Through prayer, we are being taught how to keep the commandments, the two that Christ told us summarized all of the Law and the Prophets:

You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. (Matthew 22: 37-39)

In other words, it is through prayer that we learn to love. It is through prayer that we are brought into the union with God and each other for which we were made.

Hence, even if we do not understand the answer to our prayer at a given moment in time, we continue praying as Jesus prayed that we might learn the Way of love more completely.

Surely the apostles did not understand the “answer” to their prayers during the span of time between the crucifixion and the resurrection. But, continuing to pray and love, they understood much more when they saw the risen Lord. And they understood even more completely when the Spirit came upon them.

They were then able to pray and preach and even die “for the Name”.

May this Spirit live on among us.

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Merciful God, forgive me. Who am I that I dare write so boldly of You as though I understood?

I come before You with deep longing…longing for my life to be firmly united to Christ, that I might pray in His name – that I might do all things in His name.

But I am so very weak. And so I pray with the psalmist:

“Let not those who hope in you be put to shame through me, O Lord God of hosts; let not those who seek you be brought to dishonor through me, O God of Israel.” (Psalm 69: 7).

Loving Father, please be with everyone who reads the words that I have written here, that they may understand not what I have written, but Your truth which I have so poorly represented.

Bring us all together in Christ, in the Way of Love, together with the Spirit into Oneness in You.

Amen.

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It is rather easy, I think, in this day and age, to discount the resurrection of Jesus.

We know too much. We understand too much. Or at least we think we do.

Over the last week in NE Ohio, we have had some glorious thunderstorms. Thunder crashes, lightning flashes and the earth is deluged with the outpourings of the heavens.

I can imagine our early ancestors, faced with floods and hail and tornadoes, huddling in the back of their caves, only to emerge to offer sacrifice to the gods for whatever offenses brought forth their wrath.

Or possibly, once the storms stopped, offering sacrifices of thanksgiving for the generous rains that would refill their springs and yield abundant nourishment for them and their prey.

But we modern men and women – we understand how weather works. We know what causes thunder and lightning. We can predict our El Ninos and La Ninas. We don’t need a god to save us.

Or, at least, it is easy for us to think that we don’t.

As we accumulate more and more knowledge, we begin to think that all of those “miracles” of old can all be explained by science and psychology. Even if we don’t understand it completely yet, eventually we will.

Healings, it can be argued, are largely psychosomatic. We know about hysterical blindness and paralysis (now referred to as conversion disorders). There probably was nothing organically wrong in the first place. We know about placebo effects and that simply believing we are going to feel better often makes us feel better.

And we know that someone who has been dead for three days doesn’t suddenly become alive again. It simply does not happen – if they were really dead. And, if someone thought to be dead turns out to be alive after all, they most certainly cannot walk through walls or vanish into thin air.

Yet we modern folk know that often people see what they want to see and believe what they want to believe.

It is not so unusual for the bereaved to hallucinate visions of the deceased or feel their “presence”. It is all part of the grieving process and eventually passes.

In much the same way, the disciples probably thought they saw Jesus or felt His presence – but after a while, they didn’t anymore. Naturally, at first, they didn’t want to let go. But eventually they had to – He was gone.

No doubt they meant well in spreading the story of His resurrection. But it is just a story. A story about a good and loving man who had much wisdom to share – but it is naive (and rather silly) to believe that it is anything more.

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Yet there are a puzzling number of modern-day believers who, every year, celebrate this resurrection story and proclaim it as Christ’s “victory”.

What kind of victory do they claim this to be?

In one of their hymns, they sing that Christ “trampled down death by death” (from the Paschal troparion). In one of their Scriptures, they allege that, through Christ, they are given “victory over sin and death” (from 1 Corinthians 15: 57).

But what sense does any of this make? People continue to die every day. And they continue to sin every day.

Death and sin surround us in abundance. They seem, sadly, rather unaffected by the “victory” claimed by those who believe in the resurrection of Jesus.

Believers may try to cover this embarrassing reality by stating that it is spiritual death that has been overcome, not death of the body. But one doesn’t have to look far to see that many in our world show no signs of life spiritually. Spiritual death does not seem to have disappeared either.

And then there is the claim that it will all be straightened out in the end. Jesus will come again and sort out the good from the bad, assigning both groups of people to what they have merited by their lives.

While an interesting claim, there is no proof whatsoever that this is going to occur. If Jesus was truly victorious, why didn’t He sort it all out during His first coming? Why wait?

So then they tell us we must have faith. But why must we?

Why believe in a victory that appears to be no victory at all?

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It is surprising how alluring these arguments of the modern mind may feel, even to those of us who believe. They fit so comfortably with what we “know” to be true about the world, like a textbook we have read so many times that its facts seem obvious.

If you found yourself feeling uneasy as you read them, you are not alone. I actually made myself nervous.

I had to take a break to pray. I must always remember that I cannot do this alone. It is not just that I cannot write without God’s help; I cannot believe without God’s help.

I am weak. We are all weak.

At the same time, while certainly we should not look for trouble, neither should we be afraid to look the enemy in the face.

For the face we see may be that of a brother or sister who is in the grip of the evil one and does not know it. If we do not know what holds the other captive, how can we hope to set him free?

So, indeed, what kind of victory? What is it that we believe about the resurrection of Christ and why?

First, I think it important to concede that what we believe is, in a sense, “irrational”.

If God and all His Truth could be explained by human reason, He wouldn’t be much of a God at all. It is part of our ancestral sin of pride, the making ourselves out to be gods, that leads us to think that if we cannot explain it, it cannot be true.

While we may well understand it all at some point in the future, it will not be so as a result of our own efforts. His gift, to share in His life, will inevitably bring us to an entirely different level that we cannot yet comprehend. “At present I know partially; then I shall know fully…” (1 Corinthians, 13: 12).

Yet, to concede the “irrationality” of our beliefs is not at all the same as suggesting that we do not use our minds in our faith or that we are content to believe utter nonsense simply because it is appealing.

There is, in fact, very good reason to believe in the historicity of Christ’s resurrection.

The difficulty lies not in a lack of basis for belief but rather in the irrationality itself, i.e. that such an occurrence as “rising from the dead” falls completely outside of our personal human experience and ability to explain.

It would be so much easier to believe if I had seen it with my own eyes.

Short of that, we have the next best thing: ordinary people, no different from ourselves, who did indeed see it with their own eyes – and recorded what they saw.

Not only do these ordinary people tell us in the Scriptures that they were eyewitnesses, but many of them were killed because of their persistence in sharing with others the truth of what they had witnessed.

And in the sharing, they were so utterly convincing in their testimony that those they told were also willing to forfeit their lives rather than renounce what they had learned.

This is not the stuff of mere grief or hallucination.

This is something worth paying attention to…

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But can we really believe that Jesus died the same human death that all people die and then rose from the dead?

It is in our Creed. And we claim to believe it.

But just what is it we are saying we believe? What does it mean to “rise from the dead”?

This is, I believe, one of those things that our human minds cannot fully comprehend – and thus, it is a mystery. We should not expect to fully understand it.

Yet we have been told some very important details, details that point to the meaning and reality of Jesus’ resurrection, even if meaning and reality on a higher plane than our intellects can wholly grasp.

Scripture accounts inform us that the rising of Jesus was not merely a spiritual event, but also a physical reality. In other words, He had a Body that people could see and touch. In His risen state, we know that He even asked for food. Was He hungry? We cannot know. But it is very likely that He asked in order to establish to His stunned followers that He was not a ghost or apparition.

It is also revealed to us in Scripture that Jesus’ risen Body was not identical to the human Body in which He had lived 33 years and which had been crucified. It was a new Body, one that was no longer limited by time, space and the laws of nature.

And yet Scripture simultaneously informs us that it was Jesus’ Body. The report that His Body bore the wounds from His crucifixion makes clear that it was His Body and no other.

How can this be? How can the Body of the risen Lord simultaneously be the same Body and a different Body?

This makes no sense in the realm of human logic. Up until this point in human history, the only known type of human body was an earthly body. While its workings were not (and still are not) fully understood, it was known to have certain stable properties.

Spirits or ghosts were (and still are) commonly cited phenomena. However, they have been depicted as spiritual beings not bound by the stable properties of earthly bodies. And it is precisely the absence of these bodies that has defined them as a different sort of being.

Hence, if true, the resurrection of Jesus introduces us to something altogether different from the earthly body: a spiritual or “glorified” body.

In so doing, it reveals to us to a New Life. The old life, the only one known until this time, could not accommodate the notion of the spiritual body that was encountered in the risen Christ.

And this is how St. Luke describes what the apostles were doing shortly after the coming of the Spirit – instructing people about the New Life (or simply “the Life”, in some translations).

They were not teaching the people about a new religion or a new church – but about a completely different Life, sometimes called “the Way”.

The apostles themselves did not have glorified bodies. But their lives in the Spirit were different; clearly they had been transformed. When following Jesus, we are told that they sometimes healed the sick and cast out demons.

But now they did so boldly, publicly and without hesitation – invoking the name of the risen Savior.

Even when repeatedly arrested for doing so, it seems as though these disciples could not stop. And they were not afraid to lose their earthly bodies to death in the process.

They knew there was more.

They knew that the hold death previously had on humanity had been trampled down.

The resurrection of Jesus was absolutely real to them.

Not only did it make them aware that there was a new Life, it revealed to them that this Life was now available to them and to all who would come to accept the Truth through them.

The teaching of this Truth thus became the single most important reality of their lives and they willingly, even gladly, suffered and died to carry out this mission.

And in their sufferings and deaths, they recognized bodily death as a mere transition – the Way to full union with the risen Christ who loved them and drew them into His Love.

Rather than fearing death, as man always has since the Fall, they longed for it. They longed to be with Christ.

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It is now 2000+ years later and Christianity appears to have become another “religion”. Its adherents gather in churches and carry out specified rites and rituals. They celebrate their greatest festivals, Christmas and Easter, much like nonbelievers do.

They have split into numerous factions because they cannot agree with one another. Miracles are claimed occasionally but a certain number of them turn out to be hoaxes. And one does not have search far to find sin and hypocrisy among their membership.

What has happened to the New Life? Did it ever really exist? Or has it simply grown old and died?

If one attempts to answer these questions by watching or reading the news, it might be easy to conclude that there is no “New Life” or that it was a fad that fizzled out. We see people who call themselves Christians involved in all kinds of things that seem too much like the old life. We see a lot of sin.

Yet, we must bear in mind that it has never been claimed that the resurrection of Christ removed the enemy from our world.

Therefore, it should not surprise us to see that sin has infiltrated the ranks of the followers of the Way. The enemy did not discontinue his efforts because of the resurrection. Most likely, he intensified them.

But why did God permit the evil one to remain among us, challenging us – and sometimes overcoming us? And why Jesus didn’t sort out everything immediately after His resurrection?

Thus the question remains: if Christ was and is victorious, how is it that we on earth are still at war?

What kind of victory?

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The answer to these questions lies, I believe, in revising all of our notions about victory.

The victory won by Christ was of a very different sort than what we are used to – completely different from when one team bests another in a contest, or when one country defeats another in battle.

The Lord Jesus triumphed by giving up Himself. He voluntarily allowed Himself to be demeaned and rejected, afflicted with torture and then executed.

Unlike the high priests under Mosaic law, Jesus did not offer an animal as sacrifice for Himself and the people. He had no need to offer sacrifice – for He never sinned, never cut Himself off from the Father, the source of all life.

Instead, He became the sacrifice, a sacrifice that was completely for other, seeking nothing for Himself.

His gift was one of perfect humility, perfect love.

The victories of this world requires that the other be defeated. To be a winner makes the other a loser.

The victory of Christ, in which the victor forfeits life so that the other may receive it, makes no sense to the world. It is not logical. Hence, it seems no victory at all.

But it is, in reality, the greatest victory imaginable.

The first sin, we are told, was one of pride – a pride so immense that these tiny created beings thought that they could make themselves gods. And that they could do so by being disobedient to the One Who created them.

The freedom given to the human creature became an opportunity for the evil one to twist and distort, to lure the human creature from the Way of love to a way of wilfulness and self-glorification.

This story would sound absurd to us – except that we surely recognize it at the core of our own sinfulness, as individuals and as a race.

The sacrifice of Christ completely turns this around. The most humble act, the most loving act conceivable was carried out, not just for one or a few others, but for all others.

So let us consider this: if we were to imagine that Christ’s resurrection had destroyed the devil and forcibly removed all evil from our world, how would this have changed His victory? Or similarly, if upon rising from the dead, Christ had immediately passed final judgment on all?

Well, it would have made it seem a lot more like a worldly victory, wouldn’t it? In other words, it would have made Jesus the winner and the devil, his followers and all enslaved to him the losers.

And this could not be – for the sacrifice of the Christ could not be for His own glorification or for the destruction of another and still be the same act: the most perfect, humble, loving act ever carried out by a human being.

But, having completely given Himself, with no expectation of personal gain, He could be glorified by the Father. He could receive the glorification given to Him – and He did.

Hence, in resurrection, Jesus is seen glorified – in His glorified Body, in the New Life.

He appeared – indeed, He revealed Himself – to those who believed, those whose hearts were ready to receive the truth about the New Life.

He did this not to prove His innocence or even to simply introduce them to the concept of a new life. Rather, He invited them (and us) to share in this Way – the Way of giving up oneself in complete humility and love for the other.

Thus, the Way not only enables believers to break free of the old way of sin and death, but it sends them on a mission to offer love and hope for all who remain under the grip of the evil one.

He does not want to lose a single one of us.

Yet He will never force us into the Way of Love – for it cannot be Love if it is not chosen.

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Understanding better now “what kind of victory” is at the heart of the resurrection, we are still left searching for evidence of the New Life in our world.

We see so much sin and evil around us – and it seems to only grow worse. And, disturbingly, people calling themselves Christians are too often in the middle of it.

Again I ask, has the New Life grown old? Has it died?

Most certainly it has not.

However, to see it, my heart must be humble and my eyes open. Not because the New Life is so hard to find, but because otherwise I will not recognize it for what it is.

Just as the modern mind with its secular perspective concedes that Jesus was a wise and loving person, so it can dismiss those now in the world who, through the Spirit, follow the Way, carrying Christ in their hearts.

If my heart is not humble and my eyes are not open, I may fall into a similar way of thinking.

Someone like Mother Teresa might be viewed as a sort of hero of the times, an extraordinary person. But from this vantage point, the truth gets lost – the truth that she was not the extraordinary one but rather the risen Christ dwelling within her and through her.

To those who love Mother Teresa, this might seem like heresy, but she herself knew this to be true. And so she emptied herself, to allow His humility and love to dwell within her.

And there are many more like her. Some are well-known to us – St. Therese of Lisieux and St. (Padre) Pio in the western Church, and St. Paisios and St. Porphyrios in the eastern Church. Some may never be recognized beyond the handful of people who experienced the love of Christ through them.

But they are here. They exist in every walk of life and in every country of the world.

If I allow my heart to be humbled and my eyes to be opened, I will see them for who they are – not just “good” people, but embodiments of the risen Christ.

I will see them walking among the poor – but also among the rich. I will see them loving quietly and selflessly, not drawing attention to themselves.

I will see them embracing everyone, regardless of what they believe or whether they believe – even those whose lives appear to be entrenched in evil.

And my life will be enriched – no, saved – through my contact with them and the love that emanates from them.

In fact, it has already happened to me. Many, many times over.

Every time it happens, it humbles and empties me more, preparing in my heart a deep and holy dwelling place for the risen Christ.

I become nothing and His love becomes all.

With His Spirit guiding and sustaining me, I follow the Way.

Stumbling, falling, humbled, emptied, I am almost lost – again.

And He sends yet another to pull me up that I might begin again.

I follow the Way.

May it be so – for all of us.

Amen.

 

To some, mixing Christianity and psychology may seem odd, even dangerous.

Many Christians are wary of psychologists – and with some reason. Sadly, many psychologists are skeptical about God and matters of faith.

In my life, the two blend so seamlessly that I cannot help but be both – a Christian and a psychologist. And I know I am not alone. Whether openly or in secret, there are many in the healing professions who are also devout believers.

Recently, in the comments, someone raised good questions about emotions and faith. I was intrigued. I spend much of my day working with other people’s emotions (not to mention my own) and pray that I do so with God’s Spirit guiding me.

Our emotions can be so powerful. And anything that is powerful has much potential for both good and evil in our lives.

And so the question might be raised: how do we as Christians understand and manage our emotions?

Are we supposed to control and subdue them? Embrace them and sit with them? Or perhaps disown them altogether as “deadly sins” (aka “passions”)?

Wow. Complicated questions.

But then again, emotions are complicated things.

As I ponder these questions and listen within, several points of awareness immediately jump up and take center stage.

One is that we cannot trust our emotions.

Another is that we cannot live without them.

And yet a third awareness is that to disown our emotions is to disown a part of ourselves and therefore is inherently unhealthy, spiritually and psychologically.

Hmm…this should make for an interesting discussion.

Let’s begin with defining what emotions are. I confess that before sitting down to write tonight, I asked the Google lady to define “emotion” for me. Being a psychologist, it seems like I ought to have the words to describe these mysterious phenomena, but I like the way she gives me straight answers – so unemotional is she in her computerized voice.

Here’s what she said: “Emotion: a natural instinctive state of mind deriving from one’s circumstances, mood, or relationships with others.”

It is also noteworthy that a slight scroll down the screen revealed a bit more from Dictionary.com in which emotions were differentiated from “cognitive and volitional states”.

While these definitions seem rather dry and clinical, I think they can be quite helpful to us. Let’s begin…

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Before all else, I think it important to say that our emotions are a gift from God.

This does not mean, of course, that they cannot be twisted and distorted and made to serve the evil one instead of God. All of God’s gifts can be perverted in some fashion, especially those most closely associated with human freedom.

Yet I think it is essential to any spiritual discussion of emotions to acknowledge that they are not inherently “bad”. Emotions cannot be right or wrong, good or bad, in and of themselves.

Even anger? Yes. Even anger.

I grew up – and I’m sure I’m not alone – seriously misunderstanding this very point. As I have written elsewhere, as a child preparing for confession, I once read the list of the 7 deadly sins and concluded that it was sinful for me to feel angry. Also for me to feel good about myself for any positive achievements as that would be pride.

What a mess that caused.

But I cannot really complain too much about this mess because, through it, God led me to become a psychologist. (It took a lot of therapy to work out a neurosis of that magnitude – and in the process, I discovered the beauty of this healing practice.)

OK, so back to emotions. A gift from God…

If we return to the Google Lady’s definition of emotions as an “instinctive state of mind” we may understand these notions a bit more clearly.

Emotions are indeed instinctive. Being instinctive, they are not volitional. We don’t choose them. They happen.

This may not sit well with us initially – especially with our most beloved feelings, like that “whoosh” of joy that we feel when we see the morning sun glistening on dew-drenched blossoms.

But it also may not sit well with us regarding the least beloved feelings of those around us, such as the snapping anger of a friend or spouse. You mean they can’t help it?

Yet if we stop to consider it, how many of us begin our day by thinking, “I’d like to get angry today. I think I’ll do it this afternoon when my coworker starts cracking his knuckles while I’m trying to concentrate”? Or by thinking, “I really must get sad tonight over my grandmother’s death. I haven’t done it in a while”?

It is because of this instinctive quality that we must not consider emotions as good or bad, right or wrong. We are not culpable for what is involuntary.

Surprisingly, it is in their instinctiveness that we discover that these emotions of ours are a gift from God. Indeed, “we cannot live without them” (point two, above).

On a purely biological basis, two very common emotions, anger and fear, are our protectors when we feel threatened or endangered. (Yup, good old “fight or flight” comes to our rescue.) We must have these to survive.

The two other emotions considered “basic” to humans are happiness and sadness. These too surely have some survival value. Our expression of these emotions communicates to others what we ought to approach or avoid.

And, lest this come across as too scientific or evolutionary, all four of these basic emotions are also part of what adds depth and color to our lives. They are a core part of our relatedness to one another – which, in Christianity, we call love.

Unperverted, the emotions instinctively communicate among us who and what we need, trust and value. In their many and varied forms, they mold us into community – a challenging but vital part of who we are.

And there are far more emotions than just the basic four. Could we live without gratitude, sympathy or attraction? Or even without frustration, regret or worry?

I do not think so. At least, I, for one, would not want to try. I believe that these emotions, in their pure and undistorted forms, are gifts that not only support our survival but deeply enrich our lives.

+++

Having thus labeled emotions as gift, how then can I simultaneously say that they cannot be trusted? (see point one above) Why would God give us such a gift?

The dilemma, however, lies not in God’s gift of emotion but, strangely, in another one of His gifts: our freedom.

Yes, our freedom. It is what makes our emotions different from those of the lower animals. The animals have only the instinctive part – so the gift for them is always pure and undistorted.

But we humans…well, we have this freedom issue that opens the door for our gift of emotion to become perverted, often without our recognizing it.

[Side note: This, of course, still leaves us with the question as to why God would give us such a gift as freedom. My only conclusion after many years of pondering is that freedom is essential to love. And, while our freedom can result in some horrible messes, the supremacy of love redeems them all.]

The perversion of our emotions is a central aspect of our “ancestral sin”, the disease that has been passed down from generation to generation since the first sin. And, because we often are naturally blind to this perversion, we tend to think of our instinctive emotional reactions as normal and natural.

Unless, of course, we learn otherwise.

But, before going there, let’s consider an example of these distorted emotions that we cannot trust.

OK, pride, one of those ones I misunderstood a lot in my childhood. And my adulthood.

Suppose I get really good grades on my report card and I am pleased. I worked hard and feel good about the positive result. Anything wrong with that “pride”?

No, I don’t think so. This emotion of pride is a relatively undistorted and instinctive reaction to having my effort yield a successful result. It even has a positive value because the pleasant feeling reinforces effort, making me more likely to continue applying myself to my studies.

However, suppose something else creeps into my child’s mind. Suppose I think, “I’m smarter and better than my brother because I got better grades than he did.” And suppose I let him know it, directly or indirectly.

I do not think it is too hard to see in this scenario that my instinctive and innocent emotion has been corrupted.

First, I am attributing all of the good result to myself, ignoring the fact that whatever academic abilities I might have were given to me by God. I didn’t create the ability in myself. Second, I have departed from the way of Love by using my accomplishment to diminish another. I cannot simply be pleased; my victory has to be someone else’s defeat.

Although having learned about sin, I am unable to recognize (in this hypothetical scenario) that a disease has been passed down to me and has infiltrated my emotions. Being raised in a culture where competition is paramount (part of the disease), my emotional reaction seems as normal as rooting for the home team.

It all transpires so automatically that I do not even question it.

I don’t see the enemy at work because it has not even occurred to me to look for him.

And this is why we cannot trust our emotions.

+++

There are many ways in which we may discover our emotions to be untrustworthy. In fact, so many ways that to do a comprehensive review would most likely feel very disturbing to us.

Some of our emotions we find quite pleasant. We can trust our feelings of joy, can’t we? Certainly there can be nothing distorted about them.

Well, actually there can be – at least some of the time anyway.

Even my deepest spiritual joy is suspect. Not because of the joy itself but because of how readily contaminants can invade even this sacred experience.

Perhaps I imagine myself being admired for my devotion. Perhaps my joy makes me feel like I am above “those other people” who are not on such intimate terms with God.

The list could continue on – but I think the point is made.

Ironically, we cannot even trust our emotions to guide us about whether we growing spiritually or not. Feeling bereft of God’s presence and consolation may be an indicator that God is actually at work deep within us, despite how “bad” it feels.

God certainly gives us some strange gifts. And leaves us so vulnerable to attack.

All for the sake of love, it seems.

+++

If they are so treacherous, so infiltrated by the enemy, should I not just banish my emotions altogether? Better to pluck out my eye than… (See Mark 9: 47.)

And did not the Lord Jesus forbid anger, one of our basic but most troublesome emotions? (See Matthew 5: 22).

I do not think the first Scripture passage is meant to be taken literally. Jesus doesn’t want us to maim ourselves. Since all have sinned, a literal interpretation would leave everyone wandering about half-blind and missing one or both hands.

Further, the Gospels tell us that when Jesus approached a sinner, He simply said, “Your sins are forgiven.” (He did not offer to help saw off their hands.) The message, I believe, is that He doesn’t want us to value anything more than we value our souls.

Hence, if we are not meant to maim our bodies, neither are we meant to maim our minds. (Recall how neurotic I became when I tried to rid myself of all anger and good feelings about myself? A psychological maiming that resulted from not allowing myself to feel what I felt.)

And what about Jesus’ words in Matthew’s Gospel: “whoever is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment”? Doesn’t this mean we shouldn’t feel angry?

I think we can only assume that Jesus was referring to perverted emotions, since He was explaining this in the context of murder. He wanted us to understand that murder starts with the perverted emotion of anger.

Is there any other sort of anger than this distorted kind? Actually, yes. When Jesus cleansed the Temple of the money-changers, He displayed anger – strong anger. So what is the difference? And why didn’t He make the distinction, if this is what He meant?

Jesus’ anger was pure, i.e. it wasn’t bound up in ego and wasn’t a departure from the way of Love. In fact, He was angry because of Love – love for the Father and love for those who, while pretending to be observant of the Law, were actually disparaging it.

We sinners, in our perverted anger, too often like to justify ourselves by noting that “Jesus got angry too!” We can’t see the difference because we are blind to how our emotions have been twisted. Hence, we wouldn’t have gotten it, had Jesus attempted to explain that our anger, not His, would be “liable to judgment”.

In sum, banishing our emotions, despite the fact that we cannot trust them, is not the solution. We won’t succeed and, by disowning a necessary and vital part of ourselves, we may well end up damaging ourselves psychologically.

+++

Maybe I can just control my emotions. Or at least the bad ones. Oh…that’s right. There aren’t supposed to be any “bad” ones.

So where do I turn? Does Christianity hold any answers for me? Or do I turn to psychology?

Strange bedfellows though they may be, Christianity and psychology, both rightly understood, can never be at odds with one another.

The problem in today’s world, however, is that we seldom (if ever) understand either one of them rightly.

And so I’m going to be the exception? No, I do not understand them rightly either. But I pray before I write, proceeding with trust that the Holy Spirit will enable me to write something worthy of Him.

Beginning with the Christian perspective, the teaching that first comes to mind is this:

“Be sober and vigilant. Your opponent the devil is prowling around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” (1 Peter 5: 8)

Now that we know that our emotions are a gift from God but are often twisted by the enemy, we must be watchful. Rather than automatically trusting (or rejecting) what we feel, we stop and take notice of our emotions.

We accept the emotions as ours – but we are cautious.

We observe them with some neutrality that we might discern whether they have been tampered with. This is not unlike how a person of importance in wartime might examine their mail carefully before opening it.

While examining our emotions in this manner might seem obsessive or burdensome, we must remember that we are indeed at war, though on a spiritual battlefield unseen by human eyes.

As we become more practiced at this process of observing and discerning, it may come more automatically. However, though some may pass inspection quickly, other emotions we may need to sit with for some time before we see the truth hidden within.

Does this spiritual process have any parallels in the world of psychology? Indeed it does, though naturally the vocabulary of secular practice is quite different.

One example of this parallel might be found in cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT), one of the most widely researched and commonly used treatment approaches in psychology. In CBT, we acknowledge the link between distortions in thinking and emotional distress. We learn to be on the watch for these distortions so as to intercept and correct them.

Another example might be how, in mindfulness treatment approaches, we learn present-moment awareness, observing our emotions from the quiet of nonjudgment. In so doing, we learn to not drown in our emotions – but also not to exile them. We notice and accept them, while cultivating compassion for self and others.

Yes, the vocabularies are different but, theoretical underpinnings aside, we find some common truths in the Christian and psychological perspectives: that emotions are not trustworthy; that despite this, emotions are important and not to be banished; that emotions are frequently subject to distortion which can be quite problematic; and, finally, that we need to be on the watch for these distortions and the trouble they cause.

In other words, we simply cannot let our emotions run amok or they may destroy us from the inside out.

+++

Of course all of this simply begs the question.

Understanding our emotions in this rudimentary fashion, what then are we as Christians to do with them?

Certainly, being sober and vigilant is essential. But it truly could become obsessive to try to intercept and examine each and every emotion experienced on a daily basis.

This is especially true because we have learned that we cannot even classify the emotions by content to simplify the task. There is no rule of thumb that allows us to say that anger is suspicious but joy is not.

What we must do, I believe, is acknowledge that the task before us is impossible.

I suppose psychology would call this a “paradoxical intervention”. However we are embarking on a far deeper course here.

Facing the impossible, as Christians, we turn to God – for nothing is impossible or inscrutable for Him.

Always, we pray. But especially we pray when encountering those emotions that we cannot manage on our own – the ones that confuse or overwhelm us when we try to discern whether they have been contaminated.

We pray to Christ – for He shared our emotions during His time among us and He understands. We ask Him daily to purify our hearts, our minds, our emotions.

We ourselves cannot defeat the evil one. But He already has.

We pray also to His Holy Mother and to all the saints, for they too know the struggle of being human. They are our helpers and protectors.

As we continue our lives of prayer, we cultivate the virtues. Knowing both the impossibility and the necessity of managing our emotions, we learn humility. As we grow in humility, we come to see more clearly how ego is behind so many of our troublesome emotions.

And so we pray to our Savior to help us empty ourselves as He emptied Himself.

As we become empty of self, we understand more and more how to cultivate the virtues of compassion, understanding and patience.

We begin to truly comprehend the disease that has afflicted us. We come to understand that those who provoke our most difficult emotions are similarly afflicted.

In our prayer, we ask the Lord to wash us in His mercy. And, as our compassion grows, we begin to ask Him to wash all others in His mercy as well.

Each time He washes us in His mercy, we learn a bit more about what we need to cleansed of. Indeed, in our prayers of gratitude, we begin to ask Him to help us see more clearly what in our thoughts, feelings and desires need purifying.

And He shows us.

Little by little, we learn the virtue of temperance, discovering that, as we grow in Him, many of our hungers and desires become less consuming. He Himself fills our deepest hunger, such that our other hungers becoming barely noticeable by comparison. Yet in His love for us, He never forbids us the sweet simplicity of His created gifts to address them.

What I have written here is not, of course, the end of the process, but merely the beginning.

Living a life in Christ is a continual unfolding that brings us more and more deeply into the peace that only He can give.

And in that peace, by His grace, we find our emotions becoming increasing pure. Yet, it is not merely the purity that the animals possess. It is the purity of Love.

+++

Can psychology offer anything that parallels this?

Certainly not – at least not in its textbooks and research articles.

Yet this does not mean that we need dismiss it any more than we would dismiss medical help when we are ill.

God can and does heal our bodies and our minds.

Yet He also allows us suffering that we might be more closely united to Christ on the Cross.

But we are not to be united to Him by ourselves. He brings us into His Body with its many members that we might also be in union with one another.

This unity of the Body is not static – no, it is dynamic and fully alive. Every member has been given its own unique gifts to nourish and heal others in the Body, so that each is ever giving and receiving in an eternity of loving exchange.

A wise and holy patient of mine (who has since gone to God) helped me understand this in very practical terms.

In her Protestant denomination, members actively renounced psychology, something that saddened her greatly. She had had a very traumatic life and she knew God brought us together to help her heal. She saw many depressed and traumatized souls coming to her church every week but they would not consider doing what she so bravely did.

One time when we were discussing this, she shared with me this simple lesson: whether we are going to a medical doctor, a dentist or a psychologist, what is most important is that we find one who is “in the Body”.

She had seen me previously and was not ready. Truthfully, I was not ready yet either at our first encounter. Time brought her searching again and she saw a couple of other therapists briefly. She related how they did not understand her – and stated that she could not understand a word they said!

They simply did not speak the same language. The other therapists were kind and well-intentioned people but they were not “in the Body”.

When she and I resumed therapy after a hiatus of several years, she was ready. And I began to understand that the movement I been experiencing in my soul prior to her arrival was God preparing me.

And, as always happens in the Body, the gifts God gave me brought her healing and the gifts God gave her strengthened me in faith.

“Psychology” was a vehicle that was integral to the process, but never apart from the loving hand of God.

+++

Having prayed for and written these words over a period of several days, I am now spent, like a woman who has given birth after a long and harrowing labor.

Harrowing – for I see how very weak I am. I am but a child wandering about on a battlefield who, by the grace of God, still stands after the shots have been fired.

Can I even trust the words I have written?

Certainly not. Nor can I trust any of the emotions I feel as I read them over one last time.

I can only trust in God. I give Him myself.

May He do with me – and these words – whatever He wills.

+++

May God bless us and keep us. May He let His face shine upon us. May He be gracious to us and grant us His peace.

In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Just a brief note, dear readers.

I have decided to blog the book I mentioned earlier, Father Arseny, 1893-1973: Priest, Prisoner, Spiritual Father, as well as the second volume, Father Arseny: A Cloud of Witnesses.

(By “blogging the book”, I mean that I have created a blog site where I will post a series of reflections and invite others to do so as well.)

The site address for this new blog is: https://heretopray2.wordpress.com/ and the first post has been posted.

I realize that many of my Orthodox readers may have already read these books. Please feel free to break out the old volumes and reread any parts that especially moved you. Since the books include many memoirs, these can be reflected upon again and again without rereading the entire book. (Not that there is anything wrong with rereading the entire book!)

I will not be blogging in a chapter-by-chapter fashion as I did with our first book. At least as far as I know. Never know how the Spirit will lead me. 🙂

Although I have finished posting on the first book blog, any who wish to read and comment on Orthodox Prayer Life: The Interior Way, by Matthew the Poor (Fr. Matta El-Meskeen), that blog remains available at https://heretopray.wordpress.com/. I will receive notice of any comments posted there and will gladly respond to them.

All of the books mentioned in this post are extraordinary books that I believe will help us grow together spiritually. If this seems like a good time for you to read, please join me…

I did not know until a few years ago that I had been living in schism all my life. No one told me.

You may think that I am joking but I am not. It is rather hard to believe, given that I am 61 years old and not generally an ignorant person.

I grew up in a largely Roman Catholic world and, as a child, was taught that the Catholic Church was the One True Faith. While I came to gradually learn a bit about other religions, Christian and otherwise, I did not know that there was another Church that laid hold to this same claim.

There was the girl down the alley that I sometimes played with when we lived in Minneapolis. I knew that she was Lutheran. I also knew that I wasn’t to ever attend any of her church services because I might unwittingly learn some false teachings.

I had no idea what those false teachings were – but I was not about to risk finding out. I felt a bit bad for my friend, that she was under the influence of this unknown error, but she and her family seemed to be nice enough people. And I was raised to be accepting of diversity, even though we didn’t have a buzzword for it back then.

When I began high school (Catholic, of course), our insular way of life was challenged by change. Within the Church, Vatican II had  launched its modifications to our familiar rituals and practices. It was an exciting time for me. Words that I had learned to rattle off in Latin now had meaning for me. And I liked the meaning.

My school encouraged us to question and examine our faith – to really make it our own. As part of a special interim time in the school year, I joined an instructor and a few other students in a study of Judaism. It was fascinating to attend a Bat Mitzvah and learn what it meant to keep Kosher.

In the outside world, change was also rampant. I was a bit oblivious during those early years of high school but, having an older brother, I soon learned about things like the Vietnam War. In 1973, the legalization of abortion cut through me like a knife. High school religion classes began to include the discussion of social and political issues in the context of our faith.

However, in one high school religion class, we learned about other religions. I do not recall just which ones – but I do remember the Mormons. They scared me because, on the surface, I thought it just might be true. I felt strongly about the plight of Native Americans and it seemed to me quite plausible that Christ might have visited these noble people after His Resurrection.

If this really did happen, would it mean that I had to change my religion? I did not like the idea of leaving the familiar – but the truth was important to me. However, further reading revealed some beliefs that did not ring true to the Gospel I knew. Hence, I was not put to the test and could, in good conscience, remain Catholic.

There was no discussion in this class of the Orthodox Church – at least that I can recall. In fact, I am embarrassed to admit that I probably didn’t even know there was such a faith. I vaguely recall asking my mother why the cross on a particular church looked different from ours when we drove past it. Whatever response she gave must have satisfied my curiosity. I had no reason to think about it further.

While my relative ignorance may seem appalling, it must be noted that, in those days, we did not have the Internet. Computers were huge machines that took up entire rooms and most of us had little or no access to one. Hence, our interests were piqued only by those things we saw in our daily lives or heard about on the television or radio.

And even if my interest was piqued on a topic, my information sources were limited to the Webster’s dictionary and the Funk & Wagnalls encyclopedia my mother had purchased, one volume at a time, from the local grocery.

There was, of course, the library. But that required being driven by a parent and such excursions were typically reserved for times when homework assignments required more than what the Funk & Wagnalls could offer. The library had the Encyclopedia Britannica!

Naturally, one would expect that I would have learned more when I went away to college, especially given that theology classes were required at my Catholic institution. But, alas, no courses on Church history to cue me in on the “other Church” and the existence of the schism.

I would not want my Orthodox friends to be offended by my ignorance of their existence and our sad division. Truth be told, I never really understood the Reformation either. Despite my deep interest in Christianity, all of the details of history, religious or secular, well…kind of bored me. To this day, I’m not sure which side of the “faith vs. works” controversy I am supposed to be on. It has always seemed obvious to me that we need both, so why all the fuss?

In 1977, I moved to Cleveland to be part of the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, a spiritual journey into living simply in community, with a focus on social justice and service.

And it was in 1977 that I had my first notable contact with Orthodoxy.

My volunteer job was working with ex-offenders in a program that was founded by Lutherans and administered by an Interfaith (largely Protestant) organization. My spiritual horizons were expanding and I learned a profound respect for the faithful lives of those who worshiped in ways other than my own.

But the Orthodox were not, of course, part of this.

However, just down the street from my office in the inner city, an Orthodox priest was founding a monastery which soon became a shelter for homeless men. I was intrigued by this because I had never heard of a monastery performing such a service – but we were very grateful for it. Extra food was always brought to their kitchen as they fed many of the poor of the neighborhood as well as their homeless guests.

I did not see many monks in this monastery but I did not really expect to. Their notices in local publications always included an invitation to attend Divine Liturgy. I considered going, having shed the old dictum about being led astray, but I was a bit shy. I didn’t know what to expect and was reluctant to just appear at the door for liturgy. Where amidst the throngs of homeless men would this liturgy take place?

However, having had a passing and pleasant acquaintance with the founder, Fr. Gregory Reynolds, I went to St. George’s Orthodox Church to pay my respects when he reposed. I did not attend the services, assuming that such were for those who shared his faith and life more intimately than me.

When, in 1999, I moved into my house in the Tremont neighborhood of Cleveland, I discovered a wealth of churches. There were (and still are) three Orthodox Churches within walking distance of my house and at least three Roman Catholic Churches (not to mention the Ukrainian Catholic and Byzantine Catholic Churches). We were also graced with the United Church of Christ, an Evangelical Lutheran Church and some Hispanic Pentecostal churches and storefronts.

We all seemed to live peaceably together in this small, once highly ethnic enclave to the south of downtown. Still, no one informed me that I was in schism. And yet, realistically, how and when could this have been brought to my attention?

+++

I have told the story elsewhere of how, in July of 2012, God directed me to Fr. Stephen’s blog Glory to God for All Things.

In short, following a deep meditation while having an MRI of my brain, I felt compelled to search the Internet for an understanding of some words that had come to me. It had to do with God singing. I had never read before that God or even Jesus sang – yet this had entered my prayerful meditation while in the tube.

When Google did not immediately come up with anything significant, I recalled Aslan singing in C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia. So I entered “Aslan singing” into my search engine. And I found myself reading a text that didn’t seem to have much to do with God singing – but it caught my attention nonetheless.

“Wow, I really agree with this!” I thought to myself. “What is this website?” That initial reading wasn’t so much imparting any new information to me about Christianity (that would come later), but it was just so well explained that I had to continue reading.

It took a little while for me to get a grasp on the discussion, but not terribly long. The Internet was at my fingertips and I could learn the basic facts I needed. I had also had a patient some years before who had converted to Orthodoxy, debunking the old assumption that Orthodoxy was probably “just an ethnic thing”.

As I read more and more at Fr. Stephen’s, I found myself joining in the community of commenters and feeling quite at home. Most of the time. Every now and then someone made a comment that suggested some rather strong negative feelings about Catholicism. Fr. Stephen himself seemed to me to be “angry” when discussing our separation.

I even wrote a comment to him once, asking forgiveness for whatever my Church had done to his Church. I didn’t get it. Yet when his posts turned too historical for my poor history-challenged mind, I simply scanned them and waited for another.

While things that happened so many years ago might interest some, they didn’t appeal to me. This side says this, the other side says that. There is no unbiased account of history – how can I make sense of it?

We all believe in the Gospel, in the death and resurrection of Jesus, the source of our salvation. We all know the real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. We honor His Virgin Mother and celebrate the communion of saints. As for “the filioque”, frankly, I had never heard of it.

When I learned what it meant, I was again scratching my head. I could not imagine that any of us know or understand the inner workings of the Holy Trinity. What is important is that we believe that there is a Holy Trinity. And Catholics and Orthodox alike hold this fundamental belief.

Now I understood that this wasn’t the only trouble that led to this schism-thing. I’m sure more historical research would have led me to more facts. But I was searching with my heart, not my mind. Why was I separated from my brothers and sisters in Christ?

+++

Fast-forwarding into the present stage of my faith journey, it seems to me that the heart of the trouble lies in our sinfulness. How can it not? God gave us one Church and we broke it in two.

Of course, it is very typical of us human beings to point to the other guy and say, “He’s the one who did it, not me!” or “I wouldn’t have had to do this if she hadn’t done that!”

And so, whether it be the schism or the Reformation (about which I remain in historically ignorance to this day), our natural tendency is to view things in black-and-white terms. It becomes as much about blame in these historical conflicts as it does in marital conflicts.

Which, I believe, reflects our lack of repentance.

Whenever people interact, a system is created – a system that is something different from just the two or more individuals (or nations or church bodies) involved. Even when one party commits an egregious wrong, the response of the other party becomes an important part of the dynamic. More actions and reactions come forth that would not have occurred were it not for the interaction. And on it goes, one reaction provoking another which provokes another…

In other words, none of us are innocent. We have all inherited sin and we all partake, feeding into the vicious cycle of destruction.

Were it not for Christ, I fear that we would never find our way out of this mess. We would be bereft of the glorious union with Him and each other for which we were made. I can imagine no greater tragedy.

+++

Now that I have been told about the schism, certainly I can intellectually grasp the concept. It goes something like this:

There was a rupture in the Church many centuries ago, the history of which is there to be studied by those who wish to study it. As a result of the rupture, separate human ecclesiastical institutions developed, one commonly called “Catholic” and the other “Orthodox”. The Orthodox and the Catholic believe a few things differently. On a practical level, the manner in which these groups worship differs significantly on many details. I say “details” not to minimize their importance to the people who practice them but to distinguish them from the heart of the liturgy: the Word and the Eucharist. Despite their many common beliefs, they remain apart, not sharing the Sacraments with each other, and hence they are not “in communion” with one another. Both consider themselves directly descended from the apostles and thus, “the Church”, with the other ecclesiastical institution being regarded as the one who left the Tradition.

And oversimplified explanation, no doubt, but I’m not going to pretend to explain more than I understand. Nor am I claiming that my understanding is completely accurate.

Having said all of this about the schism, however, I must confess that I still don’t really see it.

I see one Church, the living, mystical Body of Christ on earth. You, my faithful Orthodox readers, I see you in the Body. You, my faithful Catholic readers, I see you in the Body too. And any other readers, genuinely seeking God, longing to know Christ, I see you in the Body too – or at least on your way to finding your home there.

We are one Church, one Body of Christ. In Him, we are being made perfect so as to be brought into perfect union with Him and each other.

Yet, you might ask, how can I say this when the Orthodox and Catholics are not in communion with one another?

My human mind and my earthly eyes can certainly see the rupture. But the eyes of my heart see the Oneness – and I trust the eyes of my heart more than their worldly counterparts.

It is true – the eyes of my heart cannot see it perfectly. I am not perfectly united to Christ. But I see it…if only “as in a mirror”.

Allow me to explain.

What do we imagine that Christ Himself sees? As the Head, when He looks upon His Body, does He see the broken or the whole?

Because we have broken what He gave us, is He then compelled to also see it as broken? For all eternity?

I cannot imagine that He is compelled to do anything, much less see through the eyes of sinful humanity. In His eternal Being, He sees all things as they are in the fullness of timeless Truth. How could we imagine that He would see our sinfulness, the lies of the evil one, rather than Truth?

This is not to say that He does not know that the lies and sins and evil are all still at work in our world. But He, in His eternity, sees the antidote. For He Himself is the antidote.

His Body, once broken and raised, cannot be broken again.

Just as in the Gospel the Lord Jesus looked upon the man with a withered hand and made him whole, so He looks upon our brokenness and we are made whole. He looked upon the blind, the lame and the deaf; if they believed, they too were made whole.

To be healed, they needed only a flicker of faith, not a lengthy creed. And those who were possessed did not even need to express belief. He saw that they were caught in an impossible trap and He set them free.

Yet even greater than this is what He has done for us. Before surrendering Himself to death, He gave us His Body and His Blood – that we might know that He chose to sacrifice Himself out of love.

Then, taking into Himself all of our weakness, our sin, our strife, He allowed His Body to be beaten, broken, spat upon.

Though He had done nothing to merit death, He entered death in utter humility, sacrificing everything. Death could not hold Him captive as it did us – for the prince of death could not endure His selfless love.

Triumphant in battle, He was raised up on the third day. Not into this life or into His old Body but into the New Life and the new Body. The Body which we are, the Church, through the outpouring of the Spirit upon us.

His Body, once broken and raised, cannot be broken again.

Human institutions we can pervert, divide or even destroy with our sins. But we cannot break the Body – we cannot divide it.

We are One Body.

We are the Church.

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(Please note that these ramblings are simply my ramblings and do not represent the teachings of the Catholic Church. I do not know enough to undertake a task of that magnitude. May God forgive me in my sinful folly.)

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divine love is humble

pouring itself out completely

as it forgives, restores, heals.

it has no end,

emptying itself

yet never running dry.

it is personal, intimate,

drenching the body, the mind, the soul

with all they ever longed for

but knew not how to desire.

divine love caresses, enlightens, fulfills,

drawing the other into communion

until there is no difference

between Lover and beloved –

and the beloved too is humble,

pouring itself out completely

as it forgives, restores, heals.

it has no end,

emptying itself,

yet never running dry.

o holy Divinity, God, Creator of all –

my Beloved, my hope, my joy!

there is no end – only beginning,

as You create and love and create anew,

o holy Love, my love, My Love.

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o holy Love, can i allow myself to receive You?

(refrain repeats and repeats)

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hush…just receive…

just receive…

receive…

…