Dei Profundis

The Ice Dragon

Thu, 05 May 2022 16:00:00 +0000

The Ice Dragon

The explosion shot her out, spinning her head over tail as the sound of rocks cracking and fire crackling filled her ears. Without thinking, as if she had done this a million ages over, she unfurled her wings, their tender lacy filaments indistuinguisable from the molten red liquid that spewed her into the sky. Catching a gust of hot air, rising with it above the jagged hole forming beneath her, she pumped her wings hard. Suddenly, she broke free of the tower of ash and molten flame into the cold, glistening night. She swooped and soared, beating hard to stay aflight, sometimes gliding as hot and cold slid against one another under the starry sky, the volcanic heat meeting the icy air which blew off the glacier that had so long capped her molten home.

But she grew cold, and her young wings grew tired. Circling around,lower and lower, perhaps it was the flames reflected in the glistening surface that drew her, an illusion of warmth and safety.

Steam rose as her molten claws skittered along the ice until she caught herself on a bolder, and skidded to a rather clumsy halt. Heaving a sigh of relief, folding her wings next to her to warm them, she shut her eyes, blocking out the rivers of flame, the tumbling rocks, and the ice that reflected it all back in a cracked and jagged mirror. Had she been older, had she had more time to learn about fire and ice, perhaps she would have known to pay attention to the sounds around her. To wonder at the shudder that ran through the ice at her feet. But she knew nothing of how quickly molten lava rising from the earth could turn ancient ice into a resevoir of water high above her; or how a small crack, created ages ago when a jolt deep in the earth shifted the ice on its surface, could suddenly give way, releasing a flood of icy water to tumble and rush down the mountainside, picking up bolders and trees. And her.

The wall of icy water picked her up without pause, steam erupting as water met fire, turning her head over tail yet again. This time, no gust of hot air lifted her. Instead, as happens anywhere molten lave meets icy water, stone forms. Everywhere the water met her flaming scales, they hardened. Wings outstretched to catch her balance, her molten scales hardened instantly. Swept down the mountain by the torrent, it carried her right into a boulder which caughter her wing, spun her around with current, and jammed her against another, holding her fast as the water drowned her in ice and debris, burying her in cold, icy dark.

But dragons, they aren’t like us. The don’t end like we end. Being made of the world itself, they can be remade by the world. Born of fire, frozen in stone made of the meeting of fire and ice, our young friend slowly but surely became that which surrounded her. Little by little, the ice, warmed by her fire melted, seeped into her brittle stone shell, met her inner fire, and added a new layer of stone. Outside, the stone forced the ice into its own shape even as the ice ground away the stone. From the outside in, layer by layer, she went from fire, to stone, to ice.

Likewise, the glacier grew adding layers of ice and snow, slowly sliding down the mountain with the weight of all it was carrying, all that it had gathered over the centuries, everything in its path.

But even ice cannot outlast everything. As the earth warmed, the glacier retreated, calving chunks of itself into a lagoon at the edge of the earth. And one day, finally, the sheet which broke off the glacier was that one bit of ice that held her tight. Plunging into the water, swept towards the ocean, she felt her prison melt away.

And there she floats, letting salt and spray clean away the debris of centuries, waiting for the right moment to spread her wings.

Pascha Cheese Recipe

Sun, 17 Apr 2022 16:00:00 +0000

This recipe for Pascha Cheese was given to me by mother. It was passed around, and adjusted by, the women of the Russian Orthodox church I grew up with. I make it every year that I have time. The Pascha Cheese was a hit this year, probably the best ever. I suspect it was because of the extra lemon zest, and the real farmer’s cheese, which is only available in the early spring.

Pascha Cheese, 2022!

Makes 2.5 Quarts

When to Start

You should start this at least three days before you plan to serve it. Add a few more days if you only have wet cottage cheese available. It needs to set and drain in a refrigerator for a bit.

Ingredients

1LB Butter cut into small pieces
1/2c. granulated sugar
1 5-8” vanilla bean, slice down the length, scrape out (and use!) all the beans, and finely chop the rest
7 hard boiled egg yolks, seived (I rarely seive them, I just mush them by hand)
4 2/3c Farmer’s Cheese OR Large Dry curd Cottage Cheese. You can use wet cottage cheese, but you need to drain it, and leave extra time to drain the cheese before serving
(optional) 3T chopped almonds (or pecans) (I omit this, I don’t like nuts in my cheese)
(optional) 3T candied citron (I omit this too, I just hate candied fruits of most kind)
2t lemon juice (fresh is always best)
1/4t grated lemon zest (extra is very tasty, as we discovered this year)
1t vanilla extract
1/8t salt (that would be “a pinch”)
2/3c whipped cream
2/3c sour cream
1 Pascha Mold with double-cheese cloth, damp (here is an example, which you can also make)
Steps
Cream Butter and Sugar until fluffy.
Beat Vanilla, Egg Yolk, and Cottage Cheese into butter mix.
Stir in the lemon juice, lemon zest, vanilla extract, and salt, as well as the optional ingredients.
Whip cream in chilled bowl.
Fold Whip Cream and Sour Cream into mixture.
Pour into mold, making sure to push the mix down and out to the sides so they get the imprint of the mold.
Place upside down over bowl, and cover with lid, drain for about three days. If your mix is wet, you may want to put pressure on the cheese to help squeeze out the water. I often fill a plastic container with water and put it on the top (which is the bottom, because it is upside-down, remember?) to use weight to slowly squeeze it.

Once it has set, remove from the mold and decorate with sliced strawberries, silver cake decorating balls, almond slivers, whatever.

Pascha 2022

Is Jesus human, or male?

Fri, 08 Feb 2013 14:00:00 +0000

Recently, yet another article on why a male-only Catholic priesthood is sensible has been making the rounds of Facebook. In a National Catholic Reporter, the Dominican Father Wojciech Giertych acknowledges that we cannot really know why Jesus chose only male apostles despite his other counter-cultural acts, but offers some speculation as to the reasons.

His arguments boil down to two very familiar tropes: the maleness of Jesus and the differences between men and women. This post will deal with the first, and a second will explore difference (for another response, see: ‘Imagine a Catholic Church that Loved as only a “Woman” Loves’ by Michele Stopera Freyhauf).

Father Giertych states: “The son of God became flesh, but became flesh not as sexless humanity but as a male,” the implication of which is summarized by his interviewer: since a priest is supposed to serve as an image of Christ, his maleness is essential to that role.

This is the classic argument put forward by Catholics, that the priest stands ‘in persona Christi,’ translated by Orthodox into the ‘iconic argument.’ For the best exposition of this, see Metr. Kallistos Ware’s first article on the subject, published in both 1978 and 1983 as “Man, Woman and the Priesthood of Christ.” Be sure not to confuse it with his extensive 1999 revision, which demonstrates why such liturgical imagery fails in the Orthodox context. Here, I am more interested in the salvific implications of emphasizing Jesus’ maleness, implications which unlike priestly liturgical symbolism, are shared by Catholics and Orthodox.

A fellow Orthodox theologian recenlty summarized this position: ‘the ecumenical formulation of Chalcedon, that Jesus Christ was perfect God and perfect human being, reaffirms this position, i.e. the male character of priesthood.’ This a very dangerous theological argument. If ‘dangerous’ seems strong language, consider the implications of this line of thinking.

Taking seriously the Incarnation is to declare that Christ is fully human. What he has not assumed is not healed. This is a consistent belief of Orthodoxy, and a ‘first principle’ of our entire soteriology: we are able to participate in theosis because Christ has taken on our humanity, all of it. It is also a principle that underlies the legitimacy of Orthodox icons: because Christ took on matter, we can depict in matter Christ as well as all those women and men who exhibit the holiness which the Incarnation makes possible (this is addressed in Chapter 3 of my dissertation, ‘The Glory of Embodied Diversity: Icon, Virtue, Gender).

In the Incarnation, Christ’s humanity includes all that makes both men and women human. If we say that his full humanity leads to the ‘male character’ of any human role or relationship such as priesthood, then we are implying one of two things: either he is not fully human as he did not assume whatever it is that constitutes female humanity, or we declare that only maleness contains full humanity, and that females may not actually be fully human. The former denies the ecumenical formulation of Chalcedon, it constitutes heresy. Orthodox would never agree to such a thing. At least not intentionally.

The second option however, subtly permeates Orthodox and Catholic theology, and, I believe, underlies many of our liturgical practices. We have no dogmatic statement that women are fully human, but we seem to believe it when we assume that women too can participate in theosis. However, the most recent turn in Orthodox arguments against female priests almost universally put forward male headship. This line of thinking, reflected in scripture (though hardly reflecting all of scripture’s portrayal of the relationships between men and women: think Judith, Esther, Miriam, all of whom are hymned as prototypes of the Theotokos), inevitably defines the capabilities and charisms of women according to ‘what’ they are, not ‘who’ they are. Metr. John Zizioulas rightly argues that any such definition fails to account for our full personhood.

On the one hand, our practices perpetuate such a view: female bodies are not permitted in our sacred spaces during the liturgy. The reasons put forward for this have varied in our history, and are quite inconsistent. Given the historical existence of the female diaconate, ordained and receiving the Eucharist in the altar, we know that blood impurity has not always mattered in the Church, as it should not. However we explain it, the visual story we currently narrate through every liturgy confirms a belief that women are not quite as human, or as capable, or as holy, as men.

On the other hand, this is belief is belied by the practice of the saints and their presence among us through icons. Female saints are examples of embodied virtue, that is, theosis. Their presence among us belies any theology that says women are unable to become like Christ. This is affirmed by icons of female saints. Every altar has in it the body of one woman, the Theotokos. Many have more. Which brings us back to the idea that women cannot image Christ: this is exactly what every icon, male or female, does. It brings us into the presence of a person who has embodied Christ through loving God and neighbor in some unique manner. Further, as men and women created in the image of God, every one of us images Christ when we love God and neighbor in our daily lives (addressed, with liturgy, in Chapter 4 of my dissertation, ‘Virtuous Liturgy’).

Our practices do not reflect a Chalcedonian theology of Christ as bearing our full humanity. The fact is, Orthodoxy has never seriously discussed this issue, and the theologoumena (theological opinion) put forward in hasty response has been, as Metr. Anthony once said, demeaning to women. Given our practices, we are simply articulating what we see, and failing to articulate what we (supposedly, hopefully?) believe. Visual theology, that is, our liturgy, is a powerfully persuasive tool.

Perhaps, since we have no dogmatic statement regarding the full humanity of women, we can preserve Christ as the paradigmatic male who is also fully divine and fully human, by dogmatically concluding that women are not fully human. Such a prospect is horrifying to me, but it is a choice that our ecclesial authorities can make via a conciliar council. Needless to say, if such a dogmatic statement were ever to be made, I would happily stand in line with those who refused to cede to the destructive theology of various councils, and make every effort to theologically resist such a statement.

On 'This Year's Election': A response regarding Fr. Reardon

Sun, 28 Oct 2012 14:00:00 +0000

Fr. Patrick Reardon (http://www.allsaintsorthodox.org/pastor/bio.php) recently sent a pastoral letter on how to vote to members of his parish. Since I am neither a member of his parish nor his diocese, I would normally ignore such things, except that this letter has been supported and forwarded to other Orthodox parishes. As a result, a concerned friend on facebook asked me for a resources on other Orthodox viewpoints. They then asked if I would allow them to share my response with others. Here it is. You may read Fr. Reardon's letter here on Touchstone and Fr. John Peck's blog. It exists on other websites as well, but it was, as far as I can tell, originally sent by email.

==================

Dear friend, I need to think more about resources for your priest, since to be frank, I am not sure what would convince him out of his position. I do agree with him that we are accountable, that our decisions have grave consequences, and so like your priest and Fr. Reardon, I take voting seriously. I also think that our choices are not as clear as he, or Fr. Reardon, think. So, let me address Fr. Reardon's points.

First, he is absolutely correct that whatever we term 'rights' (a non-Orthodox way of addressing human flourishing, but it is the term he chooses), they derive from our dignity as persons made in the image of God. So yes, slavery is wrong despite the fact that the founding document of the U.S. does not say so. Yet he does not account for the fact that slavery has not always been condemned by either the Church, nor some of its most prestigious members. St. Gregory of Nyssa owned slaves, and upon his death, freed the males and gave the females to his sister Macrina's care in her monastery. While we can debate all we want the difference between U.S. chattel slavery and what happened in the Byzantine empire, the fact is that it was practiced by members of the Church. So, Fr. R treats as unambiguous a practice that has been historically ambiguous within his own ecclesial community.

As to abortion, I agree with Fr. R. that the fetus is a valued human live. However, I am also of the opinion that criminalizing abortion does not reduce them. Rather, abortion is reduced through education, through the availability of contraception, through ensuring that children and their families are supported throughout their life. This has been statistically shown, repeatedly. A very well written article, that is quite political, can be read here: http://www.religiondispatches.org/archive/sexandgender/6501/barack_obam…. Criminalizing mothers whose bodies cannot carry to term a child, or for whom the birth of the child guarantees the loss of job, income, family, etc. is not a gracious or merciful response. And in the end, it does not guarantee the life of the child. Good social policies reduce abortion, not criminalization. So, while I agree with him regarding a principle, I disagree with his assumptions regarding how this principle is to be effectively implemented.

Further, to claim that an unborn child has a "right" to life even when its birth will claim the mother's life pits two "rights" against one another. This is, I think, unavoidable whether one uses the language of rights or not. The truth is, we live in a world where such decisions are inevitable, and must be made. They are difficult, painful, and should cause us grief. But they cannot be made by the law. And Fr. R gives no indication for how such a situation should be addressed. He offers no tools for discernment, perhaps because he believes we should not be allowed to discern at all in this situation.

Fortunately, and this is virtually the only ecclesial resource I can think of at the moment, Orthodoxy does leave room for such discernment. The Basic Social Statement of the Russian Orthodox Church as the following to say (XII.2, http://www.incommunion.org/2004/10/14/xii/):

"Without rejecting the women who had an abortion, the Church calls upon them to repent and to overcome the destructive consequences of the sin through prayer and penance followed by participation in the salvific Sacraments. In case of a direct threat to the life of a mother if her pregnancy continues, especially if she has other children, it is recommended to be lenient in the pastoral practice. The woman who interrupted pregnancy in this situation shall not be excluded from the Eucharistic communion with the Church provided that she has fulfilled the canon of Penance assigned by the priest who takes her confession. The struggle with abortion, to which women sometimes have to resort because of abject poverty and helplessness, demands that the Church and society work out effective measures to protect motherhood and to create conditions for the adoption of the children whose mothers cannot raise them on their own for some reason."

In short, it is the OFFICIAL position of the Russian Orthodox Church in Russia that discernment is necessary in such situations. Fr. R would do well to consider this source, even if he does not agree with all of it. The fact that it is a social statement by an official ecclessial body does not make it binding on us. That is not how Orthodoxy works. However, it is worth our serious consideration.

Finally, while I would take a much more open stance on same-sex relationships than most Orthodox currently writing publicly, Fr. R does not take into account Fr. Hopko's reasoning regarding the permission of civil unions. But I don't think any amount of resources is going to sway Fr. R's opinion. Rather, loving gay and lesbian couples might. But I can't imagine any who in their right mind would expose themselves to the depth of relationship with Fr. R that would allow such a change. It would require a willingness to suffer that I would not wish on anyone.

This leads me to my primary disagreement with Fr. R: he does not sufficiently distinguish between principles and policy. I share the first two of his principles (no, I do not agree with his third principle about marriage), but I do not agree that the policies he supports actually best fulfill those principles. He seems to believe that the law is the best tool for implementing what is "good," where as I believe the law is primarily a tool to prevent the worst. The law limits the most egregious forms of human sin by criminalizing it, giving it penal consequences. It seems to me a very typical way of American reasoning, to assume that the law is the best and final tool to implement principles. Rather, the law is our best limiting tool, but creates nothing virtuous on its own.

And yes, I am willing to stand before my creator and give an account of my beliefs. As a matter of fact, that is exactly what I believe I am doing in this moment, so your priest's hint that perhaps I should be worried for my eternal future is a hollow warning, a mere step away from the "turn or burn" mentality that alienates so many of God's loving children.

Kellyann

Tue, 12 Feb, 2013 - 09:44

This is the sanest, and certainly the most pastoral, response I have seen to these religious-political issues. I love your blog.

mariagwyn

Sat, 23 Feb, 2013 - 11:41

Kellyann, thank you. I am so glad you think my blog is 'pastoral.' I love theology, but more, I hope that theology helps us become better lovers of God and neighbor. I am glad that my writing might contribute to the care of one another.

The Virtuous 'Straw-Man'

Wed, 05 Sep 2012 14:00:00 +0000

A kind person--a virtuous person. Between them, there is a big difference. A kind person is kind because he or she accepts people as they are, covers them with kindness. Kindness is beautiful, the most beautiful thing on this earth. Virtuous people are activists, obsessed with the desire to impose their principles and goodness and easily condemning, destroying, hating... in this world there is a lot of virtue, and so little kindness.

-- Fr. Alexander Schmemann

There are few aspects of Schmemann that I find more frustrating that his straw-man dismissals of theologies, theories, perspectives and opinions that he does not appear to make any attempts to understand. This may sound harsh, but this quote is the perfect epitome: not only does he fail to understand the breadth of virtue (as if kindness was not also a virtue), but he fails to acknowledge that Orthodox theologians consistently speak of theosis as the acquisition (or uncovering) of virtue. For Orthodox, salvation is to participate in virtue. Read Gregory of Nazianzus, or John Chrysostom, both of whom characterize the priest as the liturgical model of virtue, whose life, teaching and preaching is meant to "paint the charms of virtue" so that all may be persuaded into living virtuously. Or attend to Maximus the Confessor, the Orthodox theologian who comes closest to later Western counterparts in delineating how particular virtues relate to one another, all of which are founded upon and shaped by love. Virtue is, for Orthodox, a primary way of understanding the 'ethos' of our lives.

As Schmemann's journals reveal, he was a bit of a social reactionary. He excoriates the Social Gospel as a secularizing cop-out, and regularly condemns activism as if Christians have no stake in a just world. As someone whose family suffered at the hands of communism, a particularly virulent form of social activism, his reaction is understandable. But as is so often the case when Schmemann turns to social issues, he seems unable to sort the wheat from the chaff. It may be that he and I differ on what is chaff. I am considered a full citizen with a right to vote because agitating Christian men and women insisted that women too are competent images of God. Schmemann is rather dismissive of a woman's ability to engage in the public sphere, much less in ecclesial leadership. He says so, in his journals. More than once.

Yet the fact that he was writing this in the sixties, during the Civil Rights movement, even further reduces my sympathy with him. And here is where the false opposition between kindness and a virtuous person, who frankly seems hardly virtuous, comes to the fore. Certainly there were aspects of the Civil Rights movement that were angry and even hateful (though kindness seems to dictate that we might want to respond with compassion not condemnation). But I am hard-pressed to describe Martin Luther King, who insisted that love cannot forgo justice, as "easily condemning, destroying, hating." The person Schmemann describes is not a paragon of virtue, but someone whose is, like many of us, still becoming virtuous. Indeed, I would argue, and have argued in the context of recognizing women as fully virtuous, that the refusal to "accept people as they really are" is itself a lack of virtue. Virtue must recognize the unique dignity of each person. And whether Schmemann is comfortable with that or not, sometimes the recognition of the full humanity of another person, and the loving desire to ensure that they too are respected and treated with dignity, leads to an active challenge of ecclesial, social and political structures which perpetuate injustice.

I do think his quote offers at least an instinct towards something that those of us committed to ethics as social ethics need to be aware. First is that it frequently seems that a virtuous person must practice virtues that often appear to collide. While theologians such as Aquinas argue otherwise, the exercise of discernment in difficult situations indicates that sometimes, one virtue might need to give way before another, at least for a time. Yet this is what many Catholic ethicists have been arguing since Vatican II. It is unfortunate that Schmemann did not live to read Margaret Farley's Just Love, or that he does not seem to have read more closely one of his contemporaries, John Courtney Murray.

Second, the juxtaposition of kindness and "virtue" highlights the need to identify Christian virtues (here I do not mean uniquely Christian as if they are not valued by other traditions or philosophies, but rather, virtues which characterize a Christian). Stanley Hauerwas and Charles Pinches skillfully take on this task in Christians Among the Virtues. They rightly note that some classic Greek virtues and their manner of realization may not neatly convert to a Christian life. As pacifists, they challenge as debatably Christian homeric courage, defined primarily as a warrior's virtue. Christians, they argue, must redefine courage for it to be Christian. Christians may also need to put forward as virtues ways of relating that were not at all valued by Homer or Aristotle. Take for instance, compassion, the ability to suffer with another. Or kindness, which Schmemann is right to note is in short supply. Or mercy, which did not play well on the battlefields of Troy.

So for all those for whom Schmemann is practically sacrosanct, my apologies. Anyone reading this blog will certainly know that when it comes to liturgy, I highly respect his work. However, I often find myself wishing, as I do with much Orthodox rhetoric on social issues, that he had taken more time to constructively engage with the work of other Christians in this area before pronouncing opinions with little or no substantiating argument.

Or, perhaps, I am just too much of an activist for Schmemann. I wish he were still alive so that I could argue with him in person. Perhaps we would both rub off on each other a bit.

Michael Plekon

Wed, 05 Sep, 2012 - 13:04

Schmemann was many things, some very admirable, others not so at all. He is a social & political conservative, probably also better a reactionary. He is romantic about change coming ONLY from individual ininiative, much like Kierkegaard on whom I spent years of study & writing etc. AS could not fathom American activism on any level, in fact his appreciation of the America that became his home is limited if not superficial--it afforded his children incredible opprotunities for aducation, career, advancement. But he was clueless when it came to much of American culture and life, though in honesty, here & there in his journals he does encounter both. One cannot make of AS what he was not. This quote is an example of a very facile, superficial conceptulaization that probably is based on an equally thin experience. All this said, on many matters he is discerning, humane, open. Somehow is Russian perspective on women, on learning, on social change and engagement was not significantly affected by his years here.

Kerry San Chirico

Wed, 05 Sep, 2012 - 13:44

Hi Maria,

I think your article is right on. We do a disservice to Fr. Schmemann if we do not wrestle with him all these years later. It would be sad for people to think of an "Orthodox position" on social activism because of Father's (relatively) few words on them. He himself admitted it wasn't his strong suit.

Is Feminism Hatred?

Sun, 19 Aug 2012 14:00:00 +0000

So tell me, my Orthodox brothers and sisters, do I, a feminist, hate my church? There are many aspects of Pussy Riot’s actions, the charge of blasphemy issued by the Russian Orthodox Church, and the political motivations of the trial itself that can be debated. If you want to read excellent discussions, see the facebook pages of Nadieszda Kizenko, Inga Leonova or the group Taste and See, and debate them there.

I am more interested in this statement by the presiding judge: “The court does find a religious hatred motive in the actions of the defendants by way of them being feminists who consider men and women to be equal.” The judge goes on to argue that equal opportunity for men and women is upheld by the Russian State, but is not in line with either Orthodox Christianity or Catholicism. Apparently Eastern Orthodox and Catholic feminists are motivated by religious hatred.

Really? Because I am certain that the anger I experience towards my Church (is it shocking, disturbing, that an Orthodox Christian might be angry at his or her church?) springs out of love and hope, not hatred: love that sees that more is possible, and hope that the possible can be made real.

Thanks to Women in Theology for this excellent post: http://womenintheology.org/2012/08/18/virgin-mary-mother-of-god-become-….

And to the South African Orthodox Blogger Steve Hayes for showing a level of graciousousness eschewed by prominent spokespersons for Russian Orthodoxy. Apparently, we Orthodox do not forgive without repentence. So much for Jesus’ words on the cross, “Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23.34).

Holding Salvation

Sun, 29 Jul 2012 14:00:00 +0000

For those unaware, a firestorm has been ignited over the decision of Bishop Matthias (OCA) of Chicago to no longer allow laity to hold the altar cloths at communion. Apparently in his announcement of his decisions, he explicitly mentioned his discomfort that women had contact with sacred things. While he denied this in a letter, it is women who bear the brunt of this decision, and who have no recourse (short of monasticism) to obtain the tonsure that might “rectify” their lay status. Many reasons are floating around to explain away this unfortunate bind. I will address some of them in future posts.

Today, I am addressing the reason that woke me up in the wee hours of the morning: Female participation in liturgical service around the holy things is not necessary for their salvation. Therefore, the women who dare to desire these ministries are being told to just let it go.

Yes, holding communion cloths is not necessary for the salvation of the one whose hands hold the cloth. But allowing women to hold cloths is necessary for the salvation of the rest of us, especially of those those who exclude.

Salvation is Theosis, which can be described in a number of way, one of which is to become more ‘like’ God, whom we see in Christ, the one who is fully human. However, this process is largely dependent on how we engage in relationships, with ourselves and our neighbor. Failure to treat someone as neighbor does not mean they are not a neighbor, but rather that we are not being a neighbor to them. This the lesson of the Good Samaritan, we are called to be neighbors, not have them. Another way to say this is that if being a neighbor to others is to be, like Christ, fully human, then the failure to treat another persons as a neighbor is to be less that human. It is to miss the mark of becoming more like God in Christ.

So the question before us is this is this: is the exclusion of women from liturgical service treat women as less than human?

The answer to this depends, in part, upon what it means to treat another person as a full human being. Certainly those who are convinced that the exercise of women’s gifts is limited to the domestic sphere “by nature,” and those who similarly hold that women simply don’t have priestly gifts, believe that they are affirming the dignity of women by abiding by the way things are, the natural law of God’s creation. Of course, “nature” is defined as they see fit, rarely paying attention to the gifts of unique women (and men). “Priestly gifts” are usually left undefined, since the moment they are delineated, some inconveniently gifted woman appears as a counter-example, undermining the point that women just can’t have them. The fact that, repeatedly, the capabilities of women, some of who are saints, fail to fall within the appropriate parameters of what they define as ‘natural’ is simply ignored.

Instead, strange and roundabout reasons are given. Take for instance, Bishop Mathias’s decision to stop allowing lay members to hold the communion cloths. Apparently, when asked for clarification, he actually referred to “women”, a misspeak that did not go unnoticed or addressed by some of the priests present. He “corrected” his Freudian slip in a written letter since he really has nothing against women, really. Except that it is primarily to women that this decision must be explained as lay men are free to serve in the altar, and therefore, hold cloths if there is need. According to supporters of his decision, or perhaps simply those priests who must implement the decisions of a bishop they disagree with, lay people (women) should not touch the items on the altar. Really? Why is that? Mary birthed what is on the altar, according to Simeon the theologian, His flesh is from her, and when we eat of Him, we eat of her (yes, Simeon says this, see his First Ethical Discourse, X). Apparently, kissing the Gospel and cross, both of which rest on the altar, is acceptable since it is in a controlled liturgical environment. Of course, so is holding the communion cloth, so why one is acceptable but another is not is, well, confusiong.

Is training the issue? Yes, women lack training, just like the 7 year-old wobbly little boys who aren’t quite sure where they are supposed to go next, and who, quite logically, are directed by a more experienced boy or man. On the job training doesn’t seem to be an impediment, if you are a boy.

If the status of ‘laity’ is the problem, then the solution is simple: de-laicize the men and women who hold cloths. It can be a simply procedure, a mass tonsuring, just like what happens to dozens of little boys at about the age they can be trusted to hold a candle without setting their hair on fire (though this too is not always the case). Just tonsure the women for goodness sake! (Again, for argument’s sake, I am putting aside the fact that ordination is not conferred by tonsuring in our tradition, therefore, the altar is already filled with laity).

Oh, but we can’t. Can’t what? Tonsure women. Why not? Women can’t be ordained. Why not? Because, well, we just don’t do that. Why not? Because women can’t be ordained. Why not? Because, well, they are women. So what? ….

Huh.

And here is where the real problem lies, a problem obfuscated by technicalities like training or tonsuring or lay status or what have you. Fundamentally, in our current practice, being a woman is the problem. No amount of honor given to the Virgin Mary can balance out the fundamental dishonor it is to be a woman in our Church, especially if you are a woman who has capabilities and desires to serve the church beyond beyond parenting, baking, cleaning, singing, and educating children. All of which men can do too. And no, the existence of a few “Spiritual Mothers” and the fact that nuns touch the holy things (in the altar, quite regularly), does not lessen the deep and profound loss experienced by women who once had the joy of literally sharing the meal of God with the people of God. Who are now told they cannot do so based on technicalities.

These women do not experience these decisions as technicalities. What they experience is that being a woman is a problem. This isn’t just a passing experience of exclusion, an experience which defenders of the current practice are so willing to deride as the histrionics of a woman who has learned her place from the secular world rather than the Church, and must be corrected so she will feel better about her exclusion. Of course it is just histrionics, we are women. Men, if you care, speak up. Now. We women are, after all, just too emotional to be taken seriously. I am not joking here. Our experience is of no matter to many in our church, but yours is. Use your place of privilege to care for those who have none. Take seriously that the grief you are witnessing is the reaction of a woman of God who is no longer being treated as a person of God.

And this is why the exclusion of women is a matter of salvation. Because those who exclude are not treating their mothers, sisters and daughters with the respect they accord to the youngest of boys. Because rather than wrestling with gifts and abilities of the beautiful woman of God before them, they treat them as technicalities. When this happens, the work of God through an utterly unique person is ignored. Whatever gifts she has, which God may want to serve the community in a manner that does not fit into the straightjacket of romanticized visions of ‘Woman’, are denied. They are denied in her, and they are denied to the community.

Those who perpetuate practices which exclude women, whether through silence or specious reasoning, no matter how well masked as love and kindness and pastoral care, sin against every girl and women who stand before them. Since, as Orthodox, our salvation is corporate, sin is corprate. Sin against one is sin against all, and by all. The liturgy, instead of a place of joyful participation in God becomes a place of painful rejection of the gifts of God.

As it turns out, I misspoke when I ceded that holding the altar cloth is not a matter of salvation for the holder. Holding the altar cloth is indeed a matter of salvation for all involved.

Gender, Ordination and Same-sex relationships: An unavoidable association?

Tue, 19 Jun 2012 14:00:00 +0000

In May 2004 I wrote a response to an article printed in The Word, the magazine of the Antiochian Orthodox Archdiocesan. In it, I argue that Orthodox theology allows for the possibility of female priests. In doing so, I was entering into a discussion with the likes of Mdm. Elisabeth Behr-Sigel, Metrs. Anthony Bloom and Kallistos Ware, Dr. Valerie Karras and Sr. Nonna Harrison, and Fr. Thomas Hopko, all of whom consider (or ‘considered,’ both Behr-Sigel and Bloom are of blessed memory) the topic an open question. At least one of the responses to my article projected that my arguments were merely a precursor for the ordination of openly (and presumably sexually active) gay clergy.

At the time, I was annoyed at what I thought was a shallow attempt to derail reasonable arguments with semi-hysterical fear-mongering.

At the time, I believed that I could challenge the stereotypical gender roles which serve as the foundation for our exclusion of women (no, contrary to the popular rhetoric, it is really NOT our theology, nor even our practice) without challenging Orthodoxy’s beliefs about marriage as between a man and a woman. I believed this in part because, as a friend once said, there is no necessary connection between challenging traditional gender roles and same-sex relationships. Marriage is a relationship between two unique persons who are called to love one another, and who, by doing so, grow with one another into greater love of God and neighbor. This is what Orthodox mean when they speak of marriage as a “path to salvation.” This mutual challenge to grow further into God is not dependent on fulfilling particular gender roles, such as male leadership or female nurturing. Some women lead, some men nurture. There is no necessary connection between the success of a marriage and filling gender roles. Therefore, challenging gender roles does not necessarily undermine heterosexual marriage.

At the time, I wanted to avoid the entire debate over same-sex anything because I (still) believe that my calling as a theologian is to advocate for the full recognition of the giftedness of women and the need for the Church to recognize and welcome our gifts. Homosexuality would simply derail the conversation, and any hint that I might entertain the possibility of faithful, sexual relationships between people of the same sex would discredit my arguments. People simply would not listen.

At the time, I was under the rather naive assumption that I could speak about the ordination of women as if it were a separate and distinct issue from homosexuality.

I no longer believe this is possible, and this terrifies me. It terrifies me because I want more than anything to see sisters standing next to their brothers as they share in altar service. I want to hear the preaching of a woman, and see her hands raised in prayer over the eucharist, mirroring the Theotokos who rises above her, Christ’s body in her womb and at her breast. My greatest fear is that anything I say about same-sex relationships will cause women to be obscured from view, yet again.

But here is the reality:

Every defense of heterosexual marriage I have read by Orthodox theologians rests on the belief that ‘traditional’ gender roles are “natural.” God has instituted them from from the beginning. To people like Frs. Lawrence Farley, Johannes Jacobse, or John Whiteford, any challenge of gender-roles is a challenge to heterosexual marriage.1 For them, there is a necessary connection between marriage and traditional notions of what it is to be male/masculine and female/feminine. No matter that the saints hardly conform to these stereotypes. No matter that nature is not static, nor that Orthodox theologians such as Yannaras or Zizioulas roundly criticize any sort of “natural theology” (too much so in my opinion). All that matters is that, as Farley argues, gender roles cannot be properly taught unless both genders are present to do the teaching, and society will be the worse for the loss of these roles.

And some more reality:

All too frequently, when the ordination of women is addressed by its detractors, suddenly we are in a conversation about pornography, incest, pedophilia… the list of ills goes on. Is recognizing the full gifts of women really tantamount to encouraging pornography and allowing our children to be sexually abused by their elders? Hopko once associated the ordination of women to the ordination of criminals and the disabled. This is not only hysteria masking as dire warnings, it is deeply insulting to women, and, since same-sex relationships are usually on the list of depravities, insulting to men and women who are engaged in faithful, loving and enduring same-sex relationships.

And lest you think this polemic is merely the the purview of fanatical conservatives within Orthodoxy, Farley’s articles are posted on the website of the Orthodox Church in America. Fr. Morris’s article, a factually incorrect and theologically flawed piece which inspired my first public defense of the ordination of women, is available on the website of the Antiochian Orthodox Archdiocese, but my response is not. Perhaps this is an innocent glitch in electronic record keeping. Perhaps not.2

Farley claims that we are standing on the front lines:

The front line today is not drawn over questions of Christology or icons, and our children are not in danger of becoming Arians or iconoclasts. The world’s frontal assault on our Faith is no longer theological. Movies and magazines and columns and blogs do not revolve around the question of the homoousios or the Filioque clause in the Creed. They do revolve around questions of sex. Is gay marriage acceptable? Is casual sex okay? Is virginity unnatural? May women be ordained to the priesthood? Is homosexuality a valid alternative lifestyle? What about trans-gender? What about the explosive growth of the pornography industry? What about the pervasive use of sexual images around us? We may duck these issues and refuse to meaningfully engage in the debates, but the debate will continue in our society nonetheless, and will eventually make inroads in the Church, whereas we have been called to make inroads in the World. That is why this debate is not just a debate, but also the front line in a battle. If we refuse to deal with these issues, the enemy will push us back and our children will fall prey to an alien ideology and a harmful way of life.3

Yes, the lines have been drawn, and not where I would have liked. We must engage in meaningful debates, and we must not duck the issues. But contrary to what Farley says, issues of sex and sexuality are theological issues and iconoclasm indeed rises again. We make idols of stereotypical images of gender and sex and hang them over the heads of real women and men. We are not destroying painted images, but women and men who are uniquely made in the image of God. By doing so, we fail to recognize the unique image of God within each and every man and woman, an image which cannot be reduced to gendered stereotypes of any kind.

If challenging gender-roles on behalf of women simultaneously causes us to consider the possibility that same-sex relationships are fruitful ground for the growth of the Spirit, the so be it. I would rather be on the side of encouraging faith, hope, love, compassion, kindness and self-control wherever it appears than associate myself with such a demeaning polemic.

1. See: Farley, “What’s Wrong with Gay Marriage,” Jacobse’s introduction to a recent radio show on civil marriages, or Whitford’s comments during the broadcast.
2. The PDF version of the May 2004 article is not available online, though Fr. John Morris’s original article (Jan 2004) and a subsequent response by Fr. Matthew Sweet (March 2004) are. See: http://www.antiochian.org/theword?page=7 and http://www.antiochian.org/theword?page=6). My response is available here: http://stnina.org/online-journal/feature-articles/newness-spirit-ordination-men-and-women.
3. Farley, “Being on the Front Line.”

Humility or Humiliation?

Sun, 10 Jun 2012 14:00:00 +0000

A group of students traveling in the Holy Land were given an afternoon to shop for souvenirs. The reason for their shopping excursion was, in part, to allow one of their group leaders, a clergyman, time to visit the monastery of his namesake. This monastery still retains its reputation for its members’ historical contributions to Orthodox liturgical worship. The clergyman shared his joyful visit on Facebook, to which someone commented that the students missed out by not going. The clergyman quite honestly replied that part of the reason for his solitary trip was that half of the students were women, and that this monastery does not allow women to enter its precincts.

Unsurprisingly, though apparently astonishing to some Orthodox, a woman objected, “how can this monastery be the source of liturgical worship…and yet, not be a whole church? By excluding a whole half of the faithful? Is this the vision of the church? I cannot imagine being satisfied with going to the door and being fed water. Why are we so happy to receive such crumbs?”

A woman responded: it is a blessing to stand outside, receive whatever food and beverages are offered, and venerate the relics brought out. Being received by the monks outside the doors is accepted “in all humility” for “Orthodoxy teaches us to be humble.” And a few comments later, “God does not have to justify anything to us. Whatever is in God’s will, so be it…. I repeat that Orthodoxy teaches us humility and that means accepting any crumbs that are offered.” Given the many places men and women can venerate together, “why,” she asks, “upset the balance and cause the Monks in their Holy place to feel they have to accept women?”

Orthodoxy, via this exclusion, is said to “teach humility.” A humble person modestly assesses his or her own abilities and worth. It is interesting to note that modesty is from the Latin modestus, “keeping due measure,” and reflects the idea of a balance between extremes, one of the essential marks of a virtue according to Aristotle. Humiliation, however, is to traffic in the language of shame, to deny a person’s dignity and self-respect. Is “accepting whatever crumbs are offered” without critique a sign of self-respect, or an indication of a well-learned lack of self-respect?

The question is heightened by the fact that the exclusion of women from male monasteries (and men from female monasteries) is perceived by a faithful member of the Church as “God’s will.”1 God’s will requires no explanation. Yet it is not God who excludes, but particular communities and rarely do these communities ascribe their decision directly to “God’s will.” Exclusion is the choice of a community, based on perceptions of its own needs. Many monastic communities do not restrict the participation based on sex. We too quickly identify everything done by a particular member or group of members of the Church as “God’s will,” especially when someone objects to the practice. As a result, we do not carefully listen to those who experience nothing of God in a given practice. The sadness and anger felt by those who are denied the ability to worship in a particular place simply because of their sex is ignored, or worse, identified as a lack of appropriate humility. Suddenly, the desire to worship in a holy place, and the grief experienced at being excluded, is now an inappropriate desire to step out of one’s place. A holy desire is now interpreted as the presence of sin. This is “God’s will.”

The irony here is that the metaphor of “crumbs” from a banquet table hearkens back to the story of the Syrophoenecian woman who emphatically did not accept mere crumbs.

This woman learned of God in a culture where, each morning, some faithful Jews recite blessings, the “Birkhot HaShachar.” Among them are three rather controversial “blessings”, quite obviously recited by men:

Blessed are You, Eternal One our God, Sovereign of the Universe, who did not make me a woman.
Blessed are You, Eternal One our God, Sovereign of the Universe, who did not make me a Gentile.
Blessed are You, Eternal One our God, Sovereign of the Universe, who did not make me a slave.

These blessings are ancient in origin. A corresponding saying, floating around ancient Palestine among Jesus’ contemporaries was, “Thank God I am not a Gentile, a woman, or a dog.” The association of the three is somewhat obvious in the story of the Syrophonecian woman (Mark 7:25-30 or Matt. 15:21-28). Jesus is confronted with just such a person: a woman, a Gentile, and therefore, a dog. Their conversation reflects the prejudice of the day. She requests a miracle from a Jew who repeats (only after initially ignoring her according to Matthew) back to her the belief of their shared cultures which apparently held that the God of Israel was for the Israelites, not “dogs.” And yet this astonishingly, even inappropriately, bold woman refuses to let sleeping dogs lie. In her perhaps ironic answer, she indicates an understanding about the Creator of the Universe that Jesus recognizes as faith: there are enough crumbs to go around.

The crumbs here is the gracious presence of God, and the point of the passage is not that crumbs are enough. By challenging the cultural assumption that she is merely a dog, undeserving of the God of Israel, this woman proclaims that the abundance of God is for all. In other words, in Christ Jesus, there are no crumbs. The over-abundance of God’s generous banquet is precisely what Jesus acknowledges by healing her daughter. She does not receive crumbs, but is instantly granted the fullness of God’s overflowing, healing grace.

We are not called to accept crumbs, and doing so is not a sign of humility. It may be a gracious acceptance of another’s sinfulness, but God does not give us crumbs, but life, abundant life.

Lest anyone misinterpret me, let me be clear: separation is not inherently wrong. As a frequent monastic visitor, I am not allowed to enter the nuns’ private area any more than I am allowed to enter the monks’. The issue here is not my sex, but simply my presence as a distraction to the contemplative and often solitary life of monastics. Likewise, it is entirely appropriate that some meals are shared among the monastics alone, allowing them time to develop relationship over food (one of the most powerful places of human connection, eating together) or eat their meals in prayerful silence.

There are also pragmatic reasons. As the clergyman noted in the facebook conversation, the monastery in question was formerly a site of vibrant liturgical contribution. Today, it is populated by a handful of monks where “the present-day liturgical life of the monastery is not likely to be especially beautiful by worldly standards.” Perhaps the monastery simply cannot accommodate large groups of whatever sex. It is worth being reminded by the clergyman that the hymns written in this place are sung by men and women throughout the Orthodox world, so one “doesn’t have to enter the monastery itself to be enriched by the spirit of the place.”

However, as gracious as this response is, it sidesteps the issue. Presumably, pilgrims are not seeking worship which is “beautiful by worldly standards.” They are simply seeking worship in a place of venerable age and respected memory, seeking, like this clergyman, the joy of sharing space with a saint of great repute. Yet hardly any pilgrim would deny the special joy experienced by standing in such a Spirit-filled place. We are bodily creations, and the sensual experience of a physical place is undeniably different than experience any number of degrees removed. It remains a simple fact that a group of men would have (presumably) been able to participate in the humble liturgical life practiced by a small group of aging monastics. This is enough for a pilgrim. If it isn’t, then why be a pilgrim?

Further, we are not talking about exclusion from private quarters. We are speaking of exclusion from liturgy. Orthodoxy does not condone private eucharists. Given this, perhaps we Orthodox should rethink exclusion based on sex during our times of worship. “A Eucharist” says Metropolitan John Zizioulas, “which excludes in one way or another those of a different race or sex or age or profession is a false Eucharist….The Eucharist must include all these, for it is there that the otherness of a natural or social kind can be transcended. A Church which does not celebrate the Eucharist in this inclusive way risks losing her catholicity.” The Eucharist sanctifies communion as well as otherness, and Eucharistic fails to do this is “destroyed and even invalidated.”2

How then, to deal with reality of sex-separation? Is separation and exclusion a sign of “God’s will” or a mark of our failure to incorporate the over-flowing hospitality of God? I obviously think it is the latter, and if we are to have any integrity with the clash between the abundance of God, and our failure, we must make our need for separation clear. We must make clear, in our theology, our official statements, posted on the lintels of monasteries or published on websites, that exclusion is not God’s will but a necessary accommodation to the weakness of its residents. Perhaps something along these lines could be posted:

Our dear sister [brother] in Christ, we ask your forgiveness but we cannot invite you in to join us. We are learning to focus on God, and in our weakness, are too easily distracted from our task by your God-given image. We ask patience for our weakness, and humbly ask that you pray that we become able to enter into the joy of God’s reign with you at our sides.

Humility in this case springs from the residents, from their own measured self-assessment. This honesty includes a recognition of their inability to live their chosen life if they are distracted by the ‘other.’ The responsibility for this inability to worship next to a fellow person made in the image of God is not put on women or God. It is taken by the one who truly bears responsibility.

Further, as Orthodox, we must be careful in throwing around the term “holy.” No place in which only some of the people of God are allowed to worship in joy and freedom can be fully holy. This does not mean that God cannot work in places where exclusion exists, only that true holiness, full holiness, cannot include exclusion.

Of all the places in which we are called to live our baptismal calling of putting on Christ in whom there is neither slave nor free, male and female, it is in liturgy. A failure to welcome all to the table is a failure to accept one another as sisters and brothers in Christ. This is not the good news of Jesus Christ, but the bad news of a world where we cannot put down our distractions long enough to feed one another on the abundant bread of life offered to us, for us, and by us.

1. Of course, there is no woman’s monastery that truly excludes men, since without men they would be without the sacraments. I am sure that many women’s monasteries which exclude men in general welcome visiting male hierarchs (if not presbyters) to share a meal. Male monastics have the option to exclude women, female monastics do not. The power dynamics of such ‘exclusions’ are entirely different as women remain dependent on men in a way that men with an identical call do not
2. Zizioulas, John. “Communion and Otherness.” St Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 38, no. 4 (1994): p. 355

Oh the evil West

Sun, 03 Jun 2012 14:00:00 +0000

We Orthodox regularly mischaracterize ‘the West’ as a way of elevating a particularly Orthodox way of thinking about something. Our goal is not to understand ‘the West’ on its own terms, nor is it to learn (is this even possible) from its experience, but to elevate ourselves. We do this by falsely characterizing and then denigrating the other.

Often, our characterization is shallow, failing to take into account the diversity of opinions in Western thought on a given subject, the depth of thought given, the context out of which their perspectives arose. We treat ‘the West’ as if it is a monolith (it is hardly that!) and as if we have nothing to do with it. As Fr. John McGuckin points out, Greece is not the East, it is the source of the West. We are really not that far apart.

This is not to say that we are not different, or that the differences in the development of Orthodox, Catholic and Protestant theologies are not significant. However, if we do not understand the reasons for these differences, we cannot adequately respond to them.

The truth is that those of ‘the West’ are not stupid or thoughtless. By offering a shallow portrayal, we insult them, treating them as if they haven’t actually taken centuries to discuss important theological doctrines, and then we say things about them that are simply wrong. As a result, we come across as ignorant, reactionary, and shallow ourselves.

Certainly this can’t be effective evangelism, to speak of oneself through denigrating the other. We set up false dichotomies which serve to immobilize ourselves in an effort to preserve the masquerade that we are “Eastern”, “mystical”, different, i.e., better. We cannot then respond to our (somewhat new) Western context without retracting our former characterization, which in our pride we are loath to do. We are simply unwilling to deconstruct our now ritualized performance of ourselves in the face of honest discourse.

This intentional polarization is a disservice to our “cradle” members. As theologians, we do not provide the intellectual resources for our members to participate in their new culture(s) in any way other than with hostility. A faith that is about “being against” has a hard time “being for” anything.

This intentional polarization is a disservice to our new members, since in the midst of mischaracterizing the West we mischaracterize ourselves. Imagine their horror when those invited into the “unchanging” Orthodox Faith suddenly realize the diversity of opinion, practice and theological inquiry and outright conflict that characterizes our Tradition? Their unchanging rock turns into shifting sand, at least in their perception. We invite them in on false promises, often based on particular ritual and social practices which, to their surprise, turn out not to be universally implemented among Orthodox either in the present, or in our history.

It is, in short, a colossal waste of intellectual, emotional and spiritual energy, all this rhetoric against the “West.” Instead of telling people what is wrong with the food they are eating (or, if they have already joined us, ate), why do we not invite them to the beautiful bounty of diverse offerings at our table? We could spend our energy sharing the beauty, joy, reverence, awe, and sensual delight that Orthodox offers, not excoriating someone else’s table.

And, if they have something wonderful to bring to our table, all the better.

Our Sympathetic Mother

Sat, 02 Jun 2012 14:00:00 +0000

St. Clement of Alexandria (Wikipedia, OthodoxWiki), from Who is the Rich Man Who Will be Saved?:

Consider the mysteries of love, and you will then have a vision of the bosom of the Father, whom the only-begotten God alone has declared. God himself is love, and for the sake of this love he made himself known. And while the unutterable nature of God is as a Father, his sympathy with us is as a Mother. It was in his love that the Father became the nature which derives from woman [or, 'feminine', ἐθηλύθη], and the great proof of this is the Son whom he begot from himself, and the love that was the fruit produced from his love. For this he came down, for this he assumed human nature, for this he willingly endured the sufferings of humanity, that by being reduced to the measure of our weakness, he might raise us to the measure of his power. And just before he poured out his offering, when he gave himself as a ransom, he left us a new testament: “I give you my love.” What is the nature and extent of this love? For each of us he laid down his life, the life which was worth the whole universe, and he requires in return that we should do the same for each other.1

1. Clement, Who is the Rich Man Who Will be Saved? 37.1-2 in Clement of Alexandria: The Exhortation to the Greeks, ed. G. W. Butterworth, Cambridge: Loeb Classical Library, Harvard University Press, 1960, 346).

The 'Saint's Test'

Thu, 31 May 2012 14:00:00 +0000

I recently heard of a new test, “the Saint’s Test.” It is a “test” in which one asks if the Saints would approve or disapprove of a particular action. The question reflects a deep-seated value for communal discernment within the context of a particular moral tradition. Saints are, among other things, exemplars of a faithful life, models of Christian love, and women and men who invite us into creative participation in god. Unfortunately, while it has a nice ring to claim that the Saints would approve of this and reject that, it is a rather disingenuous test. ‘Questioning the Saints’ implies that we are actually asking them the question, and that they are giving their reply. Yet too frequently, this is not what we are doing. Instead, we are calling on the Saints in order to add weight to our conclusion. It goes something like this: I believe that a particular course of action is immoral, and since our saints would not condone immorality (or so we presume…their stories indicate that we might want to specify when it is in their lives that we choose to address our question in order to get the “right” answer), I am assured that the Saints would not approve of the immoral action in question, and I then conclude that pursuing this course of action does not pass “the Saint’s Test.” The disingenuousness of the test lies in the fact that I have already decided what is right or wrong, and I am merely bringing in the saints to back me up. I am not asking anyone a question. I am rhetorically reinforcing my own conclusions.

This is a problem on a number of levels, aside from the fact that it just isn’t really happening (though I readily grant that perhaps some have conversation with saints, but this is rare, even in our tradition). First, it completely short-cuts real discussion. Instead of engaging with real people over a controversial issue it calls in silent but powerful reinforcements who simply trump disagreement in favor of the first person who enlists such sanctified recruits. Without discussion, discernment rarely takes place. Second, it ignores the fact that we may not agree with the saints, or, they may disagree with us. A regular example of this occurs at the reading of Eph. 5 in the Orthodox wedding service. Many (though not all) priests do not believe without qualification that the wife should submit to the husband while the husband should love the wife as Christ loves the church. The ‘qualification’ of this passage often includes a statement or implication that if Paul were writing this letter today, he would not have said what is plainly written in the text. It is possible that this is true, and the author’s admonition should be read in its own context, which ameliorates but does not really settle the problem.

However, it is also possible that this is not true. Maybe the author of Eph. 5 really believed that men should always lead women, and that women should obey men, not the other way around. Perhaps, given discussion, he could be convinced otherwise. Perhaps not. The point is that we do not know what the author would say now. What we know is what is said in the letter, its context, and that even with the most positive spin, we (well, me and many of my perhaps-not-so-holy friends) simply do not agree with this view of the roles of husbands and wives and the underlying assumptions about men and women (much less the assumptions regarding children and slaves). We cannot claim to know for sure what a Saint would say now.

Saints live the faith within their context, and wrestle with what it means to live faithfully within the paradigms of their world.1 And of course, we want them on our side. Yet while we are not supposed to disagree with the Saints, we do so all the time. Hardly any Christian living today would argue that slavery can continue as long as it is practiced with love. Yet one of my favorite ancient theologians owned slaves. Gregory of Nazianzus, in his will, freed his male slaves and transferred the ownership of his female slaves. In his will. In other words, owned slaves while alive, freeing the male slaves only upon his death. As much as I suspect that transferring ownership of the female slaves may have served to protect them by providing them food and shelter via ownership, they remained slaves. The ‘owning’ of another human being made in the image of God is morally unacceptable for Christians (and many other religious and non-religious people). Period. We can, and should, look seriously at the words of the Saints and how they lived in their context. We should recognize that in reality, there is no univocal group called ‘the Saints,’ but instead many holy men and women each of whom might have something helpful and wise to say, and which might differ from the words of their brother or sister. We should learn from their wisdom and wrestle with its implications for our lives today. But it is our responsibility, not theirs, to discern how we should live now.

1. It is worth reading the recent work of Fr. Michael Plekon, who offers the controversial lives of a striking array of men and women as food for thought. See: Saints as they Really Are (2012), Hidden Holiness (2009), and Living Icons (2002).

Performing the Liturgy

Fri, 30 Dec 2011 14:00:00 +0000

Permit me to tell two stories. First, a passing conversation. At a recent choir rehearsal we were rejoined by our organist who had taken a Sunday-morning position playing for a nearby Catholic church. I entered the conversation just as she was describing a recent multi-cultural Mass which featured, among other things, hymns from around the world and a liturgical dance with lighted candles. She said, with a sigh, that it was “all a performance.” The sympathetic reaction of a number of choir members consisted of relief on her behalf, relief that she was worshipping with us once again, and relief that she was singing the Orthodox liturgy, which, we were reminded by another choir member, does not require experimentation and is never a performance.

Juxtapose this event with another, only a few days later, in the same choir loft. A guest choir joined our Sunday liturgy, singing the entirely Greek composition by Theodore Bogdanos, a Greek-American composer. Bogdanos threads the single melodic line of traditional Byzantine chant through the complicated harmonics of a multi-part choir (four parts is a minimum in his score). The harmonies are so complicated in fact, that the traditional melodies are often absent to all but a very well-trained ear. This was my first encounter with this liturgy. My introduction was the Doxology, the text which concludes the morning Orthros (matins), after which the liturgy proper begins. The Doxology is one of the older hymns of the Church, borrowing freely from Psalms 145 and 119, and Luke’s announcement of the Nativity of Christ (Luke 2:14). It is, above all things, a liturgical expression of praise and glory, doxos, which exultantly moves worshippers into the liturgy of the Resurrection.

Imagine my surprise then, when the musical mood of praise suddenly shifted to stately sobriety, back to rejoicing, then to a sort of strange, somber discordance. I kept having to check where we were in the English to see if the meaning matched the musical mood. In this single piece, I heard the open chords characteristic of American classical compositions, a layering of melodies typical of Bach’s fugues, the discordant juxtapositions of some modern composers, and resolutions at home in Mozart. Putting aside questions of musical quality, the emotional range of the piece was simply all over the map. I kept trying to find a word for this auditory experience, feeling like I was sitting through the overture of Porgy and Bess, or Oklahoma (which I saw the week before). That was it, “overture”! Nothing against Porgy and Bess, opera or musical theater in general, but this version of the doxology played exactly like the overture to a musical story in which we are given little tastes of each upcoming liturgical ‘course.’ The problem is this: the doxology is not multiple different moods or courses, it is primarily one (even in its repentant moments): praise, rejoicing, glory!

This brings me to my real concerns, the place of ‘performance’ and ‘emotion’ in worship. As indicated by the first story, many Eastern Orthodox in the United States are immensely disdainful of the idea that worship is a “performance.” This disdain almost always arises when contrasting the Orthodox liturgy with any other form of Christian worship. Large professional choirs or soloists singing old favorites while the basket is being passed around create a ’spectator’ atmosphere. The presumption here is that Orthodox liturgies are more participatory. After all, the choir is, in most liturgical books, referred to as “the people.” Their responses are supposed to be the responses of all the non-clergy, not simply the ones in the loft or at the chant stand.

Accompanying this disdain for performance is an equal disdain for the “emotive” nature of so much Western Christian music. Guitars, after all, simply reduce worship to pop sentiments, and the drastic changes from majors to minors or the reading of biblical texts with passion (rather than an appropriate chanted style) are simply ways of getting an emotional reaction. In this case, the presumption is that the Orthodox liturgy is above such base tactics, or, if people are a bit more honest, that these styles are evoking the ‘wrong’ emotion. Phenomena such as liturgical dance is simply beyond-the-pale for most Orthodox, perhaps a consequence of the lamentable liturgical ‘reforms’ of Vatican II.

Let me reassure my non-Orthodox readers by saying that Orthodox are just as willing to fling these criticisms across jurisdictional lines. Byzantine melodists critique the Russian liturgies as operatic, deviating from the ‘appropriate’ mood of the liturgy. Four-part harmonists (an ‘innovation’ actually condemned by a Greek patriarch in the 19th century) fire back that the flowery melodies of a single chanter is no less of a performance and are impossible to follow. Each group claims that the other type of music cannot be shared by the laity, it is too complicated, too high or low, too flowery and unpredictable, too loud or too somber, all evoking the wrong emotions.

The irony is, each group is right. Music and its emotive qualities are deeply culture-bound. While I remain unconvinced that this particular doxology is a good reflection of the emotive ‘call’ of the text, there were other points where, for me, music, text and emotion matched. The soaring soprano line at “holy holy holy” flashed me back to my childhood parish where the (sometimes shrill and wobbly) high soprano line supported by the genetic anomaly which is the amazing rumbling Russian bass were typical of my Sunday liturgy. I did not grow up in the Byzantine chant tradition of a Greek parish, but the many-part harmonies of the Slavic churches. This moment felt like home to me, like we were singing with the Cherubim and Seraphim.

With this elevated experience in mind, I glanced down at the pews below and had to stop myself from laughing aloud as I watched a little girl vehemently plug both of her ears in alarm as she turned around to watch the sopranos ascend in both scale and volume. Her adorably frank reaction at a sound she rarely hears in our parish reminded me that not many local parishes have a soprano section that can do what this group did quite well. Nor do most choirs have the tenors or basses to support the harmonies of the Bogdanos liturgy. In other words, this liturgy is simply not singable by most Orthodox parishes. It is a liturgy for performance purposes. It requires extensive practice, and strong, experienced voices. It also makes no pretenses about being a participatory liturgy since not even the “Kyrie Eleisons” were easily singable by the people.

The little girls plugged ears also reminded me that the soaring soprano lines of some of my favorite music is simply strange to a little girl who has only ever heard the more subdued Byzantine melodies, accompanied by a few supporting ison (a Greek word meaning “the same”) notes, what Westerners might call a drone. Indeed, I had a few moments in the liturgy where I was relieved by the introduction of a few hymns sung, in English, by the three sisters who form the Byzantine chant group Eikona. The large and operatic style of the Bogdanos liturgy was, frankly, a bit exhausting. It was so unfamiliar. The chant of this group of women was simply a break from the big emotion of this big liturgy. There is irony in my relief. Only ten years ago I found Byzantine chant jarring, monotone, dirge-like and all-round depressing. Today however, it was the only part of the liturgy in which I could join. It was not somber, it was clean and simple, clear and calm. It was so familiar.

Which leads me back to my first story. Isn’t it possible that sometimes what we dismiss as ‘performance’ is really more about what feels familiar or unfamiliar? The Bogdanos liturgy felt to me like a performance. While I recognize the skill of the choir in singing the liturgy, I simply didn’t like it. I didn’t like it because I couldn’t sing it without extensive practice, it was entirely not in my language, and it was not what I have become used to. It was just so jarring. A loyal Byzantinist might say that it was jarring because the music itself was jarring (a real possibility, Bogdanos is better on special pieces I think), or that the very existence if multi-part harmonies was a poor fit for an Orthodox liturgy. Yet I have stood through painful performances of Byzantine chant where the chanter’s goal seemed to be to see how quickly he could lose the congregation by riffing so extensively on the melody that any recognizable core is lost to those trying to sing along. I have also heard chant done in a style so militaristic it completely undercuts that we are asking offering “a mercy of peace, a sacrifice of praise.” Emotion is an inherent part of our liturgical life. Orthodox liturgies are among the most ‘sensual’ of Christian liturgies. Over time, we are trained to understand the emotion that is meant to accompany the musical style. The truth is, I have come to love Byzantine chant not because I think it is the ‘right’ way of worshipping, but because I have spent enough time with it to begin to understand how this music is supposed to make its participants feel. It is not that one type of music evokes one sort of feeling, and another style evokes a different feeling. Rather, it is that the same emotion can be evoked by completely different styles of music, depending on the experience of the participant.

Yet, as if to highlight that the emotive quality of liturgical music is so much more complicated than chant versus harmony, the visiting choir tagged on two pieces at the close of the liturgy. The first was one of the many versions of Ubi Caritas (yes, they did it in Latin). I love this piece, so much so that I grabbed a book and sang it with them. I mean, when else am I going to get to sing this piece as a part (albeit the end, when everyone is leaving) of my liturgy rather than at some choral performance? Of course, my eye caught the title of what turned out to be the next piece, “Ave Maria.” What in the world was an Orthodox choir doing with an Ave? Then I noted the composer. We were about to sing my all-time favorite piece of choral music, a piece which, no matter where I hear it, concert, movie sound-track or worship, transports me into church: Bogoroditsye, the Magnificat, the Ave Maria by Rachmaninoff. And we sang it in English. I could not have had a better end to a liturgy.

But the truth is, Bogoroditsye is familiar. I have heard it all of my life, and sung it many times. It, like the liturgy of the morning, is a piece that swells from quiet simplicity to operatic grandeur. I can sing it because I know it. The little girl with her fingers in her ears doesn’t know it. To her, this piece just sounds like a performance. To me, Byzantine music used to sound like a performance because all I could do was listen. I could not participate. It was unfamiliar, different, strange.

All of this brings me to the following point: it would behoove all of us, but since I am Orthodox I am chiefly addressing my co-practitioners, to spend some time trying to learn the love that underlies the devotion of others to their own musical and liturgical tradition. Liturgical music, motion and emotion spring from deep within the sensibilities of a people, a culture, a time and a place. This is true for us Orthodox, whether we admit it or not. We would be better at loving across our jurisdictional lines if we could, literally, listen to one another a bit better. We also might not be quite so judgmental of other traditions. If, the first time I encounter an Orthodox liturgy in a different musical tradition or even language than my own, I feel like I am at a performance rather than participant in a worship service, what makes me think that I would feel anything different encountering shape-note hymns or liturgical dance? It is a “performance” because it is strange, new, because I cannot join in. Now, even the most performance oriented Byzantine chanter cannot completely lose me, because I am familiar enough to follow along, even if I might be annoyed at how difficult the chanter is making my participation. And while I recognize that the Rachmaninoff Vespers is neither for the faint of heart nor minimally skilled (it really is written for a large Cathedral choir not a forty-family congregation), it still transports me to my childhood parish home, no matter where I hear it. It is a blessing that my travels have exposed me to such a wide range of Orthodox liturgical music. It is a curse though, in that I cannot comfortably condemn styles that I find strange, because someday, I might come to love and appreciate them as well.

Which brings me back to the issue of liturgical dance. Liturgical dance is, for most Eastern Orthodox, the utterly bizarre consequence of the liturgical reforms of Vatican II (even though it is hardly limited to Catholics in its practice). My few encounters with it have made me very uncomfortable, it is so strange, so emotional; so, well, different. But what of the non-Chalcedonian churches? Few Orthodox know that after fourteen hundred years, we have hammered out our theological disagreements with the Coptic and North African churches. The reason many Orthodox don’t know how close we are to a complete rapprochement between the two groups is that while we agree that we were all saying the same thing the whole time, we apparently weren’t all singing the same thing. The liturgical development of the two groups diverged, and while there is considerable similarity (rather surprising given the many years of estrangement, though perhaps not, given the ancient sources for both liturgies), there are enough differences in worship that we are just not quite sure what to do. How do we bring them together? Imagine my surprise when I walked in on an Ethiopian feast day, and discovered a circle of women dressed in what I was told were “choir robes,” dancing. Dancing during the liturgy. Dances they they have danced for centuries. For the first time, all I could think was, “I wish I could dance in my liturgy.”

Intertextual Evdokimov

Mon, 11 Jul 2011 14:00:00 +0000

This blog was described to me recently as ‘irenic.’ This is a surprising compliment given that those who know me in person would likely describe me with other, less peaceful, words. That my writing is ‘irenic’ is a testament to the power of editing, of taking a deep breath, and a conviction that words must, whenever possible, be spoken with love and respect. But sometimes, when respect is impossible, taking a deep breath is overrated, and serves merely to hide the suffering inflicted by my church and its well-intentioned theologians. Theologians who seem to have no idea, as Metr. Anthony of Sorouzh once pointed out, how grossly insulting and even dangerous (I say that, not Anthony of blessed memory) their work is to women made in the image of God.

Below is an ‘intertextual’ reading of Evdokimov in which I insert comments into the stream of Evdokimov’s text. These comments are a minimally edited version of what goes through my head when I read such material. His words blend and clash with mine, neither of which are original, but which rehearse again and again the problem of gendered metaphors when applied to the real world. My comments are threaded with bitter humor, and the observant reader will rightly note the increasing level of anger and defensive sarcasm in the insertions. This is the only way I find myself able to survive such theology, first offered by Evdokimov as an attempt to re-value "the feminine" in light Simone Weil’s charge that women are defined only in relation to men.[fn]This theology of gender first appeared in Women and the Salvation of the World.[/fn] The text below is an introduction to a work that is otherwise excellent, a crucial rethinking and revaluing of marriage in a religious tradition that has wrongly elevated the ascetic monastic life above a faithful (by which I mean more than simply monogamous, but one in which faith is nurtured) married life. Evdokimov’s intent is laudable, and those positively moved by his work, in which there is much to value, may be offended by the reading below. But I am tired of reading this material and trying to find something good in without expressing the deep rage produced by the injury such texts do to my integrity as a woman of intelligence, capability, creativity, and passion. I reject his gilded cage with the same passion and conviction that Evdokimov rightly directs towards its not-so-shiny predecessor. I only wish he were still alive so that I could ask him, who is in other ways such an interesting and challenging thinker, why, why, why?

The following texts are from the Introduction, of The Sacrament of Love, 2001, pp. 39-40.

Men extends himself in the world by means of tools [power tools?]; woman accomplishes this by the gift of self [Clothing for covering and woven baskets for gathering aren’t ‘tools’?]. In her very being she is linked to the rhythms of nature [thank you, M. Rousseau]. But according to the norm, the physiological and psychological depend on the spirit, they serve and reveal it [to whom? That is the question now isn't it]. Woman’s physiological ability to give birth comes from her maternal spirit [the platonic ideal of 'woman' gives us the biological ability to give birth. Really.]. Likewise, man is physically more virile [he apparently wrote this before viagra became such a necessity] because there is something in his spirit that corresponds to the “violence” of which the Gospel speaks: “these are the violent who lay hold of the Kingdom of God.” [Apparently Jesus just addressed to men with these words. Good to know.]

If the nature of man is to act [no couch potatoes in his world], that of woman is to be [we don’t act? what do we do…oh wait, we don’t do, we be. That isn’t even grammatically correct!]—and this is the preeminent religious state [Yes, you read it here first: despite centuries of male spiritual headship, women are actually the more naturally religious. Interesting turnabout. And so much for religious verbs, like ‘feed,’ ‘clothe,’ ‘release,’ ‘heal.’ ]. Man creates science [Marie Curie, you weren’t really doing science], philosophy [so much for Gregory’s paean to his sister, “the Philosopher”], art, but he distorts everything [everything? Are men really this terrible?] by a frightening objectification of the organized truth. Woman is contrary to all objectification [so much for “sex sells”] because she stands in the perspective not of creation [oh, we never objectify creation!] but of giving birth; she herself, by her being [birth is just “being”? He must mean “giving birth via C-section” ‘cause I can’t imagine any other form of birth that does not involve a pretty actively involved woman], is the criterion that rectifies every abstraction [yes, a woman most certainly needs to rectify all of this abstraction] and recenters the values, in order to correctly manifest the masculine logos [Our job: birth men, apparently for the rest of their violent and destructive lives]. Instinctively, woman will always uphold the primacy of being over theory [what does this even mean?], of the active over the speculative [I thought men acted…], of the intuitive over the discursive [men are the talkative ones? So much for Chrysostom’s complaint…]. She possesses the gift of directly “seeing” into another’s life [now we are psychic, or, perhaps more positively, naturally possessing discernment, which is the primary gift of Spiritual FathersMothers], the innate [ah. No need for education, a role in the public sphere, or nurturing of wisdom, we are just innately awesome.] ability to grasp the imponderable [is this why men fill pages with ponderous theories about women? Because they don’t get our innate imponderableness?], to decipher destiny [so kind of Evdokimov to give voice to the destiny we deciphered]. To protect the world of men [wait…the world is men’s? Are there two? Or is it just our job to protect theirs?] as mother and to purify it as virgin [yea, lots of virgin mothers out there], by giving to this world a soul [men don’t have souls? Bummer for them.], her soul [right, our job is to give our self while men use tools at a safe distance from their vulnerable and apparently soulless selves], such is the vocation of every woman, religious, celibate, or spouse [so much for a unique and distinct person and call, but at least we have noble vocation].

Reader beware: the following paragraph is particularly offensive, but I didn’t write it, I just read it in the context of a world where violence against women by men exists in disturbingly high ratios, especially in countries where male headship has been theologically elevated.

United to Christ the Priest, man penetrates [Right. Here we go. Once again, the primary tool of man is the penis] into the elements of this world sacramentally [That makes it better, a sacramental penetration]; he consecrates and transforms the world into the Kingdom [big job for the naturally not-so-holy]. Violent, he takes hold of the Kingdom [violent taking…this worries me]. However, this treasure is made up of every manifestation of the sacred [which Evdokimov has already established that men lack], of holiness of being [uh oh, here we go…men don’t be, they act, so…], and it is a woman [called that one!] who represents this [let us pause and review: a Christic male priest violently takes and penetrates the representative of the King[sic]dom, a holy woman. Isn’t there a word for this?]. The woman wounds [while being violently penetrated. What, she slaps him with her purse?] the dragon at the head [whoa…the priest who is the male taking the Kingdom with penetrating violence is now a dragon? And priests are supposed to be a good thing?], not through her activity [of course not silly, she can’t act], but through her very being, her purity [yes, she passively radiates bolts of purity from her soul, piercing the lecherous mind of the dragon]. For the demons [from priest to dragon to demons…being male appears to have its drawbacks], it is this holiness of being that is mortally unbearable [and yet we ask demon-possessed, fire-breathing male priests to bear the holy to the world].

My tolerance for romanticized poetic metaphor just ran out. This is just crap.

WDL 6: Sr. Cecelia Harvey, Sermon for Saturday Matins

Tue, 21 Jun 2011 16:00:00 +0000

Sr. Cecelia Harvey

Our Lady of the Sign,
Communities of New Skete

Homily for June 18^th Ro 1:7-12, Mt. 5:42-48

During this past year we at New Skete have been charged with examining our mission statement. Is there a need to improve it? It states: Our vocation as Eastern Orthodox monastics, united in interactive communities,is to grow in the likeness of Christ through a vowed life and to embody and express Christ’s love and message for all seekers in a manner responsive to contemporary needs and faithful to the prophetic spirit of the earliest Christian communities.

A sentence in one of the suggestions submitted stated that “we have one foot in the fourth century and one foot in the 21^st century.” It seems to me those who envisioned this weekend hoped to bring forth ideas that will guide our living in this century while still being faithful to the tenets of our Orthodox faith. There is a similarity to the suggestion for our mission statement.

Can this weekend’s conferences, workshops and discussions improve and make our lives better? The gospel reading this morning offers us guidance grounded in our Scripture.

“Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect. Love your enemies” Like the fellow who asked Jesus who is my neighbor, we can ask, who is my enemy? All of us here this weekend are in agreement with one another about a lot of things. I’m sure there are areas also on which we disagree. The question to ask ourselves is: What is my interior attitude toward these disagreements and what is my exterior response? Do I listen and try to understand where the other is coming from? Have I even understood whereI am coming from? What is motivating me and/ or my own convictions? Jesus said to the Pharisees who insisted the law had to be followed; “God requires mercy, not sacrifice”. Being merciful is more than following the letter of the law. It requires a lifestyle change. Mercy requires that we give, that we love, that we accept, that we suspend judgment and that we forgive (those qualities we see in Christ need to be expressed through us.) It means recognizing that we all fail but are loved by God just the same.

That is being perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect.

Sometimes it is simpler and easier to just follow a law –or a custom -or a tradition. We need to understand or know where the law came from. Many of our laws come from cultures of the past. Both medicine and science have brought understanding that these past cultures did not have. We know that life is not static. It changes. We can float down the river of life and let it take us where it will or we can develop a paddle so that we can direct it where we know or suspect God is calling us to go. We can discern what God wants of us so we can direct our lives. This discernment takes effort. It takes prayer. It takes study. It takes patience. Without prayer it is dubious that one will discern what God wants. So the first step is having a personal relationship with God. That relationship only develops if we pray every day. One’s whole life becomes a prayer when we come to know God everywhere and in everything.

“Give to those who ask” the scripture said this morning. What talents do you have that you can give? What can you do to further the work of God? Sometimes all you can do is support in many and various ways the work of another. Sometimes you need the support of the other to follow your call from God. Be receptive to help. The talks yesterday and the workshops coming today contain many of the ministries already engaged in. Living a monastic life is one ministry mentioned and it too is a life choice that certainly benefits the church if lived well. Are there other aspects of serving that some are called to that have not been done yet and how can any of us support that call?

As St Paul said to the Romans, he wanted to share his gifts with them and their gifts with him. Let us share with one another and be mutually encouraged. What are the vocations open to us as Orthodox in this 21^st century and are there others that will be opened?

Let us trust the Word of God in our hearts, let us courageously speak it. By faithfully following our hearts, may the Pentecostal fire be fanned in others.

May Jesus who filled the women with his Holy Spirit fill our world and our church with new respect for women's gifts and presence.

WDL 7.3: (Almost everything but) Women in Worship

Tue, 21 Jun 2011 14:00:00 +0000

I attended the workshop “Women in Worship” with high hopes. The topic was women in worship. Not women outside of worship, not women in ministry in general, but in worship. When Orthodox say “worship,” we mean “liturgy.” This was the only session on the issue of the liturgical participation of women in ministry. It should have been quite good, given that women are participating in liturgy with increasing frequency (though still with painful slowness). What an opportunity to hear reflections on this change, the struggles which remain, and encouragement to creatively persist.

The vast majority of the opening presentation however, said nothing about women in worship. Instead, the work of women outside the church was affirmed as itself a ministry (yes, working in the public school-system of NY is indeed a service to world, no argument here).

Then, we were reminded of the danger of over-emphasizing the importance of worship, of forgetting Alexander Schmemann’s beautiful theology of gathering of the family (usually by women the night before liturgy), ascent throughout the liturgy, and the all-important return to the world. Liturgy should not be our obsession, especially if it is, as it is too often, to the detriment of the ‘liturgy after the liturgy.’ I could hardly agree more (I have a dissertation chapter based on this!).

Then, we were told of the many men who approach priests asking to be deacons, and yet these men rarely attend vespers. If they do not love worship enough to simply come and pray, why do they want to be deacons if no out of a desire to perform in front of the people? Because of the prestige and recognition in the office? Sometimes, “the desire to be a part of worship is a seduction of wanting to be on show.” Again, I too have seen too many people seek positions of leadership for the recognition, only to be horrified and sometimes undone by the amount of service then expected. We should indeed be careful of these motivations (which frankly even the best of leaders have a bit of).

Then, we were reminded that only those with a purpose and function should be in the altar. How many of us have seen males stand in the altar with nothing to do, seen more altar boys than candles for them to hold, or watched chanters traipse through the altar to get to the chanters stand even though they could go around. I know that I have actually had to walk all the way around the back of the church, through a side door, and then back across the front because confession was happening in the small room that directly connects the sacristy (where I get a robe) to the chanters area. The men just cut through the altar. It is is all well and good to talk about function and being in the altar, but we refuse to allow women to function. The status quo is NOT neutral. While it might reduce the sense of hypocrisy to enforce the ‘no function, no purpose’ rule for men and boys who really don’t need to be in the altar, this does not change the reality that women are simply not given a function to begin with.

All of these are important cautions. But so much time was spend cautioning us, laying the groundwork, that minimal space was used by the presenter to address the actual topic: women in worship. The presentation entirely failed to give attention to the legitimate desire of females to stand alongside males, and actually came close to implying such a desire sprang from poor motivation. There was no hint towards the pain of parents who must respond to the desire of their daughters to serve in the altar, or their all-too frequent boredom in church when they realize there really isn’t much for them to do (though there brothers seem to be doing something). At one point in the discussion, when it was brought up by a participant, it was actually denied that the liturgical participation of boys or girls has any bearing on their adult faith. Really? Not only do I wonder how this is known, I also wonder if this accounts for the relatively recent phenomena of parents choosing not be Orthodox at all because of the sexism they experience. There was no thoughtful consideration of the questions which might need to be addressed in order to encourage greater participation of women. Instead, primarily what was offered were cautions.

All of the real examples and questions came, again, from the participants. Among these examples are the following:

Parishes in Beirut, Damascus and London, and a few parishes in the U.S. in which girls serve with boys in the altar. Yes, they exist.
A parish in which girls hold all the communion cloths.
Another parish in which the cloths are held by a mix of men and women, none of whom are altar servers.
The many parishes in which girls carry the shroud on Holy Friday. In some, they even come into the altar to get the shroud rather than have it taken out to them. Usually done by young girls, the presenter was recently approached by an aged baba of the church. Worried that she would be upset, he was astonished to hear her ask that she be allowed to do so next year, since she “hadn’t realized it was allowed.”
ROCOR parishes where girls bring up prosphora, read and sing.
Almost every woman in the room attends churches where women are permitted to read the epistle (though not all), but only a few of us knew of tonsured female readers (I know of two), though we all know male tonsured readers (the only tonsured woman in the room was Sr. Cece, a nun).

Things are happening. We need leadership which openly affirms and encourages such creative responses to a changing world.

WDL 9: Reflections of a 'dedicated listener'

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 16:00:00 +0000

Before the conference, I was asked to be a “dedicated listener,” sharing my reflections in our final session together. This is, for the most part, what I said, minus ad lib and tears:

The question with which I entered this conference, is how do we have this conversation? I ask this because, as we have seen over the last few days, there is a wide range of thought, comfort, emotion and opinion on this issue. Since it is apparently my call to ask questions, often uncomfortable ones, I would like to present questions which I hope reflect what was said, not simply what I heard.

How can we simultaneously acknowledge and affirm the woman who is content with her current role, space or situation, while also acknowledging and affirming the discontent of other women?

How do we receive and live with our own call, a call that may not be shared by others?

How do we support the call of others that is not our own?

How can we respect, as someone said, the sustainers, the gradualists and the prophets, without reading the ‘other’ position as a personal condemnation of our own?

How do we affirm the often invisible works of women, such as the labor of motherhood in the home so often exercised away from the eyes of the world, while also affirming that some gifts may be more fully exercised and received if they are visibly recognized?

How do we acknowledge that for some there is no problem, and for others, there is?

Do we name the sources of our fear?

Do we speak openly of those things which we, or others around us, fear?

I ask these questions because I know the effort that went into planning this conference. I know the fear and offense generated by the topic, yet it resurfaces over and over again. Not only in the world around us, but in ourselves and our experience. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t have at least the trace of a question, concern, or curiosity.

I know that it arises in me every day, and the truth is, I wish it wouldn’t. I wish I could be content with the situation of women in the church. Or, I wish that I could be content in another church.

But I cannot be content as a non-Orthodox (I have tried, believe me), and I cannot stop seeing and responding to the sadness, pain and frustration of women.

The reality is this: I love the church, and I love the men and women of the church. I want the church to be a place of love, a place which loves all of us better and more fully than it currently does.

This is what I heard this weekend, a love for the church and one another that is sharp, painful, and conflicted. This is, I think, how love goes. It challenges us, stretches us, and causes discomfort. All of which, hopefully (but not guaranteed), results in further growth into God.

And as at all conferences, some of the most fruitful elements were the conversations that happened outside the sessions. In these conversations, I heard more questions, a hunger for learning more about the already existing work of women. A desire to explore how those ministries are new, how they are old, how they might fit into the traditional patterns of church ministry such as ordination to the diaconate. In these conversations, I saw that the difficult questions and topics are unavoidable. Even if they cannot be fully explored, they arise. How to pursue the details of getting chaplaincy endorsement? How are women already serving in liturgical worship? How might they? What does it mean to do, as Tanya suggested, to have a conference on the possibility restoring women to the diaconate? I am grateful to this conference for creating an opportunity for new conversations. It is those conversations which will serve as a basis for future conferences, papers, regional groups, and parish-based work. It is the anger, frustration, and joy reflected in those conversations which will give us the energy to continue to move forward.

WDL 7.2: Jenny Mosher, 'Women, Children and Theology'

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 15:00:00 +0000

Jenny Mosher gave an excellent presentation on her developing theology of childhood.

Mosher’s work on childhood grew out of one-too-many encounters with parenting material that recommended parenting techniques based on an an entirely non-Orthodox anthropology. She wanted to explore the vulnerability of children to sometimes dangerous parental choices, to understand how Christians in the Orthodox tradition have thought about children. Like Frost, she thought to start with scripture. Also like Frost, she discovered that scriptural resources on childhood are limited, particularly Jesus’ (who is after all, the model of our humanity which inevitably includes childhood), least in canonical texts.

Beginning with Jesus’ illicit visit to the temple, she discovered that theologians treat this passage as a christological passage. Jesus fully took on the realities of childhood, sanctifying them. Unlike non-canonical sources which tend to portray even the child Jesus as inhumanly adult, the church fathers argue that while Jesus could have come as an adult, he chose to go through the “humiliations” of being a child. In this, Jesus took on aspects of humanity which were, in Greek philosophy, considered too scandalous to be attributed to God. Yet, as a christological principle, Jesus was fully human, therefore, fully a child. Her driving questions from this are, what are those scandalous realities and how do we respect them as sanctified aspects of childhood?

Mosher lists the scandals (I might have missed some here) as weakness, ignorance, dependence, and ‘increase’ by which the church theologians mean change or growth. Each of these are qualities which antiquity rejected as attributes of God, and which caused no source of consternation in christological debates. The very idea of God as a kid was utterly offensive. In ‘offense’ (verb and noun here), the project of establishing the full humanity of Christ included his development into adulthood. In short, there were times when Jesus was not particularly god-like. Rather, Jesus’ awareness of who he was “dawned on him like a rising sun” (such a nice use of metaphor!) Mosher argues that this is precisely like our own growing awareness of adulthood and ‘personhood,’ it dawns on us, each stage as important and as valuable as the last.

Yet, she notes, we are increasingly impatient with childhood and its dependencies, often desperately wishing that our children could do better for themselves far before such a wish is developmentally appropriate. Instead, Jesus shows us that all the stages are good and necessary. If we are impatient with it, it is our problem (ah, that strikes close). Mosher is interested in developing a theology of childhood which sees in these ‘scandals’ the appropriate development of young human beings. She also observes that it was the Christian insistence on valuing these dependencies which allowed for a growing ethic of care towards any person who shared in these qualities, from the developing fetus (exhibiting change and increase) to the disabled. No longer is utility (to family, clan or status) the criterion for valuing, or rather, not valuing the weak.

The best questions of the workshop were raise by others. One participant asked what motherhood looks like with adult children. Another asked if we are stewards only of our own children, or others? Are we stewards of only our own family, or the poor (and unrelated) children down the street?

I look forward to the answers Mosher gives as she continues to develop her theology of childhood.

WDL 7.1: Carrie Frederick Frost, 'A Theological Vision of Motherhood'

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 14:00:00 +0000

Saturday gave conference participants the opportunity to attend smaller workshops on a variety of topics, practical and theological. I have attached the schedule, and I strongly recommend that if any of the topics are of interest to your communities, invite these women to come and speak!

I was fortunate enough to decide to attend Carrie Frederick Frost’s session on an “Orthodox Theological Vision of Motherhood.” I say “fortunate” for two reasons: First, I had already heard of some Orthodox woman somewhere writing an ethics dissertation on motherhood, and my honest thought was, “sigh, yet another set of romantic notions of universal female motherhood to unpack” (see my comments on Julianna Schmemann’s opening plenary to the conference). Frost, in one of our numerous conversations, quickly dispelled my anxiety. I asked her opinion on Schmemann’s (both the husband and wife in this case) invocation, and she responded:

Assigning the maternal spirit to women as their sole or primary characteristic leads to either reductionism or mystification (or both) and is ultimately narrow, boring, and wrong.

Ah, I love pithy academics!

Second, the content of her work is simply fascinating. As a mother of two who discovered she was carrying three more children, she sensibly shifted her theological studies to motherhood. Sifting through material proved to be difficult. Our tradition generally lacks any sustained focus on a theology of motherhood, a disappointing discovery. The gospels present a tension created by Christ’s new definition of family. His bold and cryptic statements are not only difficult to interpret, but hardly reflect a high view of the family unit. Our tradition is also filled with poor views of procreation, and the consistent affirmation of men leaving wife and children behind in the name of ascetic pursuits or ministerial calls.

Yet Christ shows compassion on parents with suffering children. He uses maternal metaphors, universally understood, to describe his task in the world, his grief for his children, the labor of his work. Christ entered the world through a woman whose “visceral motherhood” is visible in the earliest of icons: the Theotokos is depicted breastfeeding Christ on the walls of the catacombs of Priscilla.

Still in the midst of her project, Frost argues that there are three qualities integral to a theological vision of motherhood: freedom, consecration and contemplation. Once no longer a real option, motherhood is now, at least in the developed world, a choice. “Woman” and “mother” are no longer necessarily synonymous. This newfound freedom to choose needs to be considered in theological terms. To do this, she draws on morsels found in John Chrysostom’s homilies on Hannah in which he draws a distinction between bearing and raising. Biological production can occur without a corresponding commitment to motherhood. Motherhood is not biologically determined, but a choice (note the unequivocal affirmation of adoption inherent in this). She sees this freedom in the dynamic quality of the icons of the Annunciation, indicating a voluntary assent to participate in God’s work.

Hannah also exemplifies consecration. Chrysostom often emphasizes the pedagogical aspect of raising children. But in Hannah, he is moved to acknowledge that it is a mother’s task to consecrate her child, raising it in holiness. The churching rites (in an edited form I assume, a topic put aside by Frost due to time) celebrate the return of the mother to the community, look forward to the baptism of a new member, and allow the relationship of mutual blessing between mother and child to be brought into the light and sanctified by the community. Churching also creates a powerful typological connection between mothers and all the Foremothers of the tradition.

Finally, Frost notes the contemplative quality emphasized in the Icon of the Presentation of Christ. Even as Christ is in the hands of the high priest, he turns back to look at his mother, raising his hand in blessing. The contemplation and blessing exchanged between mother and child allows for the recognition of the ‘undeserved beneficence’ which is a child. No matter our history, no matter what the circumstances of the birth of a child, contemplation allows us to see children as a gift based not on worthiness, but love.

I am, of course, left with a few questions, some of which Carrie has already heard (or seen). My primary question was answered even before her workshop (see quote above), but I want to echo again how helpful it is to have a theology of motherhood that does not presume motherhood as the universal female vocation. That said, I wonder the following:

How do we distinguish between Mary as both a model of and for all human beings, and for mothers in particular? Does she, indicated by Symeon the New Theologian’s use of her to exhort his (male) monks to be mothers who birth Christ in their wombs, serve as a model for a more full humanity which ‘bears’ and ‘raises’ faith? In this, are all human beings called to be metaphorical mothers? If so, what is unique about literal motherhood?

What of a theology of fatherhood? Would it be different than motherhood? Does fatherhood not also involve a choice to raise (perhaps all the more so since ‘bearing’ is not an option)? Do father’s not contribute to holiness? Do fathers not experience the undeserved beneficence of God in the gift of a child? How might these theologies differ without relying on hackneyed stereotypes of assertive and authoritative men and receptive and nurturing women?

WDL 6: Women in real, live, ministry

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Friday afternoon was given over to a panel of four women engaging in active service ministries. Ann Campbell runs a St. Nektarios OCF house at the University of Oregon. Over 60% of our youth leave the Orthodox Church when they go to college. Her job, as she says, is to provide a committed faith-home for students, to be a “midwife for Christian adulthood,” helping students transition into a mature, adult faith.

Sarah Byrne is one of the few endorsed female chaplains in the OCA, actively praying for and with the sick. As an Orthodox chaplain working in a non-profit healthcare organization, she ministers to men and women from a wide range of faith perspectives. She visits patients, assesses their spiritual needs within that moment. As an end-of-life chaplain, she works to help patients identify their fears regarding death, remaining need for forgiveness and reconciliation, and the resources he or she has to address these areas. As Orthodox Christians, she says, we have a unique way of considering death as a bright sadness, able to pray with our eyes open, taking our lesson from a liturgical life which teaches us to stand and pray in the dark, lighting candles when necessary.

She notes the difficulty, however, in both receiving endorsement (required by her association, and automatically assumed if the chaplain is also ordained by their ecclesial body), and being recognized as a minister both within her church and by her jurisdiction. The lack of ecclesial recognition diminishes the ability of her immediate community to even be aware of and receive from her gifts to minister to the sick within the parish. Further, her lack of ordination prevents her from joining her fellow male, ordained, chaplains, as a ministerial representative with a voice at jurisdictional councils.

Sandra Anderson is a member of the Orthodox Hospital and Prison Ministry rightly observed that God doesn’t ask us for checks, but for us to love, directly. We love feeding children and having clothing drives, but we tend to stop at loving those in prison. It is a much harder ministry, she says, because it is a forgiving ministry, which is hard.

(IOCC also presented a summary of what they do through out the country. They are a fabulous organization, but the content was not primarily about women engaging in direct ministry, either in church or in the field, the IOCC does employ women in its work.)

This panel was the only plenary session entirely focused on the work women are currently doing in response of the call of the gospel to heal the sick, clothe the naked, and visit the imprisoned. It was also the first place in which the question of ordination to the diaconate, was raised. The tasks that all of these women are engaged in are diaconal tasks, ministries of service. While they are each quite successful in their chosen fields, it was clear that acknowledgement and recognition of their work would be helpful. Recognition is important not because of the prestige it might (or might not) grant, but because ecclesial recognition through blessing or even diaconal ordination allows their work and their gifts to be seen by their communities, and therefore received as a service by their community. This ability to use their gifts in service to their own communities is, more often than not, entirely dependent on the whim of their priest. As Sarah noted, she has been in parishes where her work is completely ignored, and in others where the priest has asked her to visit sick members of the parish, and recommended that members talk to her directly about end-of-life issues (about which she has much to say. Invite her to your church!).

Honestly, with the diaconate reduced to, at best, liturgical window-dressing and censor-swinging, or at worst, to an irrelevant stepping-stone the priesthood, why is it that we cannot ordain these women to the diaconate as an affirmation of their ministries? Their liturgical service would then flow from their care for the least, precisely what the diaconate was intended to be, from the beginning (Stephen was a table-server friends, a glorified community waiter). Perhaps the ordination of these women would remind us of what ordination is really supposed to be about: an acknowledgement of gifts to be used in service of the community, and a call to use them with responsibility and accountability.

WDL 5.5: The Diaconate

Fri, 17 Jun 2011 16:00:00 +0000

It took until almost 3:00 pm for the word diaconate to even be mentioned. Sarah Byrne did it. God bless her and keep her.

WDL 5: A surprising turn of conversation...

Fri, 17 Jun 2011 15:00:00 +0000

The afternoon (yesterday, I am a bit behind) was opened to comments. Rather than summarize, I am simply going to post peoples (slightly edited and nameless) comments, some of which I found very surprising:

When I graduated from seminary, all of us, men and women, were given a cross as a sign of the Bishop’s blessing to teach. While I preached before receiving the cross, I discovered that wearing the cross makes a difference, it is the indication of an official blessing from the bishop to serve, indicating reciprocity and responsibility. It makes a difference.

There is a problem with being invisible, there is nothing to let people know that I have particular gifts. Is there a way that my gifts can be visibly recognized?

I was given a card so that when I went to a hospital, I could offer a lay hospital ministry. Is there something like this for others? How about a card which allows for recognition and endorsement of offering a lay hospital ministry?

Female chaplains not welcome at AAC, in part because they are not ordained, and in part because of things are in ‘upheaval.’ Yet this is the time, because there is flux.

The Greek word for service is diakonia, seen in the diaconate.

My daughter told me, “I don’t want my daughter raised in a sexist church.” Now, she is episcopalian.

There is a church in [US State] has women serving by holding candles. In Damascus and Beirut, at the cathedrals, the girls served at the altar with the boys. In Michigan, they did not enter the altar, but they held candles with the boys, wearing different robes.

It is great for all these women to get together, but who is educating the priests and the hierarchy?

The way this is going to happen simply by people doing what they are called to do. We cannot wait for people to give us the okay. I worry about women saying, “I won’t try.”

We are being hurt the most from the grand-daughter perspective. I can think of 10 people who left the church because their non-Orthodox wives saw a row of men and wanted nothing to do with the church. This exclusion is not Orthodox, but it is how they church looks, like a place that excludes women.

I am often befuddled that we do not bless all of our ministries, at the beginning of each year. Another appearance of exclusion is the lack of women readers. Why is it so hard? There is fear, fear on the part of people who hold power. We need to talk about the elephant in the room. It is hurtful, it does not build up the church. How can we ignore the resources given by women? The devil may not want to be us successful, but how is that effort manifest? How can we not have a blessing for women who are readers? What does it say that a man is acknowledged but a woman is not? It is one thing to say that we simply need to step forward and do it, but there is a cost to this.

What are women going to do for ministries? Can the seminary get creative, develop residencies and internships to identify and pair students with people who are already working. What about a commitment to offering scholarships, residencies, internships, we will put you through it, offer support, extend a natural ministry which offers support.

We have girls serve in our liturgies. It is very important not to have the girls serve just because there are no boys. What does this say to the girls? As for chaplaincy, this should be an ordained ministry. The military chaplains do not know how to minister to the dying.

Many of the converts seem more invested in maintaining the traditions than those who grew up in the church, especially regarding women. Ethiopian nationals do not enforce many of the traditional practices, such as boys lining up before the girls for communion. This isn’t even done in Ethiopia any more. Converts are zealous about being good Orthodox, and perpetuate gender traditions without realizing that is what they are doing.

What do you say to such converts? Read One Flew Over the Onion Dome. It is fear not of power, but of change. The fear is if you ordain women to anything, even a reader, it initiates a slippery slope to the possibility that women might become priests. That is the fear, especially amongst Episcopalian converts, and many think it destroyed their church.

I am a convert, came in in my 50s. In the beginning, when something is so new to you, to finally have a little bit of structure is helpful, nice. At the time, I didn’t see the difference between little “t” and big “T”. But rules are important for children, and converts need to grow, without being judged or condemned.

I joined in April. Orthodoxy is ancient christianity untouched by American racism. It isn’t Jesus, Paul, and Luther. I came from the episcopalian church, and becoming Orthodox could be a step back. But my choice is generational. If my children were still young, I couldn’t make that choice for my daughter, who would want to know why she can’t stand up there with the boys. But I can make that choice for me, now, and deal with the complexities. As long as it grounded in the scripture. We need all the people, the gradualists and even the prophets. It is a very American problem, to choose one’s religion. If we do so prayerfully, it is good to remain content, to be gradualists, or to be prophets. We need all of them.

Is it appropriate for us as women to seek recognition? It does not seem like fighting these things is spiritually helpful for us.

The people here are not talking about personal recognition. We are working in the vineyard, we are coming from the place that God has told us to work in, and we are struggling with running up against road blocks that recognition would help.

Being told, “you can’t do this because you are girl” inflicts spiritual damage. This is what our children are being told.

WDL 4: Detachment from what?

Fri, 17 Jun 2011 14:00:00 +0000

I am grouping the next two talks into one post, partly due to time, but mostly because they are thematically related. Dr. Kyriaki FitzGerald spoke on the connection between Eve, Mary and Us, emphasizing the blessedness of those who hear the word of God and keep it. Dr. Mary Ford offered the diverse lives of women saints, each of whom attained holiness in and through the circumstances of their lives. The common thread through each is freely responding to the work of God in order to abide in God, acquiring grace. Ford’s emphasized that fulfilling our vocation is not necessarily about fulfilling our gifts, but to do whatever is before us with all our hearts.

FitzGerald emphasized the basis of discipleship, the need to freely abide in God. She notes the process by which the Serpent deceived Eve, “softly cooing delusional fantasies,” distracting her with a debate on the technicalities of the rules, convincing her to turn away from a person, God, to an IT, a desirable tree and its fruit. Her choice, freely made, is balanced by the free choice of another woman, through whom Christ is brought into the world. In the Theotokos, God dwells in humanity, all “men and women are called to give birth to Christ” (an image popular in both Maximus and Symeon the New Theologian).

Ford identified three vocations, framed by our ultimate vocation which is to acquire grace. First, we fulfill this vocation as women, and for most of history this has meant bearing or adopting children, being mothers and wives. A second option is monasticism. A third, only recently an option in the world, and which needs to be further developed, is that of a single woman. Given the even newer freedom to choose ones vocation, often only experienced by women in the Western world, she noted the need to consider other options.

Her caution, a good one I think, is not to assume that if one loves the church, to think that the only way to be serious about our faith is ordained ministry and full-time work. All ethical work is the work of God.

Yet I also must admit a thread through both talks, that disturbed me. On the one hand, FitzGerald somewhat jokingly notes that the serpent chooses Eve, because she is a “twofer,” get her, get Adam. But if Adam had been approached, Eve might have objected. What does this say about men? Is this a way in which we diminish men in order to elevate women, similar to what has been done to us? Or is this a real weakness of men? A wise woman with whom I discussed this, shared an observation regarding women pastors (obviously not Orthodox). They tend to be blindsided by the evil present in their congregations, they just don’t see it coming, and as a result, are undone. We need, she said, to understand the clever and subtle distractions from the love of God which can undo us and those around us. Is this, she asked, an inherent weakness of women (whether cultural or natural, it is irrelevant)? Can we honestly confront these weaknesses without elevating one over the other? I simply wonder if sometimes, in our emphasis on Mary as redeeming Eve, if are we still atoning for female guilt of introducing sin into the world? What about the man? He was there, and he did choose, even if it was a silent choice. It is just a rhetoric that bothers me every time I see it.

A similar concern arose for me in listening to Ford. Among the gamut of women saints, some of whom did have and use their gifts fully, are those whose holiness came as the result of suffering, often abuse at the hands of ‘loved’ ones. Ford never once affirmed, endorsed or even suggested that the abuse itself was good. Her point was that holiness can be achieved in the ‘givenness’ of life, regardless of circumstances. Yet in her elevation of motherhood (and adding singleness as somewhat of an afterthought), is everything once again subsumed into motherhood?

A further note is that she and FitzGerald (and Schmemann) repeatedly noted the importance of detachment. For me, this begs the question, detachment from what? Is this thread really an silent acknowledgement that there is a problem? Are we to be detached from the pain and suffering in the world, or the pain and suffering we experience by the denial of our gifts, the obstruction of their free and full exercise, by the church? I am grateful that we can acquire the grace of God even we do not feel fulfilled in our gifts, and that theosis is not dependent on the receipt of our gifts by the world or church. But this does not then excuse the church from the ways in which it, through its practices, inclusions and exclusions, denies the gifts of women and becomes a source of suffering rather than life.

WDL 3: Juliana Schmemann, Adventurous Women, and Motherhood

Fri, 17 Jun 2011 13:00:00 +0000

The conference, after generous introductions, was opened by a video of Juliana Schmemman. Commenting on, and critiquing, Matushka Schmemman feels a bit like publicly questioning everyone’s favorite grandmother. I appreciate her passionate endorsement of action, of participation, and am chastened by her reminder that joy must be a part of all we do and that we must be grateful for even the smallest moments given by a generous God. Likewise, the heart of her sermon (that is what it was, a sermon not a talk or presentation) is about the importance of using our freedom well, to love God and neighbor. Freedom is not simply the motto of the present age, but fundamental to our life in Christ, and it is through freely choosing to follow Christ that we experience, and share joy.

Women are to be sources of life, of love, of joy. It is women who are called to make every daily moment a celebration. “Even a single breakfast,” she says, “can be transformed from a chaotic event into a happy one … by noticing the morning light or the snow. The anticipation of the coming day can be transformed into a source of potential adventure.” What a delight to hear these words, that live is meant to be an adventure! She continues: “If we could only become used to seeing each moment of our life as gifts, then we would be offering it to the Lord in thanks. Instead of just coping with life and getting along, women are responsible for the joy of life because women are the source of life. Every moment celebrated and enjoyed.” We are, she declares, “to live life fully with energy, action and movement.” Here is a vision of being a woman far removed from the quiet receptivity so unfortunately popular.

This joy and celebration, this giving of life, is the central vocation of motherhood, to which all women are called regardless of whether they have borne a child. Women are life-givers, it is our nature she claims. From a mother, “be she real, adopted, or simply True Woman, one can rely on receiving love from her.” Motherhood is a “talent” in the gospel sense, to be multiplied, shared, nurtured. “Motherhood,” she says, “is our strongest tool.”

It is here, in these beautiful words, that my discomfort arises. If motherhood is the source of faith, hope and joy, the fruits of the Spirit, what is left for fatherhood? Alexander Schmemann argues that Joy is the source and result of faith, yet this joy is apparently given by women (perhaps more of his theology is indebted to his wife than he acknowledges) In this theology though, what is left for men? I do not ask these things simply to defend poor, maligned men, (though this is a serious problem in the theologies of Evdokimov and Hopko: women must save men from their regrettable ‘functionalism” by injecting joy and life into the world). I wonder however, is if this isn’t simply a way of claiming, under the rubric of a gift (function?) unique to women, all the virtues? Yet if men and women have distinct gifts and virtues, what is left for men? I find it ironic that the early centuries of the church struggled with associating virtue at all to women. Two thousand years later, we claim them all (or they are graciously given to us by men) under the rubric of Motherhood, which is now everything. I am not sure that either of these positions is an accurate picture of men and women even if a small part of me, the admittedly spiteful part, delights that somehow, we (women) get it all back.

And yet it does bear to ask, is there something to the idea of women as life-givers that might shape a woman’s ministry than that of men? Does this exclude women from certain ministries, or perhaps, does it simply shape that ministry in manner different from a man engaged in the same type of service? And is really connected to nature, biology, and gender?

WDL 2: Who belongs?

Thu, 16 Jun 2011 18:00:00 +0000

In the initial round of questions I noted a number of elements which struck me in the conference description: no use of the word “ordination” or “diaconate” (despite one of the female diaconate’s major proponents offering a plenary address), the consistent and careful pairing of “women” with “lay,” a workshop on the term “helper” in Gen. 3 but not a single reference to female leadership, and a constellation of other workshops which affirm the currently accepted venues for women: children’s education, mothering, music, counseling (though not apparently confession), service, etc. Let me be very clear, ALL of these ministries are crucial, important, and well-fulfilled by women. Yet as I said initially, the absence of another constellation of venues which are not so readily accepted by many in the Orthodox Church, serves to underscore my sense that this conference accepts the 20^th-century rhetoric of sexual complementarity, even if in a modified form. Perhaps I will be proven wrong here, the conference has yet to start.

However, one of my questions going in to this conference is, “How do we have this conversation?” The reality is, belief regarding what is the acceptable participation of women in the ministries of the church varies widely among Orthodox. While a perusal of Orthodox websites might give the impression that we Orthodox women are content and see no problems, for some of us, this is not the case, and we have been addressing the problem for over 40 years. Yet in the public material of this conference, there is a studious avoidance of any terms which might trigger ‘reactions,’ a decision which, according to Bouteneff’s Faculty Footnote, didn’t quite work. People reacted, on both sides (and not, apparently, in the middle).

Which raises for me this question: what is the value of not admitting what we are talking about, up front? If, as I have been reassured, the diaconate will be mentioned, why not say so? If, as I have also been told, that the workshop on “helper” will note how the Septuagint Greek word used to describe the woman as a helper is also used to describe God as our helper (Phyllis Trible wrote a great book on this same dynamic in the Hebrew, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality), which hardly affirms patriarchal headship models of relationship, why not an open discussion on female leaders in the bible? Frederica Matthews-Green is a featured speaker, and while at some point many years ago she wrote that believed that women should not teach men, her whole writing career has been an exercise of spiritual authority in the lives of women and men in the church. She is often (though I disagree with her on many things) a wise woman. I can only assume that she no longer believes that women cannot teach men (perhaps I will ask since we are here together, though that is hardly a question you ask on a first meeting). And what of Saturday’s “homily/reflection” offered by Sr. Cece of New Skete? Is it not a sermon? What is the qualitative difference between a sermon and a reflection? Does the use of a term make its referent something other than it seems to be?

So why not talk about women as leaders as well as helpers, as teachers of men as well as children (some of whom are male), as preachers and confessors? Is that just too direct? Or is this conference really about affirming a complementarity of gifts based on gender?

I will confess my greatest fear of attending conferences such as these: someone will tell me, with love and confidence and grace and kindness, that women like me, who don’t quite find the terms used fitting for themselves (though quite fine for others), really have no place in the Church. That would be bad news indeed.

WDL 1: Blogging 'Women Disciples of the Lord'

Thu, 16 Jun 2011 16:00:00 +0000

Icon of the Myrrhbearing Women

Due to the generosity of friends and loved ones who offered time, resources, and encouragement, I am now at St. Vladimir’s Seminary, awaiting the start of the conference “Women Disciples of the Lord.” As one of its organizers, Dr. Peter Bouteneff noted in his Faculty Footnote, organizing this conference is a challenge “partly because there are several strongly held and often opposing opinions on this subject.” He was contacted by women “who say, in no uncertain terms (and with a touch of resentment) that ‘there is no problem’ surrounding women in the Church, that ‘nothing needs validating.’” Others who contacted him are “deeply hurt by the Church’s inability to find a place for women (including young women and girls) in the Church’s life. They also believe that the Church itself has been functioning at a reduced capacity, not engaging more fully this huge constituency of its membership” (I love that phrase, “reduced capacity.” I wish I had thought of it.) While he is sure that some attendees will be among the simply curious, “almost nobody who has contacted us is neutral or vague about this issue in the slightest.”

I am one of those who is neither neutral or vague. The conference addresses a topic close to my heart. When I posted a series of questions on the conference (and sent them to Peter as he is a friend), he suggested a phone call. The upshot of the call is that I am now here both as an attendee and a conference blogger. I cannot ‘live blog’ the conference as the events are too condensed and, as a close reader of my blog always points out, I really need a moment to edit (I am a terrible speller, one would think a PhD might cure that problem. No such luck.) However, I do intend to post as best I can throughout the day, offering summaries, noting interesting bits, and listing questions. I will leave my more substantive reflections for later.

Given that I am not neutral, my postings will reflect my interests and my biases. As will my questions. I suspect that in my impatience I will ask questions to which responses are later given. I also know that sometimes my questions will be more pointed than the presentation (given time, space, and varied audiences) warrants. My questions and comments may be unsettling for some (especially those who do not see a problem in our current situation), as I expect to be unsettled and challenged to consider other perspectives. I will do my best to be honest about my bias, my concerns and trepidations, as well as my enthusiasms and delight that such a meeting is happening.

Please join the conversation!

WDL beta: 'Women Disciples of the Lord' - Conference and Questions

Sat, 14 May 2011 16:00:00 +0000

Edit, June 16, 2011: I wrote the post below before I knew I was attending. It serves as a great introduction to my questions, but it is chronologically before all the other posts. Thus the "WDL beta." Yes, I am a tech geek as well as theology nerd.

St. Vladimir's Seminary is devoting its annual summer academic conference to the topic, "Women Disciples of the Lord." It is a fabulous topic and I am impressed that the seminary is making the participation of women in the ministry of the Church the focus of this popular annual conference. The conference looks fascinating, and I regret that I cannot attend except via Podcast (which I hope is made available!). As an academic and theologian who writes extensively on the participation of women in the church, my heart is deeply invested in honoring the gifts and abilities of women so that the church can more fully benefit from their service. I ) have some questions regarding the framing of the conference which I hope will be addressed, either the conference itself or the dialogue which I hope will follow.

Here are the "primary questions" of the conference (you can read their website for their full announcement or download the pdf):

How did our female forebears understand and live in Christ—as women? And how may we follow their examples today?

Christ empowered the women among His disciples. How can women’s talents enrich the work of the Church today, energize parishes, and bring the Gospel into the world? How can the Church’s institutions better participate in the preparation of women and other laity for service?

How can the Church validate women in their ministries: hiring them, blessing them, and sending them to attend to the Church’s missions? How can it establish positions worthy of its women seminary graduates? What infrastructure needs to be created?

First, in the conference description, most mention of “women” is paired with “lay.” Does this mean that the symposium will not build on conferences which recommended the restoration of the female diaconate (such as Agapia in 1979, Rhodes in 1988)? Dr. Kyriaki FitzGerald is slated to speak, but not on the diaconate, the work for which she is best known.1

Second, the phrasing of the first primary question, how our female forebears followed Christ — “as women,” is intriguing given current debates among Orthodox regarding the legitimacy of a theology of gender-based ‘charisms’ (seen in the challenges respectfully leveled by Élisabeth Behr-Sigel towards the theology of Paul Evdokimov).2 Does this phrasing presume that they did so in a manner different than men? How was the preaching (both to the disciples and Tiberius) of Mary Magdalene done “as a women”? Was Thekla’s self-baptism particularly womanly? Or Nina’s baptism of Georgian royalty? What opportunities are there for women preach and baptize today? "As women"? For those churches where women already preach (yes, it does happen), is the Church prepared to offer, at the very least, a ‘blessing’ which acknowledges both the responsibility and privilege in the use of such a gift for the service of the Church?

Third, I applaud all attempts to address questions of infrastructure creation and hiring women (seminary graduates or otherwise). Women, like men, need the institutional and financial support of their community and Church to engage in chaplaincies, pastoral counseling, etc. Just as the early church recognized that ‘ordained’ offices according to the type of service given to the community (thus teachers, widows, deacons, presbyters were all recognized as offices because of how each served the community), the Church today must offer support through both structure and official blessing (and perhaps ordination) to all those that serve. As Fr. Alkiviadis Calivas once said, the Church is free to define new ministries and ministers as needed. Women chaplains and pastoral counselors are already engaged in diaconal service, that is, service which is precisely what the office of the diaconate was established to do. The liturgical role of deacons is (or rather, given our current confusion on the subject, “should be”) a recognition of service outside the eucharistic liturgy. The liturgical role is meant to create a continuity between what is done outside the eucharistic liturgy with what is done inside. Currently, our diaconate rarely makes such a connection. Will the current service of women be allowed to clarify such a connection?

There is no mention of our liturgical ‘infrastructure’ in the topics of the conference. This is the place where our vision of the ministry is formed, from which we are called into the world. It is also the place where women (with the exception of clergy meetings of any kind) have the least visibility, despite no lack of ability. Will our liturgical ‘infrastructure’ be addressed? Will the possibility of female altar servers, tonsured female readers and chanters, or again, the diaconate, be considered? Or is the infrastructure to be addressed only that which is non-liturgical?

This conference is an opportunity to clearly address the modern tension within Orthodox theology regarding an assumed complementarity of gifts (a very non-traditional position given that much early theology simply didn’t think women even had exceptional gifts or abilities) and the long-standing struggle of the church teachers in recognizing that women, often despite social norms and expectations, are called to, granted, and capable of exercising the same set of virtues, tasks, gifts (and even functions) of Christian men, according to the need, ability and call of each. Again, I look forward to the dialogue this conference will generate.

You may download the flyer here: http://www.svots.edu/sites/default/files/myrrh_bearing_women_flyer.pdf

1. FitzGerald, Kyriaki K. Women Deacons in the Orthodox Church: Called to Holiness and Ministry. Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 1998.
2. See both Behr-Sigel, Élisabeth, and Kallistos T. Ware. The Ordination of Women in the Orthodox Church. WCC Publications, 2001 for a short summary of her arguments. The newer volume brings together a number of her articles: Behr-Sigel, Élisabeth. Discerning the Signs of the Times: The Vision of Elisabeth Behr-Sigel. Edited by Michael Plekon, and Sarah E. Hinlicky. Crestwood, N.Y.: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2001.

According to the Need of Each

Sun, 01 May 2011 16:00:00 +0000

Thomas Sunday. So often referred to as Doubting Thomas, as if Thomas’s doubt was an unworthy failure of faith on his part. Fortunately, today’s sermon steered clear of such shoddy interpretation. Even better, some observations were made that I think should be repeated far more often than they are in Orthodox churches.

The first observation is that the saints are not always faithful. The second is that God reveals Godself differently to different individuals, in a way that corresponds to the kind of revelation needed by that particular person. The first observation is important because of what it says about the saints as models of faith, exemplars and encouragers of our lives today. The second observation is important because of what it says about God.

The not-so-faithful Saints:

One would think, given the actual stories of Saints, that it is obvious that saints are not always holy, they are not always perfect. But too often, their imperfection and failures are attributed to their life before their conversion, as if somehow, upon conversion, they just ‘got it’ and all activity thereafter was appropriately ‘spiritual.’ I hear this all the time in our church, and few things make me feel more sickeningly hopeless. Why? Because I simply cannot relate to someone who is so perfect, and I cannot imagine that they might even remotely understand my own struggles as a person of faith (”Ah, but what of Jesus?” you ask. Another post, another time. Maybe.). I am confident of the presence of God in my life. I am confident that I am growing, changing, becoming a better lover of God and neighbor. But I am hardly doing so at speed. My life is full of fits and starts, of slips and stubborn resistance. Perfect stories of perfect saints perfectly responding to a perfect God make me cringe, and then roll my eyes. Perhaps I am just not pious enough, but let’s be honest, what in the world does such a person have to do with me?

I am not being falsely humble here. There are things that I do well, and ways that I see real growth in faith on my part, real change. I really do see the fruits of the Spirit in my life and through my relationships. But I also see bad fruit. Luscious berries and rotten apples seem to coexist in my life, my actions, and my words, sometimes in the same sentence (there is nothing like children and impatience to highlight the discrepancy). Think raspberry shake with poorly fermented apple juice.

And yet the truth is that not every decision arrived at, statement made, or action taken by a saint exemplifies faith, hope, love, kindness, compassion, mercy, discernment, or wisdom. Saints fail. Sometimes, they fail terribly (Women in Theology has a very interesting recent post entitled “When Saints do Evil”). The disciples absented themselves during Jesus’ trial, and Peter rather famously denied any association with his friend and teacher three times. While John recognized the empty tomb for what it was, Peter did not. Mary Magdalene, the first preacher of the resurrection, wept at the empty tomb until (I hope gently) scolded by the angel: “Why do you weep? The one you are seeking is among the living.” The Gospel of Mark is all about the fear and lack of faith exemplified by the disciples, a story which presses the hearers of the story (that is, us) to rise to the same challenge the disciples failed to rise to so often: have faith, do not be afraid.

Why is it important to remember that the saints failed, repeatedly? First, because holiness is often quite sporadic. I suspect the disciples or apostles did not regard their own actions as all that great. Remember, Peter wept at his behavior. Saints portray for us failure as much as success, and we need to be gentle to ourselves in our struggles. Becoming bearers of fruit takes a long time and much pruning. There is no shame in this. According to an Orthodox interpretation of Paradise, humankind was created imperfect, immature, and life as growth into holiness was always God’s intent. We just grabbed at the fruit of maturity and discernment a bit too soon.

Secondly, the struggle of the saints reminds us that holiness is not just sporadic, it is often quite mundane. It is a daily event, a daily struggle, and its presence is often quite difficult to see, a “hidden holiness” according to Fr. Michael Plekon:1

Holiness is of God, a gift of God, given to all his children. Holiness transcends not only the historically specific categories created for it—apostles, prophets, spiritual mothers and fathers, teachers, martyrs. Holiness, or holy people are found everywhere, as a poem says. And as [Paul] Evdokimov notes, in our time, since holiness would be more ordinary, everyday, part of the fabric of our lives, it would be less noticeable—hidden—yet none the less significant. We must honor the forms and ways of holiness God has given us in our time and place.2

The Forms and Ways

Fr. Michael’s last sentence points to the importance of the second observation of today’s sermon, that God reveals Godself “according to the needs of each” (to borrow a bit from a litany of the liturgy). Holiness is a gift of God, it is a shared work between God in the world, and our work with God, synergia. But this work is different for different people. We are not the same. We are each unique and irreducible creations of a God who cannot be fully contained in any one person (no, not even Jesus though all of whom he was was fully God and fully human). As unique persons, we have unique needs, different learning patterns. What persuades one person fails to persuade another, a difference that cannot be reduced to the greater reasoning of one person over another. God recognizes this and engages with us appropriately. Sometimes, God is a still small voice, sometimes a pillar of flame. At other times, God must cook us dinner on a beach and gently remind us that despite our painful and humiliating denial, we really do love God, and God’s people. And sometimes, God knows that we must touch. Thomas was not bad. The Resurrection was extraordinary, outrageous, beyond reason, completely ridiculous and unfeasible. Thomas simply wanted to know that his friend and teacher really was alive. And he wanted to know in the way that he needed to know, by touching. And so Jesus accommodated his need without condemnation or shame.

The persistent presence of failure, doubt, and questioning on the part of God’s people is not primarily about people, but about God. The point is not our failure, the point is God’s response. Because I think that making text bold, italic, and surrounding it with flashing and blinking lights is just tacky, let me type that again. The point is God’s response (okay, maybe it is just the blinking part that is really gauche). It is God who is faithful to us. It is God who sees us for who we are. It is God who responds as we need. It is not a matter of whether we are getting it right, but how and where God is working in our lives, through the most mundane of things, situations, people, and relationships.

Postscript

As I am wont to do, I came home and chattered quite excitedly about today’s sermon. After (far more briefly) summarizing the points above, the 14-year old dweller of my home asked the following: Why is it then that they all say that I am going to hell because I don’t believe, when the apostles didn’t believe until they saw him, and I haven’t touched Jesus?

Blinking for a moment, registering both the (perhaps hypothetical) “I don’t believe” and the remarkable insight of an otherwise morose teenage boy, I responded: “Well, I am not sure who ‘they’ are, but I don’t think Jesus necessarily says that quite so adamantly. Besides, there is a quiet strand of thought in Orthodoxy, a strand gaining considerable volume in recent years, that says that all of us, in this life or the eternal one, will see God. And, once confronted with the love, joy, kindness and peace that is the creator of all, how can any of us, even the most reprobate, respond with anything other than love and delight?”

I mention this not to bring up the possibility of universal salvation (though I might do so in another post), nor to point out to Ross Douthat that not all Christians need hell in quite the way he does, but because the question highlights an underlying problem of Christian certainty: we are so certain that belief comes through the forms and practices we have established, or that are persuasive to us, that when confronted with unbelief, we condemn it. Wouldn’t it be better to at least consider that like the God who meets each of us according to our need, perhaps we too should simply seek to meet the needs of those around us and curb our judgment?

1. Plekon, Michael. Hidden Holiness. Notre Dame, Ind: University of Notre Dame Press, 2009. I cannot recommend this book enough, I thoroughly enjoyed Living Icons, and I eagerly await Saints as they Really Are.
2. This text is from Fr. Michael’s summary of his plenary presentation at the 2010 Pilgrimage Day of the Communities of New Skete. See their newsletter, p. 9.

From woman also came the best

Wed, 20 Apr 2011 16:00:00 +0000

St. Kassiani

Modern Icon, Wikimedia Commons

Every year on Tuesday evening of Holy Week the “Hymn of Kassiani” is sung. The text references the reading for Holy Wednesday morning, the story of a woman who anoints Jesus’ feet with costly ointment, foreshadowing his imminent preparation for burial (Matthew 26:6-16). The hymn is written by a woman, it is about a woman, and it is traditionally sung by women. As a woman, I have joined with other women to sing it many times. Every year, I meet this moment with mixed emotions. As with many iconic and hymnic references to women, this undeniably beautiful piece highlights the redemption of a particularly sinful woman whose sin is, of course, related to sex. I say “of course” since if one was to attend carefully to the various references to women in our theological literature, sexual sin seems to be the particular purview of women. A friend of mine (not Orthodox), with whom I had discussed the ever-bizarre world of “what does one do or not do with one’s significant other while dating,” commented after coming to hear me sing the hymn: “No wonder you have all this angst about dating when every reference to a woman is paired with ‘sin’ and ‘sex.’” The fairness of her comment about my angst aside, the frequency of this pairing is quite disturbing.

Which is why I was so delighted at the way our priest chose to frame the hymn last night. You see, St. Kassiani (Sep 7), the woman to whom authorship of this (and many other hymns) is attributed, was not even remotely angst-filled. Rather, she was bold, cheeky, and quite willing to take on authority.

Invited by the mother-in-law of Theophilus the Iconoclast to a “bride show,” only the beautiful and intelligent Kassiani and the beautiful Theodora remained from among the original field of eligible young women. Theophilus was to make the final choice by handing a golden apple to his intended bride. Apparently, Theophilus valued beauty, but not necessarily intelligence. Standing before Kassiani, Theophilus stated: “Εκ γυναικός ερρύη τα χείρω” (“From woman came the worst in the world”), a reference to Eve and her introduction of sin into Paradise. Kassiane calmly replied: “αλλ’ ως εκ γυναικός πηγάζει τα κρείττω” (“From woman also came the best”), referring to the Virgin Mary who bore the Son of God. As our priest summarized, “the issue was settled then and there, and Theodora got the golden apple and became the Empress.”

Kassiani went on to reject marriage entirely, start a monastery, and write hymns for which she is one of the few (only?) women credited by name. Our priest noted that she did this despite not being “taken to0 seriously at first because of male domination in this field.” Kassiani was also known as an outspoken opponent of iconoclasm, putting her life at risk under an iconoclastic former-suitor (if you could call him that).

To be fair, the woman who won the golden apple was hardly a shrinking violet. Despite her husband’s adamant opposition to and destruction of icons, upon his death it became clear that St. Theodora disagreed with him. She had maintained her own veneration throughout her marriage, raised her children to do so (apparently right under his nose), lied when almost caught (“I was playing with dolls” - yes, saints lie), and upon his death issued the Proclamation of 843 which restored the veneration of icons.

A Sad Divide

Thu, 07 Apr 2011 16:00:00 +0000

I just returned from an interesting lecture, provocatively entitled “Was FDR the Antichrist? The Birth of Fundamentalist Anti-liberalism in a Global Age.” Dr. Matt Sutton presented a fascinating portrait of American Christian conservatism and its growing anti-state sentiments. The crux of his argument was that the dual contexts of a growing global move towards totalitarian governments (think Hitler, Stalin and Mussolini) and an apocalyptical theological orientation (specifically, pre-millenialism) coalesce in an anti-state ideology which saw FDR and the birth of the American liberal state as a precursor to the rule of the antichrist. According to Sutton, the primary criteria (as he will argue in a forthcoming book) of Christian fundamentalism is a preoccupation with the Apocalypse.

I was intrigued by the (too) briefly mentioned “signs of the times” for conservatives that this world was approaching its end: the growing social role of women and racial minorities, the hot button social issues of the day (remember, woman’s suffrage was in its infancy, women were just moving into the workplace, and the civil rights movement was only just beginning to foment among black artists). During the Q&A, I asked Sutton to elaborate on his thesis that fundamentalism is characterized by apocalyptic concerns in light of the growing perception that the Christian liberal/conservative split is the result of divisive social issues. He noted, I think very astutely, that an apocalyptic tendency requires a theological belief that this world is disintegrating, and that its moral and social values are signs of inevitable human failure leading to the coming of the Antichrist.

So my question: Why is it that the greater participation of women (and racial minorities) is seen by some as an affirmation of the end of faith? A sign of life to me is a sign of death to them. How can this be?

My question is all the more painful to me given a speech to which I was recently pointed, Metropolitan Hilarion’s address to the Nicean Club Dinner at Lambath Palace. Hilarion opens by reminding his Anglican audience of their shared Nicean faith, of the unique ecumenical openness reflected in a history of shared conversation. The Anglican-Orthodox dialogue, once so fruitful, is now threatened, and “is doomed to closure if the unrestrained liberalization of Christian values continues in many communities of the Anglican world.” Here it is, the liberal/conservative split. And the first salvo fired at this up-until-then productive dialogue? The ordination of women to the priesthood and their subsequent inclusion into the episcopacy. Hilarion states “I can say with certainty that the introduction of the female episcopate excludes even a theoretical possibility for the Orthodox to recognize the apostolic continuity of the Anglican hierarchy.”

Really? Why is that? Take for instance, the very group Hilarion was addressing, the Nicean Club. I assume that its members espouse the Nicene faith as an essential marker of “apostolic continuity.” This is, after all, the origins of “apostolic succession,” that is, the ordination of men (yes, men) who held to apostolic teaching which the Church has summarized in this rather famous statement of faith. Yet this statement says nothing, absolutely nothing, about men and women, the priesthood, or even the episcopacy. Rather, it clarifies the bounds of faith to which all the men and women of the church commit themselves, regardless of their role in the church.

Hilarion of course continues with what is becoming the typical train of thought: women priests lead to women bishops leads to gay bishops and lesbian heads-of-church. Putting aside this debate (sorry, for another day, year, or decade), the initial break starts when women are welcomed into ministerial service. For Hilarion, this indicates a loss of salt and light, and these churches can only “be thrown out and trampled by men (Mt. 5:13).”

Again I ask, how can this be? How can what I see as a beautiful sign of the work of God in the Church, a vision I share with others such as Élisabeth Behr-Sigel and Metropolitan Anthony Bloom, be viewed as bland darkness by people who share my faith? For me, the growing recognition of the capabilities of women to uniquely serve as leaders and teachers in the Church enriches my faith in a God who created women fully in the divine image. A church which fails to recognize the full presence of God in and through the work of women is a church that fails to see God in them. It seems to me an astonishing lack of faith, not a sign of faith.

Again, how can this be? How is this man speaking as my brother in Christ?

It simply makes me sad.

Kiss of Peace, Part 2

Fri, 04 Feb 2011 16:00:00 +0000

In my previous post, I briefly noted the history of the Kiss of Peace, its often disruptive quality when misunderstood and poorly practiced, and the importance of teaching us to practice the Kiss of Peace a respectful manner. Here, I would like to address my concerns regarding the reasoning offered by two advocates of ending the practice, a currently practicing priest and an active Metropolitan. Please note that I do not know the context in which these reasons were offered, they were brought to my attention in isolation of any other comments.

The priest writes, “we can still witness this act being done when more than one Priest is celebrating the Divine Liturgy. The Church, however, ceased having the faithful express this act since it became disruptive. In addition, there were some who began to abuse this act with inappropriate behavior. In recent times, some parishes have tried to “reinstitute” this act by having the people shake hands. This is not the same practice that had originally been taught in the Church and is a recent innovation that is inappropriate!”

The Metropolitan instructs that “the kiss of peace is a practice that is reserved for the clergy concelebrating at the Holy Altar, and indicates the brotherly love that we should have for one another in the priesthood in Christ. Although at one tie in the early Church it was done by both the laity and clergy, it fell out of practice because of abuse. If practiced today, it not only usurps a rubric currently reserved for the clergy, but when I have seen it done it is highly disruptive, causing people to think they can greet each other socially as they do at the fellowship hour. It also interrupts the solemnity f the Liturgy of the Faithful, which flows in an uninterrupted and dignified manner. Social activities belong in a social hour; at the Divine Liturgy we are called to a much more reverent and attentive behavior. At the very most, in parishes where this has been previously practiced, the faithful could simply say to those next to them, ‘Christ is in our midst,’ in a low and reverent manner.”

It is notable that neither clergyman mentions the liturgical or spiritual benefit which was seen as important for almost a thousand years of liturgical practice. Rather, they emphasize the disruptive nature of the practice and its abusive misuse. I have practiced the Kiss of Peace for most of my life. I have never witnessed it being abusive, and I have rarely experienced it as disruptive. I do not deny that it has been abusive, even if I have not experienced it as such. The question is, however, whether stopping the practice (or refusing to reinstitute it) is the appropriate response to abuse or disruption? If the act had no value, if it has nothing to teach us about our Christian lives, then asking people to stop is entirely reasonable.

But what if it does have value? There is a reason that the practice lasted for as long as it did among both clergy and laity, and a reason that it has never completely died out. And there is a reason for the frequent calls by theologians and clergy that the practiced be re-instituted as widely as possible. The quotes above make no mention of these reasons, instead choosing to focus on only the negative elements.

What I find disturbing is that both men appear to take the easy way out. When confronted with a practice which has lost its meaning and appropriate expression, rather than offer instruction, they simply forbid it. Telling people to stop is easy. Appealing to ‘tradition,’ though in this case, a more recent tradition than its original, fully-shared practice, is easy. It is much harder to say to people, “how you are doing it is a problem, we need to relearn this practice,” and then walk with them over time through the process of creating ‘new,’ worshipful habits.

This unwillingness to challenge and teach often masks a poor view of the people of God. Are we not able to learn? Are we not able to hear that we are doing something disruptive and there is a better way to do it? I am often struck when I teach at the eagerness with which people want to learn, be challenged, grow and change. If we do not expect that people can learn and be challenged, then they will meet our expectations and refuse to learn. But if we expect that they can learn and grow, more often than not, they do. It may be slow and halting, but they grow.

This view of the laity as somehow lesser also seems to be reflected in the implication that witnessing the Kiss of Peace exchanged between concelebrating clergy alone is sufficient. This portrays the laity not as participants, but merely witnesses to the sacred acts of the clergy. This is a very common attitude among Orthodox, an attitude which is encouraged by portraying lay participation as a sort of ‘usurping’ of clergy privileges. Many of these ‘privileges’ were shared among clergy and laity for hundreds of years. What is lost in this view is the reality of our common baptism, our common call to be priests, royalty and prophets, and the importance of the liturgy in forming us as persons who love God and neighbor. Met. Kallistos Ware, speaking at the 2008 Metropolis of San Francisco Clergy-Laity conference, emphasized the importance of restoring a number of ancient practices, among them the shared Kiss of Peace, precisely because these practices are a liturgical help in becoming persons who are in the likeness of God. We do not learn by watching, we learn by doing (http://www.sf.goarch.org/news/articles/2008-03-05-San_Francisco_Clergy_…).

The Metropolitan is right, the liturgy is a place of reverence, and social niceties belong at the coffee hour. The priest is also right, ‘reinstituting’ the kiss of peace in the form of shaking hands is indeed a recent, and inappropriate, innovation. Yet by characterizing the Kiss of Peace as only disruptive, they lose the opportunity to teach it as a reverent act of witnessing to the Peace of Christ which is given to each and every one of us, and to which we are also called to live out in our daily lives.

I have engaged in the Kiss of Peace my whole life. At times, it has been disruptive. My response in those moments is to simply offer the kiss as I was taught as a child, and return to the prayers while allowing those around me to finish their greetings. Over my many years, I have heard many reminders of how to better engage in the practice. I have never been told that it should cease. The few liturgies I have attended in which the Kiss was not exchanged always leave me with a sense of loss. A lost opportunity to acknowledge the presence of Christ in our midst (whether we feel it or not), a lost reminder of the peace to which we are called. I welcome the disruption if it means the opportunity to engage in this ancient practice.

Kiss of Peace, Part 1

Sun, 23 Jan 2011 16:00:00 +0000

I have had recent opportunity to consider the practice of the Kiss of Peace during the liturgy. Apparently it is seen as disruptive by some members of the Orthodox Church. I am offering (at least) two reflections, the first on its practice, the second on concerning elements which seem to underly the reasons offered to no longer allow or encourage the exchange of the Kiss by the laity as well as clergy. The Kiss of Peace is a longstanding tradition that has important meaning for our Christian practice. I offer these reflections in the hope that both laity and clergy take the opportunity to learn both the significance of the action as well as how to do it with a dignity appropriate to its meaning.

As a traditional practice, both Paul and Peter tell us to greet one another with a holy kiss (Rom 16:16, 1 Peter 5:14). As a confirmation of baptism, the Apostolic Tradition (2nd century) says that once baptism is complete, the faithful and newly baptized exchange a kiss (22.6), and in the Apostolic Constitutions, the deacon exhorts the congregation to exchange the kiss as a part of the prayer of the faithful (VIII.11). This exhortation remains in our oldest liturgical tradition, the Liturgy of St. James. Justin Martyr places the Kiss of Peace as a part of the eucharistic celebration (Apology, 65), and Cyril of Jerusalem mentions it before the eucharistic prayer, where we know John Chrysostom celebrated it as well.

The Council of Laodicea codifies that the kiss is to be exchanged among clergy, and then among the laity. We don’t know when the practice of exchanging the kiss among concelebrating clergy only began, but it was likely after the 9th c. As with virtually all of our liturgical practices, there are periods when they were and were not done. Often, what is “traditional” simply depends on which period of history one is referring to.

More compelling to its continuation than its traditional practice is why we exchange the Kiss of Peace. As I was recently reminded in a sermon, we are called to become like God not in God’s essence, but in God’s actions. Turning to one another, reaching out, kissing one another’s cheeks while exchanging the traditional greeting “Christ is in our midst!” and “He is and ever shall be!” is an act which testifies that through the eucharist we are about to receive, Christ is each and every one of us. Christ does not live only in the Eucharist, nor in the communion which exists between the clergy. In baptism, we have all put on Christ (Gal 3:26-28). Christ stands in our friends, the family member that irritates us, and the complete stranger next to us. In the liturgy, ‘friend, ‘irritating family’ and ‘stranger’ are overshadowed by the love of Christ we are called to bear for one another. The communion which is entered into (in part) via the Eucharist is the communion which exists in our loving actions towards one another. The Kiss symbolizes this and it allows all of us to act in the liturgy the way we are to act in the world, as people who offer peace to one another. The Kiss of Peace is an expression of forgiveness, reconciliation and unity. It is how we are to act “for the life of the world.”

I entirely agree that the Kiss of Peace can be disruptive. It is not a time to say hello or chit-chat. It is a time to look one another in the eye, declare the presence of Christ, and seal this with a kiss. We all need to be reminded of the riches of our liturgical tradition, the meaning of the phrases and actions that we too often do by rote, completely forgetting their meaning. For those concerned about its disruptive aspects, please take the disruptions as an opportunity to teach the faithful how to practice this act of love towards one another in a dignified and respectful manner.

The Presentation

Sun, 21 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Presentation of the Theotokos

Wikimedia Commons

Today, we were invited to bring our children to the church of God, presenting them much like Joachim and Anna presented the girl Mary. In her delight at being dedicated to God, Mary ran up the steps of the temple. Tradition says she danced on the steps before God. There she was welcomed by her relative, the levite Zacharias who took her into the holy of holies, that sacred space into which the high priest entered only once a year. A young girl stood in the place where God, according to Jewish practice, stood.

Today, I read yet again the announcment inviting young men, ages 10 thru college, to serve in the altar during liturgy. Girls are not mentioned.

Today, I watched as a woman, who during communion is unable to leave her duties, quietly stand before the altar after the service. She was waiting to receive the eucharist. Through no malicious intent, she went unnoticed. Perhaps the man who usually brought out to her the gifts forgot, was distracted, or absent. The iconstasis, which in the romanticized theology of Florovsky is the vision of the gathered church joining those within the altar to those without, today was a barrier. Today, a faithful woman stood unseen outside the closed doors of this sacred space. In the end, she quietly slipped away, unwilling to disturb the clergy within.

Any number of understandable explanations exist for what happened. The problem is not simply that it happened, whatever the reason. The problem is that such a thing is reasonable at all. That we can offer and accept reasonable explanations calls into question the very premises of our reasoning. Why would any dedicated servant of the church hesitate to knock on an altar door, or poke her head in so that she could get someone's attention? The little boy who apparently forgot his coat did not hesitate to enter the altar to retrieve it. What ethos have we created that makes these two disparate situations seem so normal? That allows them to even be permissible? Why do we normalize the abnormal?

Today, Mary is welcome to dance up the altar steps, but her sisters are not. Tell me my loving Fathers, bishops, priests, servants of the Church. When will you have the eyes and arms of Zacharias? When will you see your daughters, sisters, wives and mothers? When will you allow them to dance the liturgy next to you?

The 'Monopoly of Darwinisn': an open letter to Met. Hilarion Alfeyev

Mon, 14 Jun 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Editorial note: It seems that the Reuters interview either exaggerated or outright mischaracterized Met. Hilarion's original address, in Russian. It appears that his comments are directed towards "militant secularism", an ideology at whose hands many religious practitioners in Russia have suffered extensively. Hopefully, clarification on his actual views regarding evolution will be offered at some point. It is certain that there are Orthodox in both Russia and the U.S. who are concerned with evolution and take the tact identified in the Reuters article, so my post will remain.

Dear Metropolitan Hilarion,

I write as a North American Orthodox, a lifelong member of the Orthodox Church, an Orthodox theologian and ethicist, and the daughter of two educated scientists, a physician and a geologist. I am acutely aware of the confusion and conflict generated as a result of misunderstandings regarding science, the teachings of Darwin, and the gospel of Jesus Christ. Here, in the U.S., some Protestant Christians are fighting tooth and nail for precisely what you are asking: the demotion (or even removal) of Darwin and the theory of evolution from the classroom, and the inclusion of various other theories, usually Creationism or its new incarnation, Intelligent Design. While these Christians are fighting a battle they believe to be in accord with their faith and their interpretation of Scripture, their views are not compatible with Orthodoxy.

I will leave it to Orthodox scientists to carefully discuss the merits of various scientific theories and whether creationism or intelligent design are viable given scientific data. As a theologian and teacher however, I am deeply concerned that the framework you offer, one in which evolution is inherently incompatible with Christianity, forces our intelligent faithful into a false choice between science and their faith. Science describes how the world works, the mechanism of its diversity, its change, its growth, and yes, even its evolution. The more I read biological theories of the human person, of our genetic structure and our brain development (areas of interest and curiosity), the more awed I am at a Creator who brought into existence from nothing a world full of beauty, complexity, pattern and rhythm, chaos and order. In other words, scientific knowledge adds to my faith. It does not detract from it.

The reason for this is, in part, that I am Orthodox. Orthodoxy does not posit knowledge of God against knowledge of the world. Rather, Orthodoxy allows me to see the world as a location of God’s awesome creativity and mystery. Through the world (informed by Orthodox theology), I see a God who created so that all humanity (indeed, all creation!) might be in communion with God. This same God became Incarnate, bringing all matter (molecules, atoms, protons, neutrons, the waves and particles that is light!) to fullness and communion in God through Christ, by the Spirit. The book of Genesis remains among my favorite books to read. Unlike certain types of Protestantism, the Orthodox tradition does not teach me to read the creation stories as literal history standing in contradiction to geology, biology, or astrophysics. Instead, the Church teaches me to see in the text a God who participates in creation, who brings it abundant life, and calls humanity to protect and care for creation by participating in its flourishing.

This point of biblical literalism is extremely important. Orthodoxy is not, and has never been, a literalist tradition. Our theologians approach scripture as allegory, analogy, typology, as story and narrative, poetry and prose. Our interpretation of scripture allows room for knowledge gleaned from science, philosophy, sociology and psychology. This does not mean that any of these disciplines override our firm belief as Orthodox that scripture reveals to us the living God who continues to work in and through the world. But our balanced approach allows us to understand that knowledge of God and God’s creation is not limited to a single, literal interpretation of scripture. Unfortunately, this is precisely the approach taken by defenders of creationism or Intelligent Design, that scripture must be literally true in its historical details. This erroneous understanding of the complex texts in the bible, an understanding with little knowledge of scripture’s context, results in a false choice: faith OR science. If we Orthodox suddenly decide that knowledge of God’s world cannot include science, then we put our children in an untenable position where they must choose between knowledge of the world God created and the study of its magnificence, and an interpretation which denies the witness of their God-given senses, their God-given mind, in the name of a narrow, literal interpretation of scripture.

Having said this, there are certainly theories posited by scientists which are incompatible with Orthodoxy. However, they are usually theories which also stretch beyond the bounds of good science. Just as biblical literalists force scripture to say more than it actually says about creation, so do some scientists say more about God than actual science allows. Any use of science by communists to "disprove" God must be addressed as a distortion of scientific research. Such criticisms are leveled against U.S. scientists who seem to think that science proves atheism (Dawkins [a brit], Harris, Dennet, etc.). We are privileged in the U.S. to have scientists such as Gayle Woloschak whose research is well respected among biologists, and whose Orthodox faith carefully informs the limits of her scientific claims. These are the people we should be listening too, not biblical literalists whose view of scripture and God’s work in creation is generally incompatible with Orthodoxy. And as any Orthodox scientist freely admits, we have a great deal of work to do in order to balance our faith with the findings of science. But we should not be afraid of this work, hiding in comfortable biblical interpretations which blind us to the our ever-expanding knowledge of God’s creativity. We must be unafraid to enter into the world God has made, to seek to understand and rejoice in God’s creation.

Orthodoxy does not ask us to put our brains, or our curiosity and delight in the world on a shelf, to hide our gifts under a bushel. Please do not ask Orthodox to make a choice between Darwin and the Gospel, between science and faith. It is a false choice.

Your sister in Christ,

Maria Gwyn McDowell
Orthodox Theologian and Ethicist

Response to Linsley on 'Why Women Were Never Priests'

Tue, 11 May 2010 16:00:00 +0000

John Sanidopoulos, whose posts on tidbits of Orthodox tradition and the Saints I enjoy reading, re-posted an article by Alice Linsley today. Linsley is a former Episcopalian priest who left the priesthood and eventually joined the Orthodox Church. She appears to be a sort of living proof-text used by some Orthodox assure us that women are not called to the priesthood (except, as she says in one explanation of both her call and eventual departure, when men fail to serve. Only then does God call women to serve in this capacity.) Since my response was a bit longer than most comments warrant, I decided to post it here.

The Mystagogy post is here, and the original post at Preachers Institute is here.

Linsley's argument rests entirely on a particular anthropological reading of priesthood and blood purity that was certainly prevalent in some of the cultures mentioned by the author. However, her generalizations regarding all religions and the functions of female priests are certainly dubious, as is the assumption that Christian priesthood is simply a continuation of semitic priesthood. More importantly for the Orthodox Christian, this does not reflect an Orthodox understanding of priesthood (Chrysostom, who she quotes, says nothing about blood purity in his priestly office!) - and has virtually no bearing on the historical reasons (at least those given in the Fathers) for the exclusion of women from the office.

Priesthood within Orthodoxy has changed quite dramatically over the years. All Christian priestly offices have changed over time - Orthodox scholars such as Afanasiev, Schmemann, Meyendorff, Erickson, Bulgakov and Zizioulas all acknowledge changing conceptions of the ordained offices. It is one thing to argue that God initiates something. It is entirely another to argue that God initiates it in a full and final form.

Purity, holiness and blood are indeed ancient semitic concepts. Whether their source is immutable revelation or religious and culturally developed taboos is open to interpretation. What we can say as Orthodox Christians is that this is not primarily how we understand purity and holiness. Blood guilt is simply not how we talk about ancestral sin in Orthodoxy.

Holiness for Orthodox is the result of cooperative participation with God as we are transformed into the likeness of God through Christ in the Spirit. This is deification, becoming fully human in likeness of the One fully human image of God, Christ. The Eucharistic sacrifice, presided over by a member of the community, is no longer a literal blood sacrifice. It is the transformed body of the risen Christ, a vehicle of our Salvation. The Orthodox priesthood is NOT a ritualized (male) killing of a sacrificial lamb. It is, in part, a thanksgiving that such a sacrifice is no longer required as the death and resurrection of Jesus ends such a sacrificial system.

Further, the presence of female deacons in the altar, who received the eucharist with the rest of the clergy as was their prerogative as specially privileged and responsible leaders within the community, belies any notion that Orthodoxy has maintained throughout its history semitic notions of blood purity. Certainly the female diaconate fell out of practice, and Theodore Balsamon asserts that it is ‘obviously’ due to menstrual emissions. However, this was not ‘obvious’ to Christians for over a thousand years, and continues to be quite obscure for many today.

More importantly, and I think completely at odds with an Orthodox understanding of salvation as deification, is this: What excludes a woman from imaging Christ? Christ, the true high priest, became human that we might become divine, assumed our humanity so that it might be healed. What then prevents any (appropriately skilled and called) human from serving as a priest? Unless of course, we want to argue that Christ did not assume female humanity, in which case, females are not saved. Gregory says to Cledonius, “What is not assumed is not healed.” We give up this core understanding of Christology and salvation every time we imply (much less declare outright!) that women cannot bear the image of Christ.

Finally, the implication that female priests results in the belief that “Abortion is a blessing” is simply a non-sequitur, a empty rhetorical flourish convincing only to those who are seek to argue by demonization, not theology. Some priests, male as well as female may hold this horrible belief, but there is no causal connection.

I trust that Ms. Linsley had good personal reasons for leaving her priesthood. Her letters explaining her decisions emphasize her position as at odds with a number of decisions made in the Episcopal Church, and these reasons are worthy of respectful consideration. However, her choice to leave her priesthood does not exclude all women from a call to the priesthood, any more than the call issued to some men means all men are called. The theological reasons she gives appear to be developed in order to explain the restriction of priesthood to men, but in so doing, it does not reflect an Orthodox theology of priesthood, much less reasons to exclude women. It is unfortunate that the Preacher’s Institute thinks this is viable sermon resource, regardless of what one thinks about women in the priesthood.

Guest

Mon, 17 May, 2010 - 12:21

"More importantly, and I think completely at odds with an Orthodox understanding of salvation as deification, is this: What excludes a woman from imaging Christ? Christ, the true high priest, became human that we might become divine, assumed our humanity so that it might be healed."

When I ask people why they do not support women priests they will often admit that Christ did take on the fullness of humanity, and that women can image Christ.

But then they pull this confusing notions about how Christ gave men and women different ROLES. Something I never really could figure out.

Alice C. Linsley

Mon, 04 Oct, 2010 - 10:37

The key to understanding why women are not called to the priesthood is the mystery of the binary distinctions universally observed in nature. As St. Paul tells us in Romans these tesitfy to God's divine nature and eternal power.

We may want women to be priests. We may think that it is justified by modern thinking. We may argue that women are perfectly capable of serving in this office. None of these are the point, however.

Guest

Fri, 03 Dec, 2010 - 21:04

Now, I am certainly not one to say that people cannot change their minds and hearts, but the real question for me here is not "Why women were never priests" but why Linsley was ever a priest in the first place, if she truly did have such reservations about women's ordination from the beginning. Her account shows a curious lack of agency - those older Episcopal male priests tried to convince her theologically and pastorally that women could be ordained! They (and the lack of good men) dragged her to the priesthood by force! It seems an incomplete picture of vocation.

Alice C. Linsley

Sat, 09 Apr, 2011 - 16:35

Thanks for engaging this question. I'd like to respond to a few inaccuracies concerning my anthropological research on the origins of the priesthood.

I never stated that the research pertains to any and all religion. I'm concerned only with the religion of Abraham's Horite people. The Horites were not Semites, but Nilotic. The concern with blood and the binary distinctions is found long before we can identify people as Jews or even Semites.

Christ didn't assume a female form. He took on flesh from his mother ("The Woman" of Gen. 3:15), but he came as a man and that was what the Horites expected. The Seed of the Woman was expected to be a Man.

mariagwyn

Mon, 11 Apr, 2011 - 13:43

Alice, I hardly claim to be an expert on the distinctions between Horites, Semites or Nilotics. Nor the prevalence of blood distinctions among ancient people groups. My concern is that these distinctions, likely accurate ways of understanding the religious practices of these ancient groups, are rarely cited as significant elements in shaping the Orthodox priesthood, whether it is populated by men or women. The arguments against women's participation rarely cite blood impurity, in part because many Orthodox do not see the menstruation as a defilement of any kind. This is a long debate in Orthodox history, one in which even Chrysostom, who had some unfortunate characterizations of women and their (in)abilities, is clear on: menstruation does not affect either their faith or ability to participate in the sacraments. His opinion is hardly universal as it is still common for women, especially Russian, to refrain from communicating during menstruation. However, this is not a universal practice and has been explicitly rejected by some patriarchates (such as the Antiochian Patriarchate).

I am more concerned with the assumption that sexual binarism (itself debatable in both nature and theology) seen in Christ becoming male (no argument from me here) implies somehow that women cannot become Christ. Twentieth-century arguments regarding female priests have revolvled around precisely this issue, can a woman image Christ? As theologians such as Behr-Sigel, Harrison, Karras, Ware, Bloom have observed, the ancient church makes very little of the maleness of Christ. They understand that to do so is to threaten the salvation of women. Theosis requires that Christ took on our full humanity. If he did not do so, according to Gregory the Theologian, we (any human person) cannot become like God. To declare that Jesus' maleness trumps the full humanity he took on is to declare that only males can become like God. This has implications far beyond the priesthood.

If we are to remain faithful to the fullness of the Incarnation, we must seek to understand how it is that male and female are both in the image of God who is Christ. We cannot then, argue that salvation based on the Incarnation of God as fully human includes women, but that the priesthood, presumabely based on this same Incarnation, excludes women.

Macrina Walker

Sun, 08 May, 2011 - 07:37

I just chanced upon this after having come across some other things by Alice Linsley this past week. I have my own issues with feminism and depending on the day am either agnostic or against the ordination of women (as priests or bishops, that is, the diaconate is clearly different) even though I am profoundly uncomfortable with some of the reasons given for not ordaining them. But reading Linsley's stuff has made me feel that there is something really odd going on, that she is preoccupied with categories that are at best marginal and at worst highly problematic in relation to the Tradition.

Forgive me if this sounds racist, but I have found myself wondering in recent months to what extent such reactions to feminism are not a particularly American phenomenon, or, perhaps rather, if it has to do with where Orthodoxy is located in terms of broader cultural shifts? I've come across things that seem to want to identify Orthodoxy with a macho maleness that strike me as not only repulsive but also just rather odd and make me suspect that there must be deep cultural things going on that make people react in such a way.

mariagwyn

Tue, 10 May, 2011 - 22:36

Macrina, Can you clarify what aspects of Linsley's reaction you find marginal/problematic in relation to the Tradition? And are these the aspects you see as a "particularly American phenomenon"? I am intrigued by the observation, not offended. I also have read a number of articles which associate Orthodoxy with macho maleness, a decidedly odd, and yes, I think, American reaction. I would like to hear more about what you think.

Leftmost

Wed, 11 May, 2011 - 16:30

Yeah, I've heard that too actually, the association between Orthodoxy and male macho-ness. There was an article on an Orthodox website that was trying to explain why Orthodoxy is so popular amongst men in the military. It was explaining how the Orthodox Church was sort of like the Marines of the Christian world.

I wasn't entirely certain if the metaphor fit. Besides, I didn't know the Churches primary function was to make me feel more like a real man.

Personally the only thing I think of whenever I think of what characterizes male macho-ness it's lack of communication and snap decision making.

mariagwyn

Thu, 12 May, 2011 - 08:09

A link? I have read something by Frederica Matthews-Green on the subject (I think), but I am curious about the marine analogy. I don't necessarily mind that the analogy is made. It may genuinely describe the experience of some Orthodox. What is problematic about any metaphor is when it excludes other metaphors. By doing so, we are claiming that there is only one way to experience our faith. This is not true now, and has never been true. Orthodoxy piles metaphor upon metaphor, allowing for a full range of faith, descriptions of God, etc. So if someone thinks Orthodoxy marshalls them to fight against whatever, and others find that Orthodoxy bathes them in sweet-smelling silence, well, it is likely true. But we need to allow the metaphors to live together.

Byzantine Jewess

Sun, 31 Jul, 2011 - 09:51

I am frankly baffled by what the Horites have to do with Holy Tradition...

From my forays into reading church law and the like, it seems part of the problem is that the Church has never worked out, whether systematically or even genuinely theologically, how to understand notions of ritual purity - especially regarding that classic trifecta of blood, sex, and women which are often lumped together. Often it seems the Church has been talking out of both sides of its mouth, to speak bluntly, on one hand upholding certain purity laws that reinforce the gender status quo and on the other condemning those who fall into "Judaizing" with their attachment to the "wrong" kind of purity laws.

Alice C. Linsley

Mon, 14 Nov, 2011 - 10:15

When I was ordained a priest in 1988 I didn't see that Holy Tradition doesn't permit this. I hardly understood what "Holy Tradition" is because the Episcopal Church has pretty much jetisoned Tradition.

The story of how I left TEC and the priesthood and came to Orthodoxy is postd at my blog. Part one is here: http://jandyongenesis.blogspot.com/2009/08/telling-my-story.html

Cult of Personality

Tue, 04 May 2010 16:00:00 +0000

The devotion quoted below (from “First Radio Parish Church of America”) has been circulating the internet in the days since it was posted, particularly among the Orthodox. It is, frankly, quite nice to have such sympathetic attention drawn to Orthodox liturgical practice. I suspect much of its popularity is precisely because of such sympathetic attention on an otherwise quite Protestant website. In addition, it highlights a number of aspects of Orthodoxy which are true, or, more honestly, which some of us would like to be true. So while I appreciate elements of its characterization of Orthodoxy, and certainly resonate with the danger inherent in cults of personality, there is quite a bit here that is disingenuous. I wouldn’t think the more disingenuous elements worthy of comment except that they are rhetorical descriptions which are voiced by many Orthodox, and I am not at all sure they are true. They feed into a construction of ourselves, and a construction of us by others, which seems more about how we want to portray ourselves (or be portrayed) than about how we really are.

We could take a cue from Orthodoxy, whose priests stand with their backs to their congregation, leading a liturgy that is neither clever nor impassioned, but simply beautiful, like stone smoothed by centuries of rhythmic tides. It’s an austere ritual, in the sense of - there’s nothing new here; it’s sublime, in the sense of - creating a clearer view into Heaven. The priest can be any priest. Who he is, what he looks like, how he speaks, and what he thinks matter little. He hasn’t written the service that he officiates. It isn’t about him or his prowess. He’s an interchangeable functionary draped in brocaded robes, obscured by incense, and, as such, never points to himself, a flawed human, pointing ever and only to the Perfection of the Mysterious Divine. That is the role of every priest or preacher - invisibility, while making God seen.

Cults of Personality

As I said, I agree that cults of personality can be dangerous. But Orthodoxy is hardly protected from this danger by its liturgical practice. Take for instance, John Chrysostom. It seems probably that the packed ecclesias was due more to the eloquence of this golden-tongued preacher of Constantinople (and Antioch) than any draw inherent in the liturgy. Chrysostom himself comments with disapproval at the all-too-frequent departure of the faithful before the Eucharist, though after his preaching. While the disturbingly early rise of infrequent communion in the East has complicated roots, what is clear is that people flocked to his preaching not the Eucharist or its liturgical setting. He was dynamic, controversial, a rhetor among rhetors. Upon his exile and death, his flock refused to follow his successor. This was certainly in part due to their approval of his critique of their Empress. But there is no question that his personality, expressed through his preaching, drew people in. Please don’t misunderstand me, I love his sermons. But Chrysostom was not an “interchangeable functionary,” and his theology of the priesthood argues quite vehemently that Orthodox priests should be preachers of both theological knowledge and rhetorical skill. He bemoans, among other things such as corruption, dishonesty and favoritism, incompetence. The inability to teach with truth and persuasive power was seen by Chrysostom as a disqualification from the priesthood. I might want to modify his rhetorical passion here, but Orthodoxy has (perhaps until recently) valued the interpretive skills of its best preachers.

Simply Beautiful

No one can deny the beauty of Orthodoxy. How many times has the experience of Prince Vladimir of Kiev’s representatives to Constantinople been cited, “we did not know if we were on heaven or on earth,” to underscore the importance of beauty in the Orthodox liturgy? But to say “austere”? How is the Orthodox liturgy austere? Our churches are covered in gold-flecked icons, candles abound, the brocaded garments of those in the alter are ornate, lavish, rich (and quite expensive!). As a Protestant friend of mine once commented, we have more “liturgical props” than she thought possible. We have turned simply fans to keep away flies into ornate, gold-rayed icons. We have taken a very pragmatic transfer of bread and wine from the entrance of a Church to the alter and turned it into a dramatic procession in which virtually every body in the altar participates. The only services that in my experience are remotely austere might be Vigil and Matins services. In the Liturgy, all stops are removed. Our current rite reflects not the rite of small village churches, but the rite of the great cities of the empire, with all the attendant pomp and circumstance, all the trappings of the royal functionaries that Byzantium could bestow. Individual congregations may be able to pull of the pomp to more or less degrees, and certain cultures use more or less gold, but our liturgy is lavish, not austere.

Us against Them

The reason I find descriptions of Orthodoxy as “austere,” not “impassioned”, and simple is because such phrases tend, in my reading, to pop up with disturbing regularity when we describe ourselves in opposition to something else, most often “the West” (whatever that is). Eugene Trubetskoĭ a Russian politician, philosopher and commentator on icons, constantly contrasts the “spiritual stillness” typified in Russian icons to the maudlin emotion of supposedly “Christian” Renaissance art. He is equally dismissive of the Byzantine style of iconography, from which the Russian style sprang but, of course, improved upon. Ouspensky and Lossky take similar tacts, condemning the “emotionalism” of the West in favor of the two-dimensional, other-worldly, obviously-closer-to-the-things-of-God icons of Russia (okay, they are slightly less Russophile).2 Yet as I stood before an icon (Gregory of Nyssa? The Apostle John? Shame on me that I can’t remember now…) at the Met, at the Byzantium: Faith and Power exhibit, I was overwhelmed at the three-dimensional, emotive dynamism of this full length portrait.3 It was the first time in my life as an Orthodox (that would be my whole life) that I suddenly, viscerally understood how an icon is the presence of a person, not simply a portrayal of them. This may be a comment on the quality of icons in our local churches (sorry…), or perhaps it is a comment on my aesthetic sensibilities.

Yet isn’t this aesthetic sensibility, or lack thereof, part of the problem? I do not believe there is a simple, universal aesthetic. Though there is a large overlap regarding what is considered beautiful, much of what is considered beautiful is culturally contingent and taught. Our icons and texts are interpreted. Perhaps we can interpret our liturgy as austere despite its evident drama, emotive musical settings (both Russian music and Byzantine chant are emotive! This is what “word-painting” is!) only in a context where we are confronted with an aesthetic and emotive sensibility other than our own. Perhaps this is why Trubetskoĭ and others can so freely glorify Russian iconography and music over its Byzantine sources (no worries folks, there is plenty of equally dubious Byzantine push-back to this trend), because the Russian aesthetic is different than the Byzantine, and so an Orthodoxy matured in Russia will look different than one matured in Byzantium, or Greece (which is no longer Byzantium), or, someday North America. If we Orthodox can characterize our ritual as austere and our icons as “still” and our music as non-emotive, it is because our sensibilities are confused. We have actually lost (or for those of us who never were Byzantine, never had) our Byzantine aesthetic sensibilities which understood the emotive content of our ritual and icons. Of course, the Byzantines understood the emotive content because they wrote it for themselves. The liturgy we have today was for their culture, built upon their aesthetic sensibilities. To be Orthodox in North America at least, is to participate in a culture other than one’s own (not necessarily a bad thing, but not a virtue in and of itself).

What I find most disturbing is that underlying these mischaracterizations is a sometimes not-so-subtle religious and cultural imperialism or pervasive inferiority complex (you decide). It is an insistence of superiority without attempting to ask, much less respect, how variant rituals, visual portrayals or musical settings enable their participants to move further towards divine-human communion. I am not saying that any way is a good way. I am however, disturbed at the ease with which we mischaracterize ourselves and others in order to elevate our practice and exclude the other. The problem is not that we are dismissing culture in some horribly intolerant manner. The problem is that we might be blinding ourselves to the work of God through the materials of the world because they are shaped by hands other than our own. We might be missing the presence of God in the matter of the world. We might be missing our sacrament. How can we participate in the work of God if we cannot (or are unwilling to) see it?

Having said this, and perhaps undermining the tidy bit of rhetoric above, I have to say: I certainly wish that we Orthodox could remember that the priest does not point to himself but to “the Perfection of the Mysterious Divine.” If we did, perhaps we would be scandalized at our continued insistence that only males can point to the divine.

1. Daily Devotions, First Radio Parish Church of America: http://www.dailydevotions.org/devotion.php?devotionID=2530
2. Ouspensky, Léonide, and Vladimir Lossky. The Meaning of Icons. 2nd ed. Crestwood, N.Y.: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1982.
3. Interesting to note, according to an iconographer friend who heard it in a lecture, that Ouspensky never saw the Sinai icons, and so developed a theology of icons that perhaps unintentionally emphasized a regional style.

Praying Aloud

Tue, 04 May 2010 16:00:00 +0000

I recently quit the choir, primarily because I realized that I was having trouble praying while singing. It took me a long time to make this decision since I couldn’t understand how it is that I could sing the liturgy and not be praying. I am not sure I have ever regularly attended a church and not been in the choir. Any number of factors probably contributed to the problem: concentrating on timing, the music, singing in a language I do not actually speak. All of these things can distract from actually praying rather than just mouthing the words I sing in (thought not always) tune. At other times in my life, these elements were not distracting, but they were now for whatever reason. It was just time for a break.

My first Sunday standing in the congregation was, well, surprising. I must admit, I sang virtually everything I would have sung had I been in the choir. I am not sure I am able to participate in liturgy without singing. At various points though, I didn’t sing. Sometimes, I read the translation (if it was in Greek). A number of times, I read the prayers along with the priest. And it was wonderful, reading these prayers.

There is something lost in the liturgy when these prayers are not made available to all the faithful, preferably by being read aloud. I have always thought this, but for some reason it struck me this past Holy Week when one of our priests chose to read all of the “Prayers of the Faithful” aloud during the weekday services. Often, these prayers, despite being “of the Faithful” are read silently, unheard by the faithful. This is the common practice of many of our Sunday liturgical prayers, especially the Eucharistic prayers, a practice encoded in the red rubric ink of our liturgy books: “the priest prays silently….” These rubrics are quite new. There was a time when no prayers were said silently, all prayers were “of the faithful,” spoken by the liturgical leader(s) on behalf of the people of God. The liturgy was a completely shared and participatory event.

I once said something along these lines in a group, and someone responded that all this insistence on reading prayers aloud and participation in liturgy reflected a misunderstanding of the special function of the priest, who is praying his prayers. Yet the priest, or originally simply the one who presided at the Eucharist, the bishop, led all the people in prayers. The leader of the assembly speaks the prayers of all of us. Even in our contemporary liturgy, the only prayers that are specific to the priest are the few right before the preparation of the Eucharist, when the priest asks to be made worthy to offer the gifts. In all other case, the first person plural is used. “We” and “us” does not include only the clergy present, but all the holy women and men present, “holy things for the holy people of God.” What my respondent believes is the misunderstanding, one that permeates our contemporary liturgical practice.

We miss so much when we do not even hear the prayers of our liturgy. The Eucharistic prayers sum up the whole of our theology each liturgy, reminding us and thanking God for the entire spectrum of divine activity: creation, grace, redemption, resurrection, all the ways in which God initiates and makes possible divine-human communion. It is a tragedy to lose these prayers. It is even more a tragedy to lose the prayers that have regularly been shared so that one person (a chanter, alter server or clergy-member) reads them alone. I was quite disturbed in a recent set of services to notice that the set of prayers which together make up the beginning of Orthodox morning and evening prayers were being read by a single person and congregational reading was actively being discouraged. It is one thing to reserve variable and special hymns for chanters and choir members. It is another to take prayers that every Orthodox Christian knows and prays on a regular (perhaps daily) basis and make them the privilege of a select group within the congregation.

I am grateful that one of our priests chose to read Holy Week prayers aloud, even if it did lengthen the service. Even better was that my first Sunday out of the choir, he also read all the anaphora prayers aloud, at a volume which could be heard over the choir’s singing. These are beautiful prayers, and they are the prayers of the people. It is wonderful to hear them.

Beloved Let Us

Tue, 27 Apr 2010 16:00:00 +0000

I had ample opportunity to read scripture this past Holy Week, as close as I get any more to “preaching the good news.” During Holy Week, significant sections of the Psalter are read, and the otherwise too rare opportunity to read texts from the Hebrew scriptures is plentiful. As is my custom, I modify the language a bit.

I do my best to use “people” or “person” instead of “man” or “men”. In the vesperal Psalm 103 (LXX; 104) I simply use the first-person plural, blessing the Lord for “wine that gladdens our hearts.” Very few of these change originate with me. I have heard them from other readers who are as concerned as I to use language that communicates in the best English possible the inclusive love of the God whom we are worshiping in word and song. A number of years ago, without much forethought (except perhaps through exposure to the Gospel of John and the Letters of the same name) I replaced “brethren” with “beloved” when introducing an Epistle reading. “Brethren”, or αδελφοι, the word we could accurately translate as “brothers and sisters,” is inserted at the beginning of a pericope as a way to clearly address the reading of the day to the gathered men and women in the congregation. One day, getting up to read, I turned towards the congregation, and aware that switching to “brothers and sisters” would perhaps draw too much attention away from the text itself, I simply said “beloved.” I liked it. My priest liked it. It fits. So I still use it.

But as I said, few of my changes originate with me. That is why I am always so surprised when someone comes up to me and says, “I really don’t appreciate you changing the text, you should just read what is there.” That happened this past Holy Week. As usual, my mind began spinning with responses. Do I say, “well, other people do appreciate it” which is true but likely unsatisfying to my critic. Do I engage in a discussion regarding the vagaries of translation, and that the words anthropos and adelphoi in the Greek text virtually always refer to men and women, and that we should therefore use the best English words we have to indicate this inclusion? This is of course a debate about English, not as is often assumed, the “true” meaning of the “original text.” We know what the original text says, and in the Orthodox church we interpret these texts as clearly addressing and inclusive of all men and women, unless of course, the texts specifically refers to men or women, which it rarely does.

As these little snippets of conversation whirled through my head in a subsequent service, I suddenly noticed the English translation of the prayer currently being voiced in Greek by the deacon: “Further, we prayer for our brothers: the Priests, Hieromonks, Deacons Monks and Sisters, and our whole brotherhood in Christ.”1 I am bothered every time I hear this prayer as it usually reads, “…our brothers: the Priests, Hieromonks, Deacons, Monastics, and our whole brotherhood….” No Sisters, just brothers. In the Orthodox tradition, the term “monastics” includes nuns. I often fume in my head, what, we don’t pray for our female ascetics? And what about female deacons (we have a few you know, in Greece, and we will have more in my lifetime). Yet suddenly here, right in front of me, was evidence that some translator or editor noticed the same problem and attempted a fix. It must have been a last-minute edit, since the punctuation is all wrong. And of course, it is still a prayer for “brothers” (not even “brethren” who some argue already is inclusive. Please.). But it includes “Sisters.” A start.

As I read more closely I realized that this edition is full of incomplete changes towards inclusive language. The final dismissal prayer of each service consistently references the God who is “good and loves humankind.” But in other places, “mankind” is used. Sometimes, “forefathers,” at other times, “forebears.” Not only is the text somewhat inconsistent, but our deacon has recently taken to periodically praying for our “fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters” a change for which I am grateful every time I hear it. Perhaps my critic doesn’t notice the deacon’s changes since she doesn’t have the text in front of her. Or perhaps she doesn’t realize that some of those changes are already in the text because she doesn’t read along in English when Greek is spoken. I am strangely gratified to see that this poorly edited liturgy book seeks to address some of language difficulties. The introduction explicitly notes that this translation intentionally tempers some of the anti-Semitic language of the Passion texts, a sorely needed change. Apparently, someone was at least momentarily aware of the problem of language and gender.

I am not saying that I am innocent of initiating changes, or saying that because I can point to a few changes in an “official” book, I am somehow off the hook for doing something perceived by some as so terribly wrong. I am not off the hook for changing the words in front of me to include all those with and for whom I am praying. I have every intention of continuing to make such changes when I am able. I am glad that I am not alone in my efforts.

1. Holy Week and Easter, translated by Archimandrite Leonidas C. Contos, p. 448. The purple version.

Sunday of the Myrrhbearing Women

Tue, 20 Apr 2010 16:00:00 +0000

This past Sunday celebrated the Myrrh-bearing Women: Mary Magdalene, Mary the Theotokos, Joanna, Salome, Mary the wife of Cleopas, Susanna, and Mary and Martha of Bethany. These women, according to the testimony of the Gospels, were the first witnesses to the resurrection, the first to deliver the good news to the followers of Jesus hiding away from the crucifying authorites. The Troparion of the day records the angel’s command to the women to go, cry “The Lord is risen, granting the world great mercy." The Kontakion declares them apostles commanded to preach the Resurrection:

You did command the myrrh-bearers to rejoice, O Christ!
By Your Resurrection, You did stop the lamentation of Eve, O God!
You did command Your apostles to preach: The Savior is Risen!

Earlier, during Friday of Holy Week the same story is read as a part of the service of Lamentations during which we simultaneously grieve the death of Jesus and celebrate the trampling of death and destruction of Hades. The icon of Jesus laid in the tomb rests at the front of the Church. It is surrounded by altar servers holding candles, in much the same way the Gospel book is surrounded when it is brought out of the altar and read. This one time of year, only this once, and only in some churches, girls dressed in white join their brothers at the front of the church, holding candles. We call them Myrrh-bearers, these young women, standing like their predecessors at the tomb of Jesus. Once a year. One service. Then, we send them back.

"Sunday of the Myrrhbearing Women"

by Irene Dimiris-Papageorgiou
(trans. from Greek)

I stand waiting. I know.
I know God is here. In silence.
Who believes me?
Me, a woman.
A woman waiting. Knowing.
Knowing death is trampled. Christ is risen! I tell them all.

I don't hear their affirmations.
Of God's resurrection. Of my witness.
Of me.

I wait for priests and bishops to see me. To know.
To know I am here. In silence.
Who believes the women?
The women, the first to see and hear.
The women still waiting. To be vindicated.
To be known by the Church as isapostles.1

Christ is risen! Our myrrh is unused!
We don't hear our Church's confirmation.
Of God's holy women. Of our witness.
Of me.

We were worthy then. We are worthy now.
As women. As disciples. As apostles. As priests.
As women in the image and after the likeness of God.

I stand waiting. I know.
I know God is here. In silence.

Christ is risen!
My myrrh is unused.

1. "Equal to the Apostles". A term referring to saints whose contribution to preaching the gospel earned them this special title. Among the saints who are equal-to-the-apostles" are: Mary Magdalene, Photini (the "Samaritan Woman"), Thekla, Nina of Georgia, Helen and Constantine (mother and son), Olga and Vladimir of Kiev (another mother and son), Patrick of Ireland, Innocent of Alaska and Nicholas of Japan.

Why can't you be satisfied?

Wed, 14 Apr 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Question: So many opportunities exist for women in the Church, why are you so concerned about the priesthood? Women can be parish council presidents, Sunday school teachers, the wives of priests, why do they need more? Why can’t you be satisfied with what you already have?

It is a sort of deflating question, one that implies I and others are grasping for something inappropriate, out of place, ignoring all the wonderful things women already do. Pressing the issue of the ordination of women to the priesthood distracts from the ways in which women are welcome participants in the Church. The implication is that my energy would be better spent thinking about those many other roles rather than arguing for an innovation which inappropriately grasps for power.

The irony is, the question implies the very framework of power which the asker is supposedly rejecting by insisting that I leave the priesthood alone.

Let me explain:

It is true that women have influence in the Orthodox Church. They are parish council presidents, singers (and sometimes chanters), and they are the wives of priests. For example, Presbyteras, Matushkas and Khourias should not be dismissed or undervalued for the way their unique position within the community contribute to the ministry of the Church, led by their priest husbands. At the very least, these women contribute in their encouragement and support of their husband in his work. At times, it is quite clear that the influence of a wife keeps a husband in balance and may even mitigate social or pastoral situation. Some clergy wives take a very active role, partnering with her spouse by attending events, house blessings, perhaps directing the choir or leading children’s education. One woman I know has developed an extensive support network for shut-ins, and even though her priest husband is no longer alive, continues this vital work in her parish. These unique contributions should be honored, respected, and as is sometimes suggested, formally blessed as their own unique ministries of the Church. Each of these roles deserves more considered thought than theologians of the Church have given them. At the very least, what is clear is that each of these roles is important, unique, and requires specific capabilities and charisms to be done well.

Notice however, an interesting element of the question: influence. By pointing out the many places in which women are already ministering in the Church, it presumes that the issue of women priests is about having something, anything, to do in the Church, to have a place of influence, power. Now, it would be neglectful to not point out, since we are speaking of influence and power, that very few of the roles for women in the Church even remotely compare in spheres of direct influence to the roles available to men. Certain clergy wives are very influential, and a few female theologians are read with great respect, but there is no role in the Orthodox Church which compares to the theological, pastoral and liturgical influence embodied in the ordained clergy. So if the question is supposed to be about influence and power, then no matter how many roles currently available for women, we are still confronted with a situation of extremely imbalanced distribution.

Yet it is practically a mantra of the Church: priesthood is not about power. Despite the fact that this mantra crops up with disturbing regularity when it is women who are asking to participate, it is, I think, true. It is a reality that the clergy wield influence and power. They are in part clergy precisely because the community recognizes their particular gifts and abilities to wield the profound influence entrusted to teachers, pastors, and those who lead us in prayer. But acknowledging that their position involves power and influence is quite different than saying that their position exists in order to wield power or have influence. Those who seek ordination thinking that such power will be bestowed upon them as they rise from their knees bearing the marks of their office will be sorely disappointed in the reality of parish life. Hopefully, these men will adjust their expectations of the priesthood well enough so that their parishioners do not have reason to wish they had never been ordained in the first place.

Isn’t it strange then, that when women seek to be included among the clergy, which is not about power or influence, they are asked why they want this_office when there is such an abundance of opportunity and influence available for them in _other places? Out of one side of the mouth we are told that the ordained ministry is not about power and influence and to seek it is a sign of selfish grasping, while out of the other side of the mouth we are encouraged to exercise our influence in other ‘more appropriate’ venues where our gifts, passion and energy can be used to serve the Church.

It is precisely because I have thought about these “other” places and roles that I continually return to the issue of female clergy. Ordination is not primarily about power and influence, though it is utterly disingenuous for anyone to claim it is not in part about such things. Rather, as with all official and unofficial ministries in the Church, it is about the unique set of capabilities, skills and charisms required for the ministry, and their possession by the person recognized by the community for such service. Denying women a place among the ordained clergy

fails to recognize the uniqueness of all ministries, but especially those of the clergy,
fails to recognize the uniqueness of the particular person standing before us,
and fails to recognize the importance for the theosis of both the person and the community of a match between gift and role.

Ironically, this denial is done in precisely in the service of that which we are not supposed to serve: power and influence. It would simply be ironic if it were not so excruciating to bear by those who are falsely accused of grasping at that which anyone truly called knows cannot be grasped. Instead, it is tragic, bitter, and repulsive to think we would stoop so low, be so mean, in our desperate attempts to stave off the inevitable recognition of women as full and unique participants in the unique ministries of the Church.

Virtuous Icons: Unique Persons or Gendered Stereotypes

Wed, 07 Apr 2010 16:00:00 +0000

I recently spoke at Huffington Ecumenical Institute's 2010 Symposium on <a href="https://bellarmine.lmu.edu/ecumenical/events/pastupcomingsymposia/womenandchurcheastandwest/>Women and Church, East and West</a>. My talk, "Virtuous Icons: Unique Persons or Gendered Stereotypes" is available in four parts via YouTube. I have included the intro and conclusion as text below.

Introduction

The 20th century in particular has seen the development of a theological anthropology in both East and West which affirms persons as unique, irreducible and free. Uniqueness and irreducibility go together. Each human person is a unique creation in the image of God. We are, according to Elizabeth Behr-Sigel, the French Orthodox and feminist theologian, ‘colored’ by ou particular qualities of body, sex, race and ethnicity, each color contributing to our individual uniqueness as icons of God.1 As unique icons of God, we cannot be reduced to any single quality, virtue, or ‘way’ of being because no single characteristic or set of characteristics can adequately describe who we are. Metr. John Zizioulas, defending the essential importance of difference among human persons, says that "A Eucharist which excludes in one way or another those of a different race or sex or age or profession is a false Eucharist....The Eucharist must include all these, for it is there that the otherness of a natural or social kind can be transcended. A Church which does not celebrate the Eucharist in this inclusive way risks losing her catholicity."2

Yet the Orthodox liturgy does exclude. While all Orthodox Christians present are welcome to receive the Eucharist, only male Orthodox are welcome to preside at the Eucharist. Orthodox response to the question of the ordination of women to the priesthood has changed over the last four decades, yet two basic objections remain. First, like the Catholic church, Orthodox share the presumption that a lack of precedent precludes any possibility of change in current practice. While I do not think this is an adequate reflection of how we understand Tradition, I will not take this up here. Second is the continued belief that the liturgical symbolism of the priest requires a male body, in Fr. Thomas Hopko’s phrase, the priesthood is a “masculine ministry."3 This assumes, incorrectly as I argue elsewhere, that there is something particularly masculine about the priesthood. Further, it creates a one-to-one correlation between between the physical body and a supposedly gendered quality, characteristic or virtue. The iconic material, the body, dictates the manner of relating. My argument is that an Orthodox theology of icons does not support the romanticized complementarity of rigid gender binaries which underlie this theology. Rather, liturgically situated icons envision salvation in embodied, transfigured persons who are unique, irreducible and free.

Conclusion

The Orthodox tradition encompasses diverse images and narratives of our “full humanity.” Mary’s virginal motherhood cannot be reduced to Victorian piety or imperial power. Her full humanity encompasses both, though it also may reject certain elements of each. The plethora of images, verbal and iconic, in Orthodoxy testify to the diversity of virtues, virtuous practices, and embodiments of holiness seen in transfigured persons. No single saint exemplifies full humanity, any more than does a single virtue or practice. Further, a particular virtue is not restricted to a particular function, role or social location, such as “selfless love” with motherhood. Saints point us to the enactment of virtue within our particularity as the core of the Christian life. Embodied virtue does not allow a clean division between a mode of female enactment and a mode of male enactment. Icons do not portray virtue as gendered or sexed. The do portray sexed and gendered persons as virtuous. The body matters, not because the body dictates what virtues will or will not be expressed, but because it is only through the body that any and all virtues are expressed.

What then, is wrong with a male priesthood? On the one hand, nothing. A male priest can exemplify the virtuous humanity that we are all (including the priest) becoming. In their bodies of flesh rather than wood and paint, they make our “new humanity” visible through the practice of virtue. This is the emphasis on the priesthood found in patristic texts, not masculinity, but virtue. A male priesthood is wrong however, when it is exclusively male. Our gaze is arrested at flesh and blood in a manner no less idolatrous than allowing our gaze to be filled by wood and paint. The Icon, which at one point opens our gaze to the divine ceases to do so, because our gaze is filled with the visible. As Jean-Luc Marion notes, idols mirror precisely the degree of the divine that the one gazing is able to see. If we see only male fatherhood in the priest who is an eikon of our humanity in Christ, we see only males as icons of Christ. The long and hard-fought tradition of wood and paint icons is a battle for the radicality of an incarnation in which all matter is transformed through participation in the work of the Spirit. We need to see female icons of transfigured humanity on wood and paint, as well as flesh and blood. Women who can set forth the image before us, being God and making others to be God. We need to see this in the liturgy, since it is in the Eucharist, the “holy things for the holy people,” embodied on the table as well as in each and every person, “thine own of thine own,” that we attain our unique, irreducible and free human personhood.

1. “Each person is ineffably unique and called upon to serve God and men according to his or her own vocation and special charisms. These are certainly colored by the person’s sex, but not determined by it.” Élisabeth Behr-Sigel, The Ministry of Women in the Church, trans. Steven Bigham (Redondo Beach, CA: Oakwood Publications, 1991), 16.
2. ”The Eucharist sanctifies communion as well as otherness, and Eucharistic fails to do this is destroyed and even invalidated.” John Zizioulas, “Communion and Otherness,” St Vladimir's Theological Quarterly 38, no. 4 (1994): 355.
3. Thomas Hopko, “On the Male Character of Christian Priesthood,” St Vladimir's Theological Quarterly 19, no. 3 (1975): 147-173; Thomas Hopko, “Presbyter/Bishop: A Masculine Ministry,” in Women and the Priesthood, ed. Thomas Hopko, (Crestwood, N.Y.: St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1999).

So I will know my people's plight

Wed, 03 Dec 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Show me the suffering of the most miserable;
So I will know my people's plight.
Free me to pray for others;
For you are present in every person.
Help me take responsibility for my own life;
So that I can be free at last.
Grant me courage to serve others;
For in service there is true life.
Give me honesty and patience;
So that the Spirit will be alive among us.
Let the Spirit flourish and grow;
So that we will never tire of the struggle.
Let us remember those who have died for justice;
For they have given us life.
Help us love even those who hate us;
So we can change the world.
—Cesar Chavez

A Paucity of Imagination

Sun, 16 Nov 2008 16:00:00 +0000

“I can’t imagine women in the altar, as priests, deacons, alter servers….” These are the words of a kind and thoughtful 91-year old man who has spent his whole life in the church, whose children serve the church in a variety of significant capacities. His is a distressed response to what was likely the first conversation he has ever heard regarding the possibility of women priests in the Orthodox church.

It is an understandable response. It is understandable because there is nothing in the practice of the Orthodox church today that would allow such an imaginative possibility. I use the word “allow,” although I could also use the words encourage, create, spark, inspire. Imagination does not occur in a vacuum, it does not create something out of nothing. Imagination is dependent for its inspiration on the mundane and often seemingly unconnected realities around us, which when put together by someone gifted at seeing connections creates something that appears new: a new idea, a new style of art, a new way of relating to a fellow human being. Yet it is never completely new, but dependent on the old and made new by a fresh insight, a sudden connection that reshapes our world.

In the case of females in the altar, there is simply nothing in our present practice which might spark the imagination to envision something “new.” We cannot imagine a possibility of which we can see no trace. To suggest something for which nothing in our lived experience gives even the remotest of indication is to suggest, well, the unimaginable.

If, in the context of our ecclesial tradition, the lived experience of the church had never given such an indication, then, well, perhaps this is how it simply is, how it should be and we should not contemplate the unimaginable.

However, in the case of women serving in the altar, this is not a problem of the tradition of our church, but our present paucity of vision, caused by our modern paucity of practice.

It is an incontrovertible (at least to all those who have studied church history) fact that women have served in the altar during the eucharistic liturgy. There was a time when members of a parish would not have had to “imagine” such a reality, because it was simply a part of their worship experience. Women served in minor orders as Virgins and Widows (offices about which we know very little), and as a part of the hierarchical leadership of a congregation, these blessed women sat in the altar during services. We also know that women served as deacons, ordained at the hand of a bishop in the altar, and received the eucharist immediately after the rank which preceded them, male deacons, but before subdeacons (and Widows and Virgins).

We no longer engage in the practice of ordaining women to the diaconate, and the orders of Widows and Virgins disappeared long ago. Today, if you want to see a woman in the altar, you must go to a women’s monastery. There, with the priest serving the liturgy, are women in the altar serving as assistants in the liturgy.

The names of early female deacons (Pheobe, Macrina, Olympias to name only a few) can be repeated ad nauseam. We can cite texts which refer to female deacons (the Didascalia Apostolorum), we can even show the ordaining prayer of female deacons. We can cite fact after fact, but it will do no good. Why? Because until most of us see it before our eyes, we cannot imagine it. Instead, we assume that what we see (or rather, what we do not see) is what should be, and we end up turning a blind eye to the gifts and calling of the women in our midst, perhaps even to our own calling, because such a work of God is simply not a possibility.

By not allowing girls to serve in the alter with their brothers (in a position which itself did not exist for centuries of Christianity), by not ordaining gifted women to the diaconate (despite repeated calls to do so be ecclesial hierarchs), we impoverish the imagination of our people. If we impoverish our imagination to such a degree that we cannot even imagine the joy of a young girl serving in the altar with her brother, to what else do we become blind?

It is the burden of those who do see, who do know our ancient practices, to help all of us share in the vision of God who calls each and every one of us to serve God and neighbor with no regard to social roles or bodily functions. Until they do so, we as a people cannot imagine the possibilities of the work of God in the lives of those we love. If we cannot imagine the work of God, how can we participate in that work?

How poor and blind must we become before our bishops decide to act?

The Change We Seek

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 16:00:00 +0000

There is really nothing I can add to the flurry of excellent commentary which has erupted on the internet since last night. But I am so proud to stand with a 106-year-old black woman and say that I too voted for someone who, only a short century ago, would not have been allowed to participate in his governance, much less be the president. It is my hope and prayer that the long arc of history continues to bend towards justice.

[quote=President-elect Barack Obama]This victory alone is not the change we seek; it is only the chance for us to make that change.

...

That's the true genius of America, that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.[/quote]

And I think I can watch this video over and over again! What a joy to know that we will be privileged to listen to the intelligence and eloquence of this man for at least four years.

</embed>

New York Times Obama Victory Speech, video and transcript.

Conservative Feminism?

Mon, 20 Oct 2008 16:00:00 +0000

My sister and I had a series of interesting discussions when Palin was first picked. We went from shock at the apparent stupidity of the decision, the sheer ridiculousness of the idea that she will appeal to women, to a sort of grudging admiration for the apparent brilliance (intentional or not) of the pick. At first, we laughed at the idea of a beauty queen as president. But do we really want to assert that beauty and brains can't go together (even if they periodically don't)? Then we wondered how in the world the mother of a down-syndrome child could work in such a high-stress position as VP. But we did not want to undercut the many women who work outside of the home, or the fathers who choose to share fully in the lives of their children (no idea if this is true of Todd or not). The list went on, and we realized that the McCain campaign had managed to select a woman who appears to embody a number of feminist values, but with whom we share virtually no common ground on policy issues.

As a woman who embodies “feminism,” she is a hard-working mother of five, she is clearly bright and articulate (if ill-informed), capable of leading men and women, she has made what I am sure are difficult choices in her family. She appears to “do it all.” How can we critique her for that? I actually think, along with an apparently very conservative constituency, that a “can-do caretaker” might make a great national leader. Unlike Mr. Hawkins the Trucker, NOT this one. What makes her a conservative “feminist” (if she even labels herself as a feminist - conservatives don't like the word even if they reap the benefits) is that she advocates policies I disagree with, not all of which are anti-feminist. I think the NRA is a shamefully irresponsible organization; I think not all women can bear the burden of a downs-child or are in a position to take advantage of adoption services; I think oil drilling in Alaska is short-sighted. The list goes on. But I find it difficult to critique her choices as a woman and a mother, since a part of my own feminism is a commitment to allow women to make choices that best fit their lifestyle and values, even if I would not make the same choices. I am not sure it is a part of her “feminism” however.

The ironic thing is this: her campaign seems to appeal to the very things I thought feminism was meant to change. We don't call possible future leaders of our nation “hot chicks” and we don't beg them to marry us. This is how we treat sex symbols, women (and men) who are judged by how they stir desire, objects we can possess for our own sexual fantasy (after all, isn't this what the goal of the man who wants to marry Palin because she is beautiful, not because he knows her as a partner?). National leaders are not the hot girl-next-door who can pound a beer with you while you wolf-whistle at her exposed neckline. This is not the respectful treatment given to someone who needs to be able to make well-informed, difficult decisions that will affect more than just a small town in Alaska. I am disgusted by the warm reception given to Palin, just as I was disgusted by the icy response to Hillary, an equally hard-working and woman who does not use her sex appeal to get out the vote. She used her mind, her abilities, her knowledge. And she lost.

The SNL skit below underscores that Palin (or her handlers) do not represent any kind of feminism that I can respect. We don't want competent, capable, strong-willed and brilliant women. We still want our women cute, appealing and sexy. Which somehow makes them non-threatening. This isn't post-feminism, or conservative feminism. It is just sexism, alive and well.

It appears that Kate Harding at Salon.com is equally disturbed by the oddity of the NYT article's assertion of "conservative feminism" and the behavior of Palin's supporters.

I am so sorry

Wed, 08 Oct 2008 16:00:00 +0000

May I apologize to you? You don’t know who I am, and I barely know you. I saw your grandmother take you to the front, offering your strong young arms in service. I watched as the kind young teenager, wearing his glistening robe, prepared himself to help hold the cloth at the chalice, and leaned over to hand you the basket of bread. But he was told no, one man was sufficient at the cloth. The other cloth, still hanging from the hand of the priest, was soon taken up not by this same, available teenager but by an older gentleman forgoing his ushering duties in order to fill in the gap left by a dearth of alter boys.

I stood in line, arms crossed to receive the eucharist, watching you shift awkwardly on your legs back and forth as you stood next to your teenage friend holding the basket. I saw the apologetic look the young man flashed to your grandmother, his sad and gentle smile at you. And your confusion, should you stand by him, next the basket you almost held? Should you just return to your seat? Get in line for communion?

May I apologize for something that you experienced, but did not see and probably don’t understand? All you know is the embarrassment of standing conspicuously in front of the whole church, your service turned down. It isn’t that your arms are too weak to hold the basket, because you know you could have done it just as well as the young boy holding the basket on the other side of the church. It isn’t that you weren’t up there in time, you were right there as they were setting up. You were just told no, and no one was quite sure what to do with you, either your teenage friend or your grandmother. Maybe all you had is that niggling sensation that you really aren’t supposed to be up there. It is a sensation that may grow, affirmed by repetition in a church that cannot seem to imagine an alternative.

Or, perhaps you, your grandmother and your teenage friend, knowing this, will simply never allow the situation to repeat itself. She will not bring you up, he will not lean over to hand you his basket. And you will learn that this is how it is. You will learn to live with it. Maybe you won’t think about it. If you do, maybe you will just be puzzled and move on, accepting that this is a part of our one, holy, catholic and apostolic church.

But if you think about it too much, you will realize that these people who love you would not do this without reason, so there must be a reason, and that reason is you. You simply are not fit, not worthy to hold the basket. It isn’t your job, it isn’t your place, it isn’t your role.

You are just a girl.

I am so sorry.

Perception vs. Reality: A Rant

Tue, 30 Sep 2008 16:00:00 +0000

This is, as the title indicates, a rant. A long rant. A peevish, ridiculous, adolescent rant. Having clarified the emotional maturity of what follows, let me begin.

I grew up in the Southwest Hills of Portland. Please note a key word in the region’s title: “Hills.” The word “hills” is not a difficult word, it does not have some hidden or subtle meaning. It refers to ground which goes up and down, terrain one generally goes over, especially on trips to grandmother’s house.1 Even its metaphorical usage implies going over and happens rather suddenly, somewhere between the cake and scotch at one’s fortieth birthday party.

So, unsurprisingly, if one visits Southwest Portland, one encounters hills. I have a few, hazy memories of zipping around the maze of streets in my neighborhood, zooming down an unexplored road on my banana-seat pink bike with the Mexican tassles streaming from the handlebars and multicolored little plastic clicker-things rattling away on the spokes of my wheels, only to be confronted with a culdesac.2 And so, back up the road I went, feeling vaguely disgusted at the deception perpetrated on my young legs, but hey, no big deal really, it was just a little hill.

I have distinct memories of a few particular hills. My street was a hill. A real hill! a fast hill! a sledding hill! The whole neighborhood knew it, because on those few icy winter days in the Williamette Valley when an astonishing 1/2” of wet snow covered a thin sheet of black ice, everyone came to my street, my hill! Conscientious adults even put spiffy orange cones at the top so cars would go around using Nebraska street, whose hill was, well, just not that cool. I remember the day it snowed during my senior year in high school, the same year the Portland Public School district hired a superintendent from Michigan.3 This superintendent, who as I mentioned, was from Michigan, and who probably lived on the East side of Portland, didn’t think that an inch of snow deserved a snow day. But he wasn’t from Southwest Portland! He didn’t understand! We had hills! And unlike his side of town, which had no hills,4 and hills attract snow! They call it forth from the sky, summoning it to land in little wet sheets with gaping asphalt and grass holes all over their lovely slopes! I think only half of the school showed up that day, and Mrs. Person, the hardest, most rigorous teacher ever, dismissed us from class so we could go play. In the snow! On the hills! Sliding down into the wet, muddy softball field, scraping together damp and disgusting snowballs. What a great day!

Why wax so extensively about the hills of my childhood? Please notice my childish perception of a few things. First, as a child on my bike, hills were little. Second, the East side of Portland has no hills.

So, reality:

The first day I decided to commute to work on a bike, I was traveling from Multnomah Village to (what was) the warehouse area of Northwest Portland. About eight miles. It was a beautiful morning, a smooth, easy ride on Barbur Blvd into downtown. Downtown proved a mild surprise to me. Did you know that Broadway is at a higher elevation than Fourth? And that Northwest is even higher than Broadway? I didn’t recall a hill along Glisan from my days at Metropolitan Learning Center, but there it was, unmistakably ascending in front of me. So, okay, these aren’t big hills. They are little hills. After all, most of downtown is in Southwest Portland, which has little hills. Right? And Northwest, well, I guess I just hadn’t spent much time there, so okay, some hills. No sweat, my ride home would be all down hill!

And the ride home began wonderfully, all downhill! I cruised back through the city, did a little bit of a leg pump to get up Broadway, whizzed by Duniway park with glorious, speedy Barbur in front of me. And then something odd happened. I slowed down. I was still peddling along just like I had in the morning, but I was starting to feel a little leaden in my legs. What was happening? What could cause this? Being endowed with at least a minimal level of intelligence, I realized somewhere around Hamilton Street that I was going uphill! Wait, who the &*%@ put a hill here? Barbur is not a hill! It is a long, wide, fast road that connects my childhood with the rest of Portland! It doesn’t go up, there is nothing to go over. The real hills, the big hills, those were on the other side of my house and every out-of-shape biker in Portland knows that you don’t try to get to Southwest Portland using Terwilliger. There is a reason visits to OHSU are described as going to “the hill.” Barbur goes around “the hill” it does not go over it!

Remember, kind readers, perception. Clearly, reality was otherwise, Barbur is a hill. I had reconciled myself to this by the time I reached the Burlingame Freddy’s. I could make it, I could do it, the Freddy’s meant I am almost home.

And then it happened. Benign Barbur leapt UP UP UP!!!! It moved, I swear it. It wasn’t this way before! Really! And why wastheguystandingoutsidethepizzajointgivingmeathumbsupthejerk? who did he think he was? I am tired you insensitive boob!!!!!5

This first commute happened over seven years ago. While I was not in Portland for five of those years, I have had plenty of opportunity to encounter Portland’s hills. Southwest Portland is choc’ full of ’em and there is no “going around.” Welcome to reality, a reality that the perceptive reader familiar with the geography of the area probably knew well before I did.

So, why the I rant? Because today, I decided to ride my bike to study over at Reed, which involves going down a really steep hill. The whole way down I kept thinking of other ways to get home at the end of the day. As it turns out, I had a meeting in Northeast Portland. Remember what I said about the east side not having hills? The East side has hills. They are sneaky little suckers, laying in wait for unsuspecting bicyclists who are enjoying the phenomenon of straight streets.6 They just appear, lasting for a block or three, and then the nasty little road lulls the rider into a sort of lazy peddling until the next shocking upgrade. But hey, I can deal with small hills, they are sort of a break, right?

And then, I headed home, crossed the Hawthorne bridge, meandered my way along First up to Barbur. Which I know at this point is a hill. A long hill that, in my currently out-of-shape state, I dread. But I can do it. Except that I hadn’t accounted for riding twenty-two miles in a single day7 The gradual ascent was a bit tiring. But hey, first time out in a while, I am a sedentary graduate student, I can allow myself a little exhaustion. I debated cheating and catching the 12 bus to take me up the hill, but no, that is cheating and I don’t cheat. Foolish me. Right around the aforementioned pizza shop, on the aforementioned hill beyond the aforementioned Freddy’s, I switched down a gear. Only to discover that I couldn’t, I was already in the lowest gear.8
And you know what happened? I was a child again, Barbur was flat, and I was personally offended that Barbur did not have the decency to correspond to my perception! Reality be damned, the world I knew as a child was flat and that is just how it is!!!

Worse was this immovable fact: I had one more hill ahead of me, a steep evil hill, at the very end of my ride! All the way along straight and flat Multnomah Blvd, all I could do is ask my mother, why? Why did you buy a house at the top of a hill? I know it is a cute, perfect little house with the best flowers on the block,9 But at the top? Why didn’t you buy the house halfway up the hill? It was on the market for a year before it was sold. It is cute too, and only halfway up the evil hill. Or better, what about the cute periwinkle cottage which is so close to the bottom of the hill I wouldn’t even have time to shift down to the lowest gear by the time I entered the driveway. Why the top? You can grow flowers in any yard!!!!!

And you know what my mom just said to me? After riding 22 miles? Up hill, both ways, in the driving, blinding, october snow? “What hill, you mean our little hill?” Oh the outrage! the offense! the insensitivity!

So, a closing (finally!) thought: Isn’t it amazing how deeply embedded are our perceptions? What we perceive to be true is true even when reality repeatedly indicates otherwise. At our moments of greatest stress, our repeated experience of reality is displaced by a flash of offended perception. And when reality so rudely intrudes, some of us get a little pissy and a little irrational.

1. Woods, as the song indicates, are something that one goes through, unless of course one is St. Nick. Or a goose. Or a rider of broomsticks. Note also that woods do not require hills, and not all hills are wooded, but they periodically coincide. In such a case, one can use either preposition, depending on the preferred emphasis of the sentence, the hill or the forest.
2. Note that in Portland, a ‘culdesac’ is NOT the same thing as a “dead end” and so doesn’t rank a sign that says, well, “dead end.” At best, it gets a sign that says “Not a thru street.” But what eleven-year-old pays attention to such a benign sign as that? Really, the word “dead” is much more catchy.
3. or at least, that was the rumor which appeared to justify the following rather strange decision
4.
The East side has houses. I know this now, and I knew this then! This is an inside reference that will only be understood by a very small group of friends, most of whom do not read this blog.
5. I did say adolescent, right?
6. These really don’t exist in Southwest. Here, perception and reality coincide. Except for Multnomah Blvd. Which is a block from my house. Okay, most of them are not straight.
7. Did I say I haven’t ridden much this summer? I won’t even tell you my average speed for the day, it is embarrassing. Suffice it to say that on those silly calorie charts, I fell into the category of “leisure riding.”
8.
Yes, I was exhausted in the lowest gear. Class, can we say “pathetic”?
9. This is not familial loyalty exaggerating reality, it is objectively true. Everyone who walks by says so.

Talking Right, Stumbling Left

Sat, 27 Sep 2008 16:00:00 +0000

W. Bradford Wilcox wrote an interesting article on the reasons for Evangelical support of Sarah Palin, not despite but because of the apparent inconsistency between her religious ideals and the realities of her family life. I must admit, I have found it a little disturbing how quickly we liberals point out the seeming hypocrisy she represents. How often does our ideology falter in practice (hint: do you drive? do you drink coffee grown outside your immediate environs?)? What I find equally disturbing is the apparent lack of acknowledgment of the difference between ideology and practice among Fundamentalist Christians and some Evangelicals (fundamentalists are not the same as evangelicals!). Wilcox’s article makes an interesting connection.

In Talking right, stumbling left by
W. Bradford Wilcox at The Immanent Frame

In a paper I wrote recently for the Russell Sage Foundation,
I found that evangelical Protestants—who make up about one-quarter of
the U.S. population—are markedly more likely than other Americans to
embrace traditional views of family life; at the same time, they are
also more likely than other Americans to have difficulty living up to
those ideals—especially when it comes to teenage sex, working mothers,
and divorce. In a word, evangelical Protestants typically talk right
and, often unwittingly, stumble left.

Take their views toward divorce and premarital sex. In 2002, 70
percent of evangelical Protestants indicated that they thought divorce
should be “more difficult to obtain,” compared to 41 percent of other
Americans. Likewise, also in 2002, 57 percent of evangelical
Protestants affirmed the view that premarital sex is “always wrong,”
compared to 28 percent of other Americans. My book, Soft Patriarchs, New Men: How Christianity Shapes Fathers and Husbands
(Chicago, 2004), reports a similar divide when it comes to gender
attitudes, with evangelical Protestants reporting significantly higher
levels of support for traditional gender roles than the rest of the
American population.

But when it comes to putting these views into practice, the picture
grows more complex. My research shows that evangelical Protestants are
more likely to be married and to have larger families than other
Americans, as one might expect. But on other fronts, American
evangelicals have clearly been affected by the tidal wave of change
associated with the family and gender revolutions of the last half
century. On average, evangelical Protestant teens have sex at slightly
earlier ages than their non-evangelical peers (respectively, 16.38
years-old versus 16.52 years-olds). Evangelical Protestant couples are
also slightly more likely to divorce than non-evangelical couples. And,
I have also found that evangelical mothers are actually more likely to
work full-time outside of the home than their non-evangelical peers.

Class and culture both play a role in accounting for the gap between
evangelical family ideals and evangelical family realities. Compared to
the population at large, evangelicals are more likely to hail from
working-class communities in the South. Because they have less
education and income, on average, than the population at large, these
evangelicals are more vulnerable to divorce and more likely to rely on
a mother’s paycheck to make ends meet. Furthermore, many evangelicals
are influenced by a “redneck” Scotch-Irish cultural inheritance that
makes them more likely to engage in risky or violent behavior, which
also helps to account for their distinctive patterns when it comes to
teen sex and divorce.

Paradoxically, the disjunctions between evangelical ideals and
practices only seem to make them more committed to their traditional
vision of family life. Whether they have experienced a “fall from
grace” in their own family life, or seen a friend or family member
experience such a fall, many evangelicals view these family experiences
as an occasion to redouble their support for religious and policy
measures to strengthen the family. In their view, the best response to
their own family failings or the family failings of their neighbor is
heightened vigilance against what they see as the poisonous cultural
fruits of late modernity[/quote]

Dancing before God

Fri, 22 Aug 2008 16:00:00 +0000

This last Sunday, Fr. Paul told us of a restless little girl who, during her baptism, took the first opportunity free from the arms of an adult to run up the steps of the altar and dance before the royal doors. A shocking moment since in the Orthodox Church no one but the priest and deacon ever stand on the step before the royal doors. Yet, as Fr. Paul reminded us, our surprise is not because we have never seen such behavior, but because we don’t remember it. Miriam led the women in a dance across the hot sands of the Sinai Desert, calling the people to “‘Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea’” (Ex. 15:20-21) Judith, after using her wisdom and beauty to single-handedly bring about the triumph of a small and weak Hebrew army faced with a mighty Persian commander, leads the women and men in celebratory song and dance, feasting before the sanctuary in Jerusalem for three months (Judith 15-16). Presented to the temple at the age of three, the Theotokos was welcomed by the arms of the priest. “Kissing her, he blessed her and said, ‘The Lord God has magnified your name for all generations; through you the Lord will reveal deliverance to the children of Israel in the last days.’ And he set her down on the third step of the altar and the Lord God poured grace upon her. She danced triumphantly with her feet and every house in Israel loved her” (Proto. James 7.7-10).1 In the oral tradition of the Orthodox Church, Mary does not stop on the third step, but enters the Holy of Holies itself, a place reserved for the High Priest alone.

The Orthodox church often interprets Mary’s entrance into this most sacred of spaces as something that she alone can do. She alone is pure enough to both enter the Holy of Holies in which God dwells, and she is the womb through which God enters the world. In practice, this argument is sometimes used to justify the contemporary (NOT historicaL) exclusion of women from entrance into the altar. Its application to only women and not men is dubious to say the least. Yet this interpretation misses the Feast of the Dormition which follows so quickly on the Feast of the Transfiguration. At the Transfiguration, we see a glimpse of our deification in the God who became human so that we might become gods (if you missed my recent post, read a GREAT sermon here). At the Dormition, we celebrate the first human who enters, body and soul, into God. The Theotokos not only bears the One who enables our deification, she herself is the first fully deified human being. She precedes us, going where we too will go, becoming what we too will become. This theology does not exclude us from dancing with Mary on the altar steps, or entering ourselves into the Holy of Holies, but invites us to do so. As Fr. Paul noted, our canons do not exclude women from the altar, but restricts entrance to those who are called to serve the church in capacities that both men and women have held at various points in our history.

There is however, another aspect to the Dormition that until I spent a week at New Skete a few years ago, I simply never noticed. The Dormition is a feast of liberation, in the vein of the best of liberation theology. This liberation is not merely celebrated by women, but at times led by women. Miriam’s song celebrates the destruction of Pharoah, the triumph of the Exodus, an event of freedom from slavery and oppression which still stands at the heart of Jewish theology and practice. Judith, combining deadly seduction and skilled battle tactics, saves the Hebrews from destruction by Holofernes and the Persian army. The beautiful Esther prevents genocide, a feat marked each year by Purim, a celebration in which everything is topsy-turvey (Esther 9:18-22). The Magnificat of Mary (Luke 1.39-55), read and sung during Dormition, echos the Song of Hannah (1 Samuel 2:1-10).

In each one of these moments, the powerful are brought down, the lowly are lifted, the hungry are fed, the barren are made fruitful. These songs celebrate rescue from destruction and the restoration of justice. Justice here is not only retribution (though in the Egyptians and Persians certainly experienced violent retribution), but a (albeit brief) restoration of creation as it is should be, as it will be. The restoration of a place in which the hungry are fed, in which the needy are cared for, where women as well as men dance and celebrate in the Holy of Holies. Symeon the New Theologian reminds us, both women and men, that like Mary each one of us birth the Holy Spirit in the wombs of our hearts, and by doing so, become a Holy of Holies, birthing through our life and actions the One who grants mercy and restores justice.2.

1. The Presentation of the Theotokos at the Temple is its own feast day, celebrated on Nov. 21st
2. See the Ethical Discourses, 1.6

Sr. Katrina - Memory Eternal

Wed, 20 Aug 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Sr. Katrina, a nun of New Skete, passed away on August 13th after a long struggle with pancreatic cancer. I spent a few brief moments with Sr. Katrina the week before, and had one rather stunning conversation. I went in to speak to her after liturgy on Sunday the 3rd. Two girls visiting New Skete with their family were asked by Br. Stavros to assist during the liturgy. They carried candles in the procession, held a communion cloth. As always, I was both delighted and sad to see them serve. While I know in my head that it really should be normal for girls to serve, it just never feels normal, it is always exceptional. I was reflecting during liturgy on how strange it is that we Orthodox, who go on and on about how important icons are in appealing to our visual sense when it serves us in condemning Protestant austerity, completely ignore/deny/reject the visual importance of live female bodies, flesh and blood images of God, in and around the altar. Or rather, how we deny any negative affect as a result of their absence. We like to point to the Theotokos as if her presence is enough. But in my effort to live with my Church, I forget too, I forget how powerful it is to SEE it not just think about the participation of women.

Later that afternoon, I went to visit Sr. Katrina, unsure of what to share with someone whose lucidity was hit or miss due to morphine, pain, and weakness. So, I told her about the girls serving, and that I really missed seeing it when I was away from New Skete. I told her what it was like to be reminded of just how normal this should be, and how sad that it is so exceptional. Sr. Katrina, who I wasn't sure was hearing or understanding, suddenly said, "I want to serve" and reached out her hand. I took it, and the only response I could come up with seemed trite but true: "Well, soon, you will get to serve all the time." She smiled and girpped my hand quite hard for someone about to die from pancreatic cancer. I went on to tell her about my conversation following the liturgy with Sr. Rebecca, when Sr. Rebecca said that a liturgy in which girls serve brings heaven and earth closer together. I told her (through tears) that soon she gets to do what these girls did but that she gets to do it for the rest of her life, and that she gets to pray for us. I told her that sometimes, when we ask for the intercessions of the saints, I imagine that the saints and the Theotokos in particular pray for things we don't expect, or rather, that some in the church might not expect. Like the full participation of girls and women. She smiled at that too. And I asked her to pray for us, for women, and for the church. Sr. Katrina, being a little in and out, said she was worried that she wouldn’t remember. I spoke for a bit more about my day, the liturgy, and since she seemed tired, I said goodbye. I asked her again to remember to pray and then told her that I was sure she wouldn't forget that. She smiled again. And I cried.

May her memory be eternal!

The Transfiguration

Tue, 19 Aug 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Recently, I had the pleasure of spending the Feast of the Transfiguration with The Communities of New Skete, celebrating their feast day with the monks, nuns and companions. At vespers each evening, we sang the hymns of the feast, and each time I was struck by two recurring themes: first, the glory of Christ is revealed so that we understand that he chose to freely suffer. This is a crucial point in Christian theology, one often missed. Suffering is not itself redemptive, it is simply miserable. It is the freedom of choosing to suffer on behalf of another, or suffer with another (the heart of the word “compassion”) that is central to this feast. I say that it is often missed because it is so easy to slip into looking for meaning in suffering, of assuming that suffering is sent by God to test us, or even believing that suffering itself is somehow a good that we should seek out and be grateful for the opportunity it brings. Orthodox asceticism can at time run dangerously close to imposing suffering for the sake of suffering. But this is not the emphasis of this feast. Instead, suffering is freely chosen on behalf of friends.

Kondakion of the Feast, New Skete translationYou were transfigured on the mountain, O Christ our God, showing your friends as much of your glory as they could bear, so that when they see you on the cross they will understand that you suffer freely, and they will tell all the world that you are indeed the radiance of the Father.

Second Apostichon of the Transfiguration, New Skete translationOf old, God spoke in symbols to Moses on Mount Sinai saying: I am the One who is, while today Christ is transfigured before his three friends on mount Tabor’s heights. Here, in his own person he shows them our human nature arrayed in the original beauty of that image. Calling Moses and Elijah to see this wondrous grace and share in his joy, they foretell his death on the cross, and his saving resurrection.

The second theme mitigates even further any idea that suffering is itself a glory of human existence. In the Transfiguration of Christ, we see divinity shine in the midst of the humanity of Jesus, and we see “our human nature arrayed in the original beauty of that image” in which we are created, and which is never lost, merely obscured. Our goal is not suffering, it is radiant light, beauty. In the Transfiguration, we see who we are becoming. I could say more, but Br. Marc’s homily during the festal liturgy says it better than I can paraphrase. I have reproduced it in full below as it is no longer available on the New Skete website.

Vision of Transformation

Scripture Reading: 1 Kg. 19:9-14a; 2 Pet. 1:10-18; Mt. 17:1-8

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, amen!

Back in the 1950’s and ‘60’s a great cartoon character named Pogo had a great line: “We have seen the enemy—and it is us!” Now to turn this on its head, today we have seen the Light—and it is us!—Each of us and all of us together in the body of Christ reflect the brightness of Christ who is our head, as St. Paul might say. Today three disciples witnessed the complete transformation of Jesus’ appearance. And later they lived through his passion and death and resurrection and now tell us about it. Also today the apostle Peter gives us his last will and testament in which he remembers and encourages us by this event. Later he exclaims that “We look forward to new heavens and a new earth, as he promised, where the upright will be at home!”

But how did people in those days, who knew the Jewish Bible, understand this story? There was Peter, along with James and John, on Tabor, like Moses on Sinai, experiencing an incredible revelation, not in a burning bush but in the blinding light of a person, and also hearing the voice of God. But now the divine voice confirms what was heard at the Baptism in the Jordan: “You are my Son, the beloved. Hear him.” Moses was again seen here, too, along with Elijah, both of whom had heard the voice of God before, and who together represent the Torah and the great prophets of Israel. And now they stand in conversation with Christ, the author of the new law and a new prophecy or witness to the infinite love of God. As Peter had said earlier, “You are the Messiah!” And later in his epistle, “Christ is our Lord and Saviour!” (—the first time this phrase is used in the New Testament.)

This is not just an experience of Jesus’ noble glory or special holiness, a glimpse of enlightenment and fellowship: no, this event shows the meaning of who we are, where we are from, and where we are going—in spite of and beneath all the suffering, sorrow, and sighing of life in the world below that mountain.

We are urged to live by this vision of transformation, to recognize even in ourselves the divine power and divine acceptance and divine kindness. Christ is shown as he really is, and in his body includes us and humanity and every living creature and the earth itself. This prepares the disciples for the death and resurrection of Jesus, but it also encourages each and every single one of us. It gives balance to the burdens of suffering, hostility, and death, by exposing love, rising, and grace as the essence of our life.

The biblical prophet Jeremiah says that in the kingdom of God the just, the upright, will shine like the sun for all to see and feel. St. Paul says that in the final reckoning every one of us will see Christ clearly as, and we will be like him and reflect his light ourselves, because through faith we are considered just in the eyes of God.

You know, this is not an uplifting summer story to hold us until the Christmas story comes around next winter! Here is a crucial new way of looking at things, and the only way to transform ourselves and the world. We know the hymn: “We have seen the true light, we have received the heavenly Spirit, and we have found the true faith.” We have been enlightened at baptism; we have been confirmed through the gospels, we have found the source of life, we have been healed and made whole in the depths of our being. It is in there! Is this our daily way of thinking?

Where can we see evidence of this transfiguring light? We look up at the saints that surround us, who encourage us even in these anxious times. These people have shown how to come to true self-knowledge and full possession of ourselves and our unruly ego-natures.

They portray a beauty of soul and vision not only immortal and holy but fragile — redeeming yet elusive. They became free and deeply compassionate in the midst of weakness and sickness, or greed, hatred, delusion, wrong-doing, and shame. As Jesus said, “Take courage!” “Do not be afraid! I am with you always!”

Yet, it is so hard for many to accept what is beautiful and good in us. That’s not the image we first have of ourselves, full of secret wounds, shame, and lack of confidence, and at times wondering why we exist. A dark vision controls us even without our knowing, and hijacks our good intentions. On top of this, out there is the need for protection from people who are unstable, controlling, dangerous, and deluded.

Yet beneath the armor of self-protection, there is the inherent original beauty of our nature created by God, who said “It is good!” An ancient and hallowed Eastern text was written to guide those who are dying, and it clearly says it: “You are of noble birth; you come from glory; remember your shining true nature, the essence of your soul: Trust it, return to it, for it is your home.”

People can see and feel and taste it when they visit a monastery. Love and deep respect for ourselves and others will show in any of us when we remove the weeds that choke it out, those miserable thoughts and obsessions, those bad habits and thoughtless ways of acting that we have. This is the way we can transform and change our own lives and inspire each other to become whole and joyful: the world is hungry for simple acceptance, compassion, and truth. As my mother once said, “I love you just as you are: but can you try to remember to do what I am asking here…?”

The monk Thomas Merton wrote, “Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in the eyes of the Divine. If only they could all see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time. There would be no more war, no more hatred, no more cruelty, no more greed.” Then finally he exclaims: “…I suppose the big problem would be that we would all fall down and worship each other!”

Christ is in our midst!

Wanderings and Wonderings About Women and Walls

Sun, 15 Jun 2008 16:00:00 +0000

In Communion recently published a wonderful article by Dr. Demetra Velisarios on women in the church. Here is a snippet, but the whole article is well stated and should be read by all concerned! [quote=Demetra Jaquet]The walls which most need to be pointed out between men and women are primarily the walls of fear, defensiveness and ego which we have built around ourselves, causing us to harm others on a sliding scale from occasional minor offenses to extreme and chronic paralyzing abuse. From behind those walls emanate arrows of accusation, domination and forced submission which are an affront to God and to God’s spirit and action within us.[/quote] Read the full article here.

But I am a woman...

Sat, 07 Jun 2008 16:00:00 +0000

On May 20th, 12:56 am, I complete my Oregon Ballot, and cast my vote in the Democratic Primary. I was so conflicted that I left the presidential candidates for last. I actually sealed both the envelopes (in Oregon, we do a mail in ballot, one envelope for ballot secrecy, the other to mail) and was doing dishes when I realized that I had completely forgotten to fill in my little bubble for president. I opened the envelopes carefully, stared once again at my choices, and cast my vote. I rather sadly sealed my envelope, signed the seal so they would know that it had not been tampered with (and actually called the ballot office the next day to make sure I did it correctly, in time to run down and fill out a new ballot if necessary), and the next day, dropped it in the A-Boy parking lot drop-box.

Along with many other Oregonians, I voted for Barack Obama, not Hillary Clinton. I have many reasons for that choice. But it was, and still is, a sad choice. I am a feminist, and I did not vote for the first female candidate for President (I wasn’t old enough to vote for Geraldine, but I remember her running! Besides, it was for vice-president). I think race mattered (and will continue to do so) and I think sex mattered, both in complicated, sometimes ugly, and often unconscious ways. I can’t quite escape the feeling that I lost something, that I compromised a value I to which I am deeply committed, the full participation of women according to their real gifts, not merely those perceived by blind tradition and ancient stereotypes. I still think my reasons for choosing Barack are good, and I will stand by them. I only hope that what Hillary says below comes true, that we really can “build an America that respects and embraces the potential of every last one of us.”

When I was asked what it means to be a woman running for President, I always gave the same answer: that I was proud to be running as a woman but I was running because I thought I’d be the best President. But I am a woman, and like millions of women, I know there are still barriers and biases out there, often unconscious. I want to build an America that respects and embraces the potential of every last one of us. I ran as a daughter who benefited from opportunities my mother never dreamed of. I ran as a mother who worries about my daughter’s future and a mother who wants to lead all children to brighter tomorrows. To build that future I see, we must make sure that women and men alike understand the struggles of their grandmothers and mothers, and that women enjoy equal opportunities, equal pay, and equal respect. Let us resolve and work toward achieving some very simple propositions: There are no acceptable limits and there are no acceptable prejudices in the twenty-first century. You can be so proud that, from now on, it will be unremarkable for a woman to win primary state victories, unremarkable to have a woman in a close race to be our nominee, unremarkable to think that a woman can be the President of the United States. And that is truly remarkable. To those who are disappointed that we couldn’t go all the way – especially the young people who put so much into this campaign – it would break my heart if, in falling short of my goal, I in any way discouraged any of you from pursuing yours. Always aim high, work hard, and care deeply about what you believe in. When you stumble, keep faith. When you’re knocked down, get right back up. And never listen to anyone who says you can’t or shouldn’t go on. As we gather here today in this historic magnificent building, the 50th woman to leave this Earth is orbiting overhead. If we can blast 50 women into space, we will someday launch a woman into the White House. Although we weren’t able to shatter that highest, hardest glass ceiling this time, thanks to you, it’s got about 18 million cracks in it. And the light is shining through like never before, filling us all with the hope and the sure knowledge that the path will be a little easier next time. That has always been the history of progress in America. Think of the suffragists who gathered at Seneca Falls in 1848 and those who kept fighting until women could cast their votes. Think of the abolitionists who struggled and died to see the end of slavery. Think of the civil rights heroes and foot-soldiers who marched, protested and risked their lives to bring about the end to segregation and Jim Crow. Because of them, I grew up taking for granted that women could vote. Because of them, my daughter grew up taking for granted that children of all colors could go to school together. Because of them, Barack Obama and I could wage a hard fought campaign for the Democratic nomination. Because of them, and because of you, children today will grow up taking for granted that an African American or a woman can yes, become President of the United States.

June 7, 2008, Washington, D.C., Hillary Clinton

Bells!

Tue, 27 May 2008 16:00:00 +0000

This weekend I was up in Seattle for the fabulous NW Folklike festival, which really deserves a post all its own, but probably won’t get one this time around. On Sunday I decided to visit St. Spiridon’s Orthodox Church (OCA) which I had not been to in decades (literally). And I got to hear bells! Beautiful, ringing, real live bells! The bell ringer did a beautiful job ringing a pattern similar to what one of the Monks at New Skete refers to as the “Sitka Shuffle” (Many Russian churches in the Lower 48 are populated with descendants of Orthodox in Alaska, Russia’s early entry point to North America). Unlike at New Skete where I am either in the church building which muffles the sound, or frantically trying to keep time as I help the bell ringer while wearing funny ear mufflers, I was actually able to hear and enjoy these bells. They are not big, but they have a beautiful sound. There is just nothing like real bells, that strange combination of clang and clear ring which appears to echo on and on even as the bell is struck again. It is so rare to hear real bells anymore, they are expensive to buy and difficult to play. Sigh. What a loss, but what a treat! It was such an unexpected and beautiful way to end the liturgy.

Note: the “yesterday” in the picture caption actually refers to Sunday, April 23rd, 2000.

Poem: Phillip Lopate

Sat, 24 May 2008 16:00:00 +0000

I am reading Anne Lamott’s book, Bird by Bird in which she cites Phillip Lopate’s poem as an example of shaping one’s paranoia “into something artistic and true.” I chuckled. In that sort of painful and true kind of way.

We who are
your closest friends
feel the time
has come to tell you
that every Thursday
we have been meeting,
as a group,
to devise ways
to keep you
in perpetual uncertainty
frustration
discontent and
torture
by neither loving you
as much as you want
nor cutting you adrift.
Your analyst is
in on it,
plus your boyfriend
and your ex-husband;
and we have pledged
to disappoint you
as long as you need us.
In announcing our
association
we realize we have
placed in your hands
a possible antidote
against uncertainty
indeed against ourselves.
But since our Thursday nights
have brought us
to a community
of purpose
rare in itself
with you as
the natural center,
we feel hopeful you
will continue to make unreasonable
demands for affection
if not as a consequence
of your disastrous personality
then for the good of the collective.

Hauerwas on Liturgy: Take 2

Fri, 23 May 2008 16:00:00 +0000

It seems that putting up a provocative Hauerwas quote without explanation is a bad idea. Which is fair because he usually requires some explanation and context</a>. So, in lieu of a reply to a comment, here is simply "Take 2" on Hauerwas.

Here is the quote:

One reason why we Christians argue so much about which hymn to sing, which liturgy to follow, which way to worship is that the commandments teach us to believe that bad liturgy eventually leads to bad ethics. You begin by singing some sappy, sentimental hymn, then you pray some pointless prayer, and the next thing you know you have murdered your best friend.

No, Hauerwas isn't joking. He may be exaggerating for effect, something at which he is particularly good, except that he, and I, think that there is truth in what appears to be a rather extreme association.

I must admit, I ran across this quote and am citing it completely out of context. It tickled my perverse funny bone. So, I will take a stab at giving it some context, albeit Orthodox rather than the methodist or episcopal context of Hauerwas.

Hauerwas firmly believes that liturgy, how we worship, shapes who we are and how we are. This theology is deeply embedded in the Orthodox understanding of liturgy. WHO and HOW are almost synonymous, in that we are what we do. In Orthodox language, to be virtuous is to participate in God by participating in the attributes of God (Gregory of Nazianzus). We learn those virtues in our liturgy by the words we say or sing, the way we stand, kneel, process, etc. The problem arises when our liturgy fails to teach us virtue, whether because it cannot be understood (not in the vernacular) or because its content isn't worth understanding (sappy), or when our liturgy embodies practices which are simply wrong (hmm...the exclusion of women?). Poor liturgy teaches us something, but it might not be virtue.

The key is the word 'eventually.' I suspect that even Hauerwas would acknowledge that there are many steps between a sappy song and murdering your best friend. But bad liturgy puts us on a trajectory towards vice just as good liturgy puts us on a trajectory towards virtue. Of course it is more complicated, and because the liturgy is hardly the only place in which we learn what it is to participate (or not) in God, good liturgy does not guarantee virtue and bad liturgy does not guarantee vice. But eventually?

A example is the Elevation of the Holy Cross (Sep. 14th), a major feast of the Orthodox Church. Virtually every special hymn of the day refers triumph of the Orthodox over their adversaries. The emphasis of the day is on Helen's finding of the cross. But part of the context of this historical triumph was the defeat of the Persians by the emperor Heraclius. Interestingly enough, the GOA description of the feast downplays the Persian defeat; the OCA website does not. Precisely what are we asking for when we sing the Troparion:

O Lord, save Thy people,
And bless Thine inheritance.
Grant victory to the Emperor [or "Thy people" or "the Orthodox Christians"]
Over the barbarians, [or "their enemies"]
And by the power of Thy Cross
Preserve Thy commonwealth. [or "estate" or "habitation"]

Who are the barbarians, our enemies? By what means do we achieve victory? Precisely how does this match up with Jesus' command to turn the other cheek? Violence is a part of our history. We were attacked by Saracens. And we invited in the crusaders, and in turn, were pillaged by Christian soldiers returning from battle. Maybe not our best friends, but at least friends, yes?

And that is Hauerwas' point, to juxtapose the most unlikely of events, sappy songs and murdering your best friend, in order to jolt us into awareness of how seriously we should take the content of our liturgy.

Elizabeth

Sun, 25 May, 2008 - 22:09

Ah, yes, thank you, this makes much more sense to me. I don't think of this hymn as "sappy" though. But I can see how what we sing affects our actions. Which is one more reason for me to bow out of singing that hymn whenever possible (like, when I'm not singing it with the choir....perhaps I should refuse even then?).

And interestingly, this segues with the idea of tradition being sacred. Just because someone somewhere connected dots that shouldn't necessarily have been connected doesn't mean we form sacred tradition out of it and set it in stone and create doctrine out of it. We also have to use the brains God gave us to figure out what is right.

mariagwyn

Mon, 26 May, 2008 - 18:28

To be honest, I had trouble thinking of an Orthodox hymn I consider "sappy." It is not our forte, or perhaps, it is our forte. Hauerwas comes from a more 'free-church' worship tradition, where songs really can be sappy. They can also be beautiful (in case any evangelicals are reading this blog and get offended!).

I like your last comment, just because someone somewhere connected the dots.... Unfortunately, it is a bit like folks thinking that if it is in print, it must be true, even though all sorts of things make it to the page without any basis in reality. For Orthodox, if it makes it into our liturgy, it must be from God, no brains necessary. Sigh.

Kerry

Tue, 04 May, 2010 - 23:16

just discovered your blog. I know the discussion is now long passed, but a few thoughts came to mind as I read the troparion. It's the problem of history. We believe that God has, is now, and will intervene in history. So is there a statute of limitations on the interpretation of such actions? No doubt, the Christians of that time believed that God had intervened, bringing victory over "the barbarians." We may not like it, we may be offended by it, or we may disagree with the interpretation of the event given by the composer of the hymn--but there it is.

My experience of the tropar in the Liturgy has been of the scrubbed variety, which I think is the way to go. The meaning was taken out of the original situation and given more universal import. This move, however, is really quite extraordinary, by the way. Also, the hymn is easily allegorize-able. (Enemies as the passions, for example.) As far as the non-scrubbed variety goes, I think I would just roll my eyes. Without the changes, the hymn is simply a fossil.

But as long as there is Incarnation, there is no way out of the "problem" of history and the continuing scandal of particularity.

In the meantime, as Orth Xians, we should not be so credulous about our Liturgy and the fact that it is a product of the ages.

mariagwyn

Mon, 17 May, 2010 - 09:41

Nice to see you here Kerry. The scandal of particularity is always a problem, though it is, I think, a good one. I too prefer the "scrubbed" version. In a relatively recent choir rehearsal though, someone complained about making it "PC." I mentioned some of the concerns with using a hymn that celebrates violence over enemies, which is its context, to which the response was, "well, what would be celebrate if not that?" How ironic that a celebration of the cross, the victory over death through death is now a celebration of victory by death of the 'other.' The cross, its victory and all that means for us as Orthodox Christians, the trampling of death by death, was lost for this person. There wasn't even a connection. Certainly there may be many reasons for this disturbing lack of theological awareness, but it strikes me that hymns without good interpretation (what Chrysostom considers essential "preaching") allows for the gaps to be filled in by all sorts of disturbing theologies.

Quote: Hauerwas on Liturgy

Fri, 16 May 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Sometimes, you just have to toss something out there and see what happens. There is no ethicist better at this than Stanley Hauerwas. And if he is right, then, well, we should pay attention to our liturgy, yes?

One reason why we Christians argue so much about which hymn to sing, which liturgy to follow, which way to worship is that the commandments teach us to believe that bad liturgy eventually leads to bad ethics. You begin by singing some sappy, sentimental hymn, then you pray some pointless prayer, and the next thing you know you have murdered your best friend.

A Rueful Observation

Wed, 14 May 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Mother's Day coincided this year with the reading from the conclusion to the gospel of Mark. The Myrrh-bearing women fearfully approach the tomb of Jesus only to find the stone rolled away and an angel telling the women not to be afraid but to go and preach the good news to the disciples that their crucified friend and teacher has been raised from the dead. The passage ends not with the women preaching the good news, but going away in silence, “for they were afraid.” This is the original conclusion of the gospel attested to in the earliest manuscripts, not the later addition which might make us all feel better but which also undermines the power of this gospel. The Gospel of Mark presents to us the tension of fear versus faith, calling us to step out of our natural fear into a faith grounded in the Resurrection which, as Fr. Paul so beautifully reminded us, makes all things new, all things possible.

I was a bit derailed from this message rather early on in the sermon by what I incorrectly thought was a throw-away comment: The myrrh-bearers “came to perform a sacred task that it has fallen to women of every generation to perform: to receive and tend to the bodies of men broken by violence. When men have done their worst, women have often been the ones called upon to give as much gentleness, as much tenderness, as much dignity to their end as can be given.” I say “throw-away” because the sermon itself did not return to this theme. I had two reactions to the comment which I wrote up that afternoon and emailed to Fr. Paul. Not only did he read them, but he gave a very thought-provoking response. So first, let me present my initial reactions which are valid but misdirected. Then let me say how I was, well, wrong.

A Disingenuous Compliment?

First, extolling the special dignity of women as mothers who embody gentleness and tenderness is meant as a compliment to women. This compliment is a cornerstone of John Paul II’s Mulieres Dignitatem, as well as the work of Paul Evdokimov (who preceded JPII) in Women and the Salvation of the World. It is however, a rather disingenuous compliment. It is a compliment because who would not want to embody the most Christian of virtues: mercy, compassion, kindness, love, hope and self-control? Evdokimov hopes to elevate these ‘womanly’ virtues and given them the honor they (both the women and the virtues) are due. It is disingenuous because we seem to take neither the virtues nor the women that embody them seriously. According to Gregory of Nazianzus, the priest is called to lead people into virtue by modeling virtue. So why is it that we are led by men? Why is it that we trust men to teach virtues which they apparently do not embody, from the pulpit or from a book? Our priests, teachers and theologians are almost entirely men. If women more naturally embody these virtues, then it is women who should model and teach them to men, not the other way around. This is a compliment to women in words only, not in reality. In the end, Evdokimov simply reinscribes the same role for women with which he began, exemplified in the silent and compassionate, ever-virgin Mother of God, the Theotokos.

Second, this ‘compliment’ denigrates men. It implies that true ‘manhood’ is not about compassion, mercy, kindness and love. To be a real man is not to be these things, but to be pitiless, unmerciful, cruel and filled with hate. Men are aggressive and dangerous, and left to their own devices they would destroy the world, just as they crucified Christ. Really? Is this how we are supposed to understand manhood? How can we not weep at this very idea? By implying that these vices embody real manhood, we allow men to continue in a false understanding of themselves. Instead of calling men to practice Christian virtues, we imply that perhaps women will simply have to do it on their behalf. Women are, after all, the salvation of the world, not men. We let men off the hook, relieving them of their responsibility to be human.

Evdokimov’s title is wrong, women ARE NOT the salvation of the world. If this idea did not permeate twentieth-century Orthodox theology, it would be laughable in both its romantic foolishness and its flirtation with heresy. It is romantic and foolish because it posits a false idealization of womanhood. It is almost heresy because women do not save, only God through Christ in the Spirit saves. Further, it splits the unity of virtue into supposedly ‘male’ and ‘female’ virtues. Christ did not call his women disciples to one kind of faith and humanity, and his male disciples to another. It does us no service to falsely idealize one sex and foolishly relieve the other of responsibility. Instead, we must recognize our shared virtues and vices.

No, a “rueful observation”

<span">Robert Lentz: Madre De Los Desaparecidos

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My legitimate frustration with Evdokimov clouded an even more disturbing reality. Fr. Paul returned to the theme of women receiving back the bodies of men destroyed by violence not during the sermon, but at the end of the liturgy. In order to celebrate Mother’s Day, he read Julia Ward Howe’s original Mother’s Day Proclamation of 1870. Fr. Paul noted (in his email response) that Howe’s point is “that women have a particular calling or grace of restraining violence in the world as women, and especially as mothers. She is saying that women have received back the dead and damaged long enough, and that the time has come to do something about it.” Howe’s grief at unjustified and unnecessary violence and her call to action is echoed in the footsteps of Las Madres de Plaza De Mayo. The violence against which Howe protests and Las Madres march is overwhelmingly perpetrated by, and often against, men. The U.S. Government statistics on homicide by gender only underscore the point. Fr. Paul’s comment was not meant as a compliment towards women, but “more of a rueful observation” into which he does not invest any theological meaning.

Here then, is my problem: I would prefer to ignore the unavoidable reality of a difference between men and women because it so easily to leads to proscribed roles which do not reflect the diverse reality of how men and women actually live their lives outside these roles. How do we confront the reality that violence is overwhelmingly perpetrated by men, that it is women who are so often left to received the bruised and broken bodies of their loved ones, without investing theological meaning into the supposedly inherent (read: ‘ontological’ for all you theologians out there) virtues of men and women? Is this even possible? On the one hand, as Christians, we are called to a life of virtue that does not respect our sex. On the other hand, we are embodied as men and women in a social context, perhaps even (and I say this with not a bit of fear and trembling) a biology, which forms us in particular ways.

We cannot simply pull ourselves out of reality by claiming that virtue is asexual (oh, how I wish we could, it would make my job sooo much easier!). Is it simply true that in the face of violence perpetrated by men, women have responded (whether by choice or last resort) with mercy? Are we thus more merciful? In another universe, perhaps the tables would be turned, but we don’t live in another universe, we live in this one. Is this a description of reality, or a prescription for reality? For Evdokimov, it is the latter and it is best fulfilled in particular roles which are exclusive to sex. I believe such roles tend to hurt some men and women. But how do we fulfill our call to practice a unified virtue while still embedded in our apparently divided lives, culture, and bodies? Surely we should not be content with the lopsided distribution of virtue reflected in our world.

What is does this look like in a resurrected world (by which I do not mean the eschaton) in which all things are possible?

Elizabeth

Wed, 21 May, 2008 - 14:47

I've read this several times and I have to admit, even through several conversations with you, I am still trying to figure out what I think about gender differences, what is real difference and what is that which we impose on gender. I think you'd agree that there is a difference between ways of being different genders, yes? But "more merciful" is not what you think is inherent in women but not men. Perhaps I need a description of what the differences are as you see them. Even though you'd prefer to ignore it. :-)

But then it seems I'm not the only one still trying to wrap my head around this issue.

A Radical Mother's Day

Sat, 10 May 2008 16:00:00 +0000

I must admit that until this week, I knew nothing of the beginning's of Mother's Day. Like Valentine's day, I wrongly assumed that it was yet another Hallmark Holiday, full of sentimentality and the idealization of motherhood, which is a noble but hardly sentimental or ideal profession (it is a profession, whether paid or unpaid!). How wrong I was! For the first time today, read in church, I heard the words of Julia Ward Howe, who apparently wrote something other than the Battle Hymn of the Republic. Having seen the devastation of the Civil War, and deeply upset by what she considered the unnecessary Franco-Prussian War, Julia Ward Howe penned the following words:

Mother's Day Proclamation (1870)

Julia Ward Howe

Again, in the sight of the Christian world, have the skill and power of two great nations exhausted themselves in mutual murder. Again have the sacred questions of international justice been committed to the fatal mediation of military weapons. In this day of progress, in this century of light, the ambition of rulers has been allowed to barter the dear interests of domestic life for the bloody exchanges of the battle-field. Thus men have done. Thus men will do. But women need no longer be made a party to proceedings which fill the globe with grief and horror. Despite the assumptions of physical force, the mother has a sacred and commanding word to say to the sons who owe their life to her suffering. That word should now be heard, and answered to as never before.

Arise then Christian women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!

We, the women of one country,
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.

From the voice of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with
Our own. It says: "Disarm! Disarm!
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe our dishonor,
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil
At the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace,
man as the brother of man,
each bearing after his own kind the sacred impress,
not of Cæsar, but of God.

In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality,
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.

Visual Metaphors: Shut Out

Sat, 10 May 2008 16:00:00 +0000

This post is so overdue it is almost pointless, except that I keep returning to this idea of “visual metaphors.” We are used to verbal metaphors which refer things we see, and my current reading companion, Gregory of Nazianzus, uses abundant pictorial language to convey his rhetorically and philosophically rich theology. What I mean here are not metaphors that refer to what we see, but things that we see which serve as metaphors.

The power of a visual metaphor was perfectly illustrated at the first Lenten service of the year (now you can see why this post is overdue, two weeks into the paschal season). During this beautiful vespers service, the middle of which marks the beginning of Lent, first, the lights are lowered. Then, the gates are shut. I remember looking up from my prayer, and the almost-physical shock that ran through my body when I saw that the gates were shut. In that moment, I realized I was outside, shut out of the kingdom. I saw it, and because I saw it, I felt it, I knew it, and I grieved it. This is exactly what Lent is about, the reminder that we live outside of the reign of God, and can only hope that the gates will again open.

For those readers who are utterly mystified as to what I am talking about, a contemporary Orthodox altar is dominated by an Iconostasis, an “icon stand."

The Iconostasis of St. Mary Orthodox Church, Cambridge, MA. The priest, Fr. Anthony Hughes, is standing in the open center doors. The photo is by Jeff Wasilko

The iconostasis over the course of around sixteen hundred years has developed from a mere low wooden bar which marked off the altar area from the rest of the church, to a virtual wall between gathered people and the domain of the clergy. On this wall are icons of key figures, and three doors, two ‘deacon doors’ on the left and right (or rather, the North and South since the Altar always faces East), and the ‘Holy Doors,', the gate to which I am referring. This gate is, for the vast majority of liturgical services, open with no curtain drawn (Wikipedia indicates otherwise).

At the dawn of Lent, or better, at the setting of the Lenten sun which will not rise again for weeks, the doors are closed. The theological meaning of this liturgical gesture really is that we are shut out of the paradise of God. Like Adam and Eve, we are shut out of the garden only to return because of the Resurrection, in which the gates of hades are broken. The Anastasis, the icon of the Resurrection, depicts these broken gates lying shattered at the feet of Christ who raises with one hand Adam and with the other Eve.

Anastasis, Monastery of Chora, Istanbul.

We see this too in our liturgy, the opening of the gates, the return of the sun. The paschal vespers, sung in a church in which all candles have been extinguished, ends with the Phos Hiarion, the coming of the “joyful light.” Out of the darkened altar comes a light which is passed from one worshipper to another, banishing the darkness through the open gates of paradise.

The gospel of the liturgy which follows is not a resurrection gospel but John 1:1-18, a gospel which revisits the creation in light of the resurrection, a gospel in which we are invited to live not outside the gates, but inside the gates of paradise. We are invited to live this not in the eschatological future, but here and now.

On 'Private' property

Mon, 24 Mar 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Our radical church fathers…

“But whom do I treat unjustly,” you say, ”by keeping what is my own?” Tell me, what is your own? What did you bring into this life? From where did you receive it? It is as if someone were to take the first seat in the theater, then bar everyone else from attending, so that one person alone enjoys what is offered for the benefit of all in common—this is what the rich do. They seize common goods before others have the opportunity, then claim them as their own by right of preemption. For if we all took only what was necessary to satisfy our own needs, giving the rest to those who lack, no one would be rich and no one would be poor.

St. Basil the Great, “I Will Tear Down my Barns…”

The Mother of the Bridegroom

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Perhaps it is foolish of me to post the quote below, given that so often pointing out multi-gendered metaphors for God is met with an irate assumption that I am rejecting the language of "Father, Son and Holy Spirit." I am not rejecting such language. However, I do maintain that it is not the only way to speak of the Trinity, and by itself, it is an incomplete expression of the God whose nature can NEVER be reduced to a single name, even "Father." One of these days, I will post on metaphorical language and the necessary diversity it represents in our understanding. But for now, I will post a quote from Gregory of Nyssa recently brought to my attention. After all, Gregory has an authority on the subject to which we should pay heed, yes?

“No one can adequately grasp the terms pertaining to God. For example, “mother” is mentioned (in the Song) in place of “father.” Both terms mean the same, because there is neither male nor female in God (for how can anything transitory like this be attributed to God? But when we are one in Christ, we are divested of the signs of this difference along with the old man). Therefore, every name equally indicates God’s ineffable nature; neither can “male” nor “female” defile God’s pure nature. Because of this, the father mentioned in the Gospel parable [Mt 22.2] prepares a wedding. The prophet says of God, “You have placed on his head a crown of precious stones” [Ps 20.4]. Hence the Song says that a crown is placed upon the bridegroom by his mother. Since the nuptials and bride are one, one mother places the crown upon the bridegrooms’ head. Neither does it make much difference whether one calls the Son of God the only begotten God, or the Son of his love. According to Paul, each name has the capacity to be a bridal escort which leads the bridegroom to dwell in us. “Go then”, the bride says to her companions, “and become daughters of Sion, that from a high peak (for this is what Sion signifies) you will be able to see that marvelous site, the bridegroom adorned with his crown.” His crown is the Church encompassing his head by living stones; love is the plait of this crown, for whether anyone calls it “mother” or “love,” does not err: God is love, as St. John says [1 Jn 4.8].”

Seventh Homily. Gregory of Nyssa, Commentary on the Song of Songs, trans. Casimir McCambley OSCSO, The Archbishop Iakovos Library of Ecclesiastical and Historical Sources, vol. 12 (Brookline, Mass: Hellenic College Press, 1987), 145-146; PG 44.916)

Biblicalia on the "Two Septuagints"

Sat, 15 Mar 2008 04:00:00 +0000

I am hardly a biblical scholar and so translations issues are not my area of expertise. I have often been somewhat disturbed however, at the Orthodox Study Bible. The New Testament and Psalms is based on the New King James which, while appealing to my love of Shakespeare, does not aid in either my understanding of scripture nor my trust in the faithful rendition of the Greek text. Worse, I find the notes to be, well, not helpful and not particularly thoughtful. Besides, in my shameless feminist way, I prefer gender inclusive language for humanity, despite the translation issues it creates. I use the NRSV for academic study/work, and I have an "not-published-in-the-United-States- thank-you-very-much-Mr.-Dobson-who-condemns-all-censorship-as-communist- unless-it-is-a-version-of-the-bible-he-doesn't-like" NIVI (the last "I" refers to "inclusive," a publication of the NIV available outside the US).

I have met with some trepidation the now available English translation of the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures) available in the Orthodox Study Bible: Ancient Christianity Speaks to Today’s World. The Orthodox Church considers the Greek Septuagint, not the Hebrew, to be the authoritative version of the Old Testament. So, I read with great interest biblicalia's thorough, insightful, and not-very-flattering review of the recent release, the "Two Septuagints. The second refers to the NETS translation, which Kevin (the author of Biblicalia) recommends "without reservation and with whole-hearted, honest enthusiasm."

Suffering, Love, and Human Rights

Fri, 14 Mar 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Over the last week I have been thinking about uncertainty and language (Gregory of Nazianzus), suffering and responsibility (where does this NOT come up?) and Human Rights (a panel proposal for SCE). In a presentation on icon, ethics and priesthood at this last AAR, I commented John Zizioulas and ethics, which he rejects as inherently reductionistic, based on an inevitable “polarity of good and evil.”John Zizioulas, Communion and Otherness: Further Studies in Personhood and the Church (London: T & T Clark, 2006), 81. Instead he posits an “ethos of self-condemnation” in which the Other is “kept free from moral judgment and categorization… not by disregarding evil but by transferring it from the Other to the Self.”Ibid., 83, 82. This “eucharistic ethos” of humility is for Zizioulas a constructive response to Levinas which integrates the insights of the Desert Fathers. It gives priority to the Other, “even if this means going against one’s own conscience.”Ibid., 91

Taking responsibility for the sin of the other runs not only through the writings of the Desert Fathers (and Mothers) but lives strong in the work of Dostoevsky. C. Paul Schroeder notes that Zizioulas fails to bring together freedom with love, which is characteristic of Dostoevsky’s “catholic sufferer” who like Christ, bears the sufferings of the world. (C. Paul Schroeder, “Suffering Toward Personhood: John Zizioulas and Fyoder Dostoevsky in Conversation on Freedom and the Human Person,” St Vladimir's Theological Quarterly 45, no. 3 (2001): 243-264.) Zizioulas responds to Schroeder in a footnote, in which he rightly points out that seeking suffering for the sake of suffering is not the goal of the Christian life, and that suffering should be resisted. What is odd about the footnote is that a) this is not what Schroeder’s article is arguing, and b) he seems to posit the very kind of suffering he rejects in his proposal of a “eucharistic ethos” by which we are to view ourselves as evil. Zizioulas, so concerned with who we are, with ensuring that persons are persons-in-relation based on Trinitarian model, rejects ethics because it appears solely concerned with what we are, good or evil, instead of focusing on who we are. Yet who we are is all about how we are, and his refusal to talk about how we relate is a problem, leading to a self-condemning ascetic ethos that should rightfully concern women (and men), as Valerie Saiving pointed out over 50 years ago. A more full (and fair) critique is certainly warranted, but instead, I want to propose an alternative terminology, inspired in part by an article by Lori Branch (though to explain how would simply take too much room).Lori Branch, “The Desert in the Desert: Faith and the Aporias of Law and Knowledge in Derrida and the Sayings of the Desert Fathers,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 71, no. 4 (2003): 811-833.

What if, instead of bearing responsibility for the sins of others, we bear responsibility for the humanity of others. Rather than orient ourselves towards our sinfulness and need for repentance, we orient ourselves towards the goal, achieved by recognition of our sin, by non-judgment of others, and by turning away from sin, which is transformation into our full humanity as participants in the life of God. This semantic distinction seems crucial. It is more faithful to the recognition of the human person as characterized not by sin, but by the imago dei, who constantly struggles towards a more full likeness of God in Christ - theosis. This may also open up not only a conversation with Levinas and Derrida (as Branch does), but allows Orthodox ethicists to do more than simply dismiss Human Rights as a nature-bound Western convention. Orthodox critique (Zizioulas and Yannaras) of Human Rights is correctly identifies its basis in Law which can never express the full sense of goodness or justice. Law is proximate, necessary but not sufficient (as Branch so clearly illustrates in her article). What if our orientation was to speak of Human Rights as not that which is due the other (a classic Aristotelian definition) but as our responsibility to seek the humanity of the other. The “basic needs” language of Catholic Social Teaching is then incorporated as an acknowledgment that food, clothing, shelter, health and education are fundamental pieces in becoming fully human. As Christians committed to solidarity with those in need, we willingly enter into suffering for love by seeking to ensure that basic needs are met, not because they are the “right” of another person, but because we are responsible to seek the humanity of all, and to do all that we can to create a world in which humanity can flourish.

Clearly more thought is necessary, but maybe this is a way to engage in Human Rights discourse, and still be faithful to our Orthodox ethos.

Juror 006427

Fri, 07 Mar 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Location: Multnomah County Circuit Court

Seat: a padded black leather chair, purchased not by the State of Oregon, but by the generous donation of the per diem of former jurors to a Jury Room Improvement fund.

Alternative seat: a hard black plastic thing. Thank goodness for the donations.

Newly re-registered in my home state, and called to serve within a month, I am fulfilling my sole legal obligation as a female citizen of the United States (unlike my brothers, I am do not need to register for selective service). Our orientation to the responsibilities of our patriotic duty was delivered by Judge Janice Wilson. I use “patriotic” intentionally. This is one of those few times in my life I feel proud to be a citizen of the United States. Yes, I am one of those Americans who is rarely proud of my country, which is the subject of another discussion.

My first moment of pride came during an assignment for a high school political science class. I chose to attend my first political event, a rally for Dukakis. I couldn’t vote, but I had an enormous sense of being a part of something important, something that matters. The second swelling of national pride occurred when I actually voted for the first time, exercising what Mrs. Nancy Lee called my “political efficacy.” She was adamant that her students participate in the political process, regardless of what side of the aisle we chose. I can remember the morning when, on the front page of the Oregonian, there appeared a picture of grafitti scrawled along the waterfront retaining wall downtown: “Kill Quayle First.” Dukakis lost to Bush the First, and no one wanted the perceived idiot Quayle to ever succeed to the office of President (clearly, we had no quibbles with IQ a mere 16 years later). Mrs. Lee was IRATE. She stood in front of the classroom and practically shouted, “THIS IS NOT DEMOCRACY!!!!” “This is NOT how we protest our government,” she fumed, “this is NOT how we express our objection to our leaders, whether we like them or not. We vote, we write our representatives and congressman, we engage in activism. We do NOT threaten the lives of our representative leaders.” I am still proud to vote, though I my cynicism about the reality of even bare representative democracy in our nation has grown considerably since she stood in front of an idealistic high school student.

Today however, I am proud again of our democratic republic. The judicial system, while not corrupt (at least I hope, in most cases), is certainly less than ideal. We know that race and class affect the ability to get a fair trial, and I am pleased to count among my friends public defenders who do their best to ensure that even the most blatant of offenders gets as fair a trial as they are able to give because they believe that everyone has a right to a jury of their peers. We all know that “peers” hardly the case in every trial. The conviction rate of black defendants by white juries is disproportional to the conviction rate of white defendants. At the founding of our nation, I would not have been a “peer,” my sex rendering me unsuitable for even this single responsibility.

But today, I am a peer, or at least, am sitting in a room of possible peers (haven’t been called yet), and I think that this might be a more true example of democracy than voting. Judge Wilson made clear that we are to decide based on the facts, and it is not our job to object to or change the law in the jury room. She also reminded us that the decisions made today will affect the lives of fellow citizens. Our judicial system depends on the fair rendering of judgement not by a single, trained person, but by a group of randomly selected citizens who bring a unique set of skills and due consideration that no single person could bring. In this case, the group is hopefully able to render a more fair judgment precisely because it is a group which must reach consensus (or suffer the wrath of a judge faced with a hung trial according to the more experienced peer sitting next to me).

I suppose the emphasis on group struck me because most often, groups are seen as forces for ill, not good. Reinhold Niebuhr (and a friend who is a writing a most interesting science fiction novel which I hope will someday be published - yesterday we agreed that the first one to complete our respective manuscripts must take the other out to a nice dinner. Beer seemed too insignificant for the accomplishment), one of the most famous U.S. Theologians of the 20th century, wrote articulately of the dangers of groups. What an individual would be loath to do as immoral is perfectly moral if done by a group. Individuals cannot kill, but groups can. Individuals may question the morality of killing someone because of race, class, sex, or sexual orientation. Groups, small or large, do not hesitate. Niebuhr is concerned that the fanatic fervor of institutionalized religions too often affirms as righteous behavior which individuals would condemn as immoral. He summarizes his view in the title of his two-volume treatise, Moral Man and Immoral Society.

History certainly supports Niebuhr’s thesis. The Inquisition, the Thirty-Years War (to which Mrs. Lee regularly referred), Russian pogrom’s, the Armenian genocide, even Huntington’s “clash of civilizations” are all well-known religious examples. Stalin, Hitler, Pol Pot, and Rwanda remind us of the dangers of political, racial or nationalistic ideology. I would include the economic subjugation justified by blatantly self-serving “laissez-faire” economic policies which rely on cheap labor and tax shelters (slavery, migrant labor, sweat-shop labor, and all sorts of multi-national corporations).

History also undermines his thesis, or at least it paints a far more complex figure. MLK Jr did not march alone. Gandi mobilized an entire nation. The Berlin wall fell in part due to the peaceful movement of religious groups. Groups enable individuals to stand together against oppression, hatred and bigotry. Gropus can inspire good as well as evil.

And, in this moment of national pride, I think that juries illustrate the benefit of groups over the individual. Together, we bring diverse skill, perspectives and biases. Mirroring our national system, we participate in a system of checks and balances in order to render a fair judgment. But we render judgment as individuals within a group. Our judicial system relies on our willingness to cooperate, to reason together, the think carefully about the law and facts. I am often less than impressed with the thoughtfulness of our citizenry. However, I am glad that we have a system based on the best vision of the person as a thoughtful participant in the common good, on shared responsibilities and rights, and on the obligation to hold one another accountable to our laws. And, when the laws are bad, to advocate for their change through yet another branch of our system, the legislature.

The upshot of this moment of patriotism? We have all been dismissed as all the cases were settled out of court by noon today. A rare occurance, but one which, as Judge Wilson mentioned, depends on our presence even if we never serve on the jury. Not only do the parties know we are ready if trial proceeds, our presence underscores their need to be sure they really want to go to trial. Our decisions after all, are final.

Guest

Tue, 18 Mar, 2008 - 17:59

I am disturbed by comments from Americans such as yours that says "one of the few times in my life I feel proud to be a citizen of the United States". If you aren't proud of your country, why not find one you can be proud of? I don't understand people taking what this country gives, but denigrates it at every turn. Be assured that you won't be missed!

mariagwyn

Tue, 18 Mar, 2008 - 22:28

On one level, your critique is fair and perhaps my statement is a bit exaggerated. I would say that I am often grateful that I live in this country, or rather, I am grateful that I am woman living in the northwestern hemisphere. I suspect I would be grateful living in Canada, or even much of Europe as well. Unfortunately, I am not proud of much that we have accomplished. We are a nation built on slavery and cheap labor; we actively throw our weight around the world in ways that serve our own interest, not necessarily those of others. Simply leaving to find another country, as you suggest, is an equally exaggerated suggestion. My family is here, my friends. This is my culture, my home. No other place can be that, even if I am often ashamed of it. I don't have to be proud of something to choose to love it and participate in it.

Guest

Fri, 21 Mar, 2008 - 22:40

Americans are the most generous people on the face of the earth!! We work constantly to bring those in the third world out of the poverty they are in. Those who come into our country to work for less than others are still rich in the eyes of their countrymen and the poorest among us in the USA are far richer than most in this world. Americans aren't the ones who keep others downtrodden, it is the leaders (dictators) of their countries. I don't always agree with our leaders; however, I still respect them as our leaders.

Wake up and smell the coffee. Try living in another country for a year or so and you will certainly appreciate what you have here!!

Susan Steinhaus

Sat, 22 Mar, 2008 - 00:11

For four days in a very cold February in Allentown, PA, I got up at the crack of dawn, traveled to Philadelphia on the bus, to serve on a jury. I was proud (as I don't think I ever felt before) to serve. It was a case about sexual discrimination. I felt a huge responsibility. The group of jurors chosen reminded me of a congregation. Amazing diversity. It proceeded much like many church council annual meetings complete with eloquence, eye rolling, and exageration. In the end I think we did a good job. I was in awe that we came to an agreement after several days of discussion. I came away thinking, "It worked!". I was proud to have served. I was very glad that I was chosen.

Flowers that love us back

Thu, 06 Mar 2008 16:00:00 +0000

I am surrounded by women who love to grow things. Plants sigh in anticipation of a long drought when I venture near. Yet when these friends and family of mine come along, flora everywhere readies itself for a succulent stretch towards the light. These women love their gardens, and their gardens love them back. Which, if a recent conversation is any indicator, is not a commonly held opinion. After all, only people love, not things. Right? Well, the Theologian doesn’t seem to think so:

If you have understood the intelligence at work here and can explain it, turn your attention to the different kinds of plants, to the artistry displayed in their foliage, affording at once the maximum of pleasure to the eyes and of advantage to their fruit. Consider too the rich variety, the lavish abundance of fruits, the special beauty of the particularly important kinds. Examine the potentialities the juices of their roots and the scents their flowers have, not just the pleasant but the medically useful ones too, with their charming qualities of color. Their value shines through clearer than gems, since nature has made a sort of open banquet and served you with all you need to live and enjoy life” (Or. 28.26).

Nazianzus, Gregory of. On God and Christ: The Five Theological Orations and Two Letters to Cledonius. Popular Patristics Series, ed. Frederick Williams, Lionel Wickham, R., and Gregory of Nazianzus. Crestwood, N.Y: St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 2002. p. 57.

This passage is tucked away in the midst of Gregory’s overall argument about the overflowing variety of God’s creation. Gregory constructs a paean to the stunning beauty and complexity of our world, in which bees make mathematically perfect homes and spiders weave ethereal threads into “precious homes as well as hunting-grounds” (Or. 28.25), and the sun, moon and seasons embrace and part in a perfect dance, ruled by Love.Ibid., p. 56-57, 62. Gregory’s point in this hymn to beauty, diversity and complexity is to sing the “incomprehensibility of deity to the human mind and its totally unimaginable grandeur” (Or. 28.11).Ibid., p. 45.

My point is to note that flowers, simply by doing exactly what they are, love us back.

Certainty of God

Wed, 05 Mar 2008 16:00:00 +0000

I recently picked up Gregory of Nazianzus’ famous Five Theological Orations (which are actually Orations 28-32) in which the Nazianzen tackles the relationship of God and Christ. My purpose is to understand how Gregory uses metaphors, so I can then better understand his use of both masculine and feminine metaphors in describing his own priesthood. In these Orations, the orator of Nazianzus beautifully undermines our rather modern assumptions about the possibility of objective knowledge and the certainty of our concepts and the language with which we express them. I must admit, I am a bit struck to read a pre-modern thinker who sounds a bit like a post-modern theorist. So, the first part of what could be a short or long series on Gregory of Nazianzus.

Gregory of Nazianzus, quoting Jeremiah, calls us “prisoners of the earth” (Or. 28.12; Lam. 3:34).Nazianzus, Gregory of. On God and Christ: The Five Theological Orations and Two Letters to Cledonius. Vol. Crestwood, N.Y. Popular Patristics Series, ed. Frederick Williams, Lionel Wickham, R., and Gregory of Nazianzus. St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 2002, p. 46 “Sight,” he says, “cannot approach its objects without the medium of light and atmosphere; fish cannot swim out of water; an no more can embodied beings keep incorporeal character with things ideal. Some corporeal factor of ours will always intrude itself, even if the mind be most fully detached from the visible world and at its most recollected when it attempts to engage with its invisible skin” (Or. 28.12).Ibid. Proof is evident in our inability to envision fire without color or movement or shape, to try to pass off reason as something other than what it truly is, our inner conversation, or to imagine justice and love that does not change our dispositions “as complexions do our bodies” (Or. 28.13).Ibid., 47. Our minds cannot get beyond the material, and so our ability to understand an incorporeal God is always informed and limited by our materiality. To neglect “our limited gifts for hard speculation” (Or. 28.12).Ibid., 45. when speaking of God means that the theologian “looks at things visible and makes of these a god.” The alternative is that she “discovers God through the beauty and order of things seen, using sight as a guide to what transcends sight without losing God through the grandeur of what it sees” (Or. 28.13).Ibid., 47. To use slightly different language, if we forget that we always see through our own bodies and experience, and forget that we really cannot be objective, we create idols. Or, we see icons. In the first case, our glance is arrested at the tree, the wood and paint, or a name, and we worship it. In the second case, we see the same objects, hear the same names, and allow them to point to the reality beyond which we can see, but not fully comprehend. To use Jean-Luc Marion’s language, we allow our gaze to meet the gaze of the one behind the object, whether the object is a thing or concept.

Postmodernism is maligned by many religious as a pernicious philosophy which denies certainty and reduces truth to merely relative experience. While the latter is hardly an accurate portrayal of many postmodern theorists, the former is most certain, as certain as any postmodernist philosophy can be. Gregory however, has an interesting contribution. He says, “Conviction, you see, of a thing’s existence is quite different from knowledge of what it is” (Or. 28.5).Ibid., 40. Gregory, who allows the conviction of faith through revelation to give fullness to reason (thanks to Frederick Norris for that emphasis) without denying or dictating reason, understands that while we may speak of God as this or that, or not that or the other thing, none of this tells us all of what God is. We do not, and probably will not know absolutely the nature of God. As Gregory says, "there is always some truth left to dawn on us" (Or. 28.21).Ibid., 53 This does not reduce our conviction, but it should inject some humility into our theology.

The Unity of Virtue

Fri, 29 Feb 2008 16:00:00 +0000

I was thinking this morning of the Greek “unity of virtues.” Virtually all of the early texts which discuss church order emphasize the importance of virtue, the all presbyters, including the presiding-presbyter (this is Afanasiev’s term for the person who eventually became what we now call ‘bishop’) are models of virtue. The comparison between 1st Timothy and the Onosander’s list of virtues appropriate to a general reveals striking similarities. Additionally, Onosander and Timothy’s lists are typical of similar lists found throughout the Greek world. The significance of these lists is that there are no particular virtues which are essential to church leadership, but all are necessary. This is part and parcel of how Greeks think about virtue: it is essentially unified, you cannot practice one virtue without another.

If we assume that males are better able to practice some virtues and females another (which is another assumption of Greek thought), then the unity of virtue is broken. When Paul says that in Christ there is no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male and female, he is rejecting a Greek ontology that says that we have essential natures which are only capable of certain kinds or levels of virtue. Chrysostom berates men for allowing women to surpass them in virtue (the word comes from “vir” - male), but also acknowledges that women are no less able to embody the virtues of Christ than men. He is a classic example of a Christian caught between the assumptions of his culture, that men are best equipped to exemplify virtue, and the Christian experience that all transformed by life in Christ to become people of faith, hope and love.

Underlying a male priesthood is this ancient assumption of an ontological difference between male and female, and a consequent inability for women to engage in presumably “male” virtue. Putting aside the question of whether the priestly office is actually male (the quick answer: not a single early church theologian thinks this - but that is a different discussion). The damage is not only to women, though I think it is certainly more obvious how restrictive these definitions are on females. The idea of virtue as ‘male’ says to men that it should be easier for them to be virtuous. I know of no healthy male that believes this to be true. Strangely enough, this is precisely what underlies the theology of Paul Evdokimov. In his valiant attempt to take feminism seriously, he turns all of this on its head, portraying women as more easily virtuous, and the saviors of men who without their intercession would be imprisoned in a hostile and inhuman ‘male’ world. In the end, his theology is no less restrictive for women, and it is also quite insulting to men.

Any division of male and female into “modes” challenges the essential unity of the virtues in love (the highest of unified Christian virtues), and undermines the ability of women and men to become fully and lovingly human.

Intro to 'Metaphorical Virtues and enGendered Presbyters'

Mon, 25 Feb 2008 16:00:00 +0000

A draft of the short introduction to my dissertation, "Metaphorical Virtues and enGendered Presbyters: The Ordination of Women to the Priesthood in the Eastern Orthodox Church." Feel free to comment as there is no shortage of topics for discussion:

Any argument for the ordination of women to the priesthood must address at least two questions. First, what is the Orthodox priesthood? The exclusion of women from this ministry depends on particular claims about the office itself and its gender-specific nature. If an examination of the priestly offices finds that they are not inherently ‘masculine’ ministries, then a second question must be asked, what is the consequence of continuing to exclude women from this office? Is it a harmless practice? How do we measure its possible harm to men and women? Or, is the theological inconsistency of this continued practice enough to provide a compelling reason to change?

The first part of this dissertation will examine the development of the priesthood in Orthodox practice and theology. It will not be a comprehensive examination, which is unnecessary and impossible in a single work. Instead, the first section establishes that the priesthood in the form we understand it today developed over time, which means that these offices changed over time. The assumption of an unchanging Orthodox priesthood (or practically any other aspect of our theology or practice) is simply false. Second, ecclesial structures are worked out as a dynamic response to history, experience and pastoral need. Social context cannot be ignored when discussing why the offices developed as they did. Third, ecclesial officials are functional and relational, that is, they do something which establishes a particular kind of relationship within the ecclesial community and which requires particular skills and virtues. The overwhelming concern of early discussions regarding ecclesial office holders is that these functional relationships are respected, and that the men and women (there is no questions as to the existence of female deacons) have the requisite skills and virtues necessary to engage in these relationships. The grace of God is present in the effective practice of virtue and skill, this is the sacrament of the office. Office are not themselves holy, but their service to the community is holy. Failure to properly serve demeans the office, a particular concern of John Chrysostom. Finally, the most consistent method of describing and appealing to these skills and virtues is through a variety of metaphors, some of which are themselves quite inconsistent. Metaphors inspire the imagination, they are figures of speech “whereby we speak about one thing in terms which are seen to be suggestive of another.”Soskice, Janet Martin. Metaphor and Religious Language. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985. Reprint 2002, 15. Among other things, priestly metaphors suggest the functional, relational, and mysterious nature of ecclesial offices within a particular social context. I use mystery here not to indicate confusion or some untouchable and sacrosanct knowledge only available to a chosen few, but to highlight the pinnacle of the patristic theology of the priesthood. According to Gregory of Nazianzus, the priest is the icon of a new humanity, and just as humanity as the image of Christ in God incarnates a human-divine mystery which can never be defined, reduced, or imprisoned, neither can the priesthood. Contrary to present-day Orthodox rhetoric on the subject, this is an argument for the participation of women and adamantly not one for their continued exclusion.

The second portion of the dissertation will focus on contemporary use of metaphors, since it is by metaphor that women are excluded from the priesthood. First, by examining “visual metaphors,” that is, icons, I will argue that the Orthodox Church has never consistently taught the clear gender divisions which posit a different ‘mode’ of existence for men and women as faithful participants in God through Christ by the Spirit. Instead, icons point us to our unique, irreducible and free human nature as it is, and as it is becoming, the image and likeness of God. The most powerful visual metaphors are not those on wood, but those in flesh, the men and women with whom we participate in the life of God. This includes but is hardly exclusive to the priesthood. Second, I will examine our liturgical rhetoric, focusing on the liturgy as the primary (but again, not exclusive) place of our formation as virtuous participants in the life of God. This formation is dependent on the relationships formed within the community, and rhetoric, both verbal and visual, is a powerful tool for the formation of these relationships. The Orthodox liturgy constantly affirms our growth as individuals into virtuous men and women who exist “for the life of the world.” Thirdly, and finally, I will argue that our continued emphasis on only a few (really only one) metaphors which exclude women from participating in ministerial priesthood undermines the trajectory of our iconographical and liturgical formation. Instead of affirming the dignity of men and women as unique, irreducible and free, this rhetoric constricts humanity to our physical “nature.” The consequence of this is that, at the very least, our liturgical life does not contribute to the deification of men and women as much as it might otherwise do; at the worst, it may inhibit our deification by undermining the very relationships which it is supposed to establish.

Elizabeth

Fri, 29 Feb, 2008 - 10:38

"Possible harm to men and women" is an interesting topic to explore. I think I first heard Renee Zitzloff express this concern, and I think it's something we don't usually think of when we're thinking about topics like this, that not only are women being hurt, but also men are being hurt. We aren't whole human being when some human beings are being treated as less than.

One question I think worth exploring is on the idea that just because something hasn't been done in the past doesn't mean it can't be done in the future. (As I just said to our deacon.) If we do change the tradition of the church, how should this be done, and for what reasons? How do we not throw out the baby with the bathwater? And how do we decide what is baby and what is bathwater? I don't have answers to these questions, they're just questions that have occurred to me.

mariagwyn

Fri, 29 Feb, 2008 - 12:27

The assumption that runs through many (not all) feminist critiques of the church is that its practice is only harmful to women. Renee has many wonderful things to say about this, as do other Orthodox women who are rightly uncomfortable with some strands of feminism. Even many "radical" feminists are concerned about this assumption. False perceptions of who women are or are not go hand in hand with false perception of who men are. I was thinking this morning of the Greek "unity of virtues" and just posted on it here. It is a small part of this discussion, but I think important given the centrality of virtue to the priesthood.

The second question is HUGE. In my first year as a doctoral student, we had to hand in mock dissertation proposals. Mine was on this very topic, how do we understand change in the Orthodox Church. I decided, rightly or wrongly, that this was the sort of thing one wrote at the end of a long and hopefully thoughtful career, not at the beginning. But it is a constant thread in everything I write, since I am clearly advocating for change.

Part of the problem is that we assume that Orthodoxy has not changed. This is just NOT TRUE. Virtually everything we do and think was the result of a change, beginning with the Incarnation. It is one thing to look for hints in the past in an effort to maintain the continuity of our faith; it is another thing to assume that what we have in the present existed in its same form, with its same import, in the past. Our councils are cases in point: they were initiated to clarify 'novel' theologies which grew out of an expanding experience of God in Christ, they were accompanied by decades if not centuries of conflict which we call "the process of reception," and are now viewed as if they articulate what we always thought. Hardly the case. Even the priesthood has undergone change. LOTS of change. As has our liturgy. And our iconography.

I think the crucial part is how do we change. I am in part writing the dissertation to figure out what is the 'baby' of the priesthood, and what is 'bathwater.' Then, I, and hopefully many others, can think about how best to make the change in love.

God is Unfair

Sun, 24 Feb 2008 16:00:00 +0000

God is unfair. That is what I learned in church today (see, I am blaming it on my priest - he said it, so it must be okay, right?). In Luke 15:11-32, the prodigal son is welcomed home by an equally prodigal father.

Definition: prodigal |ˈprädigəl| adjective

spending money or resources freely and recklessly; wastefully extravagant : prodigal habits die hard.
having or giving something on a lavish scale : the dessert was crunchy with brown sugar and prodigal with whipped cream. See also Profuse.

The older brother complains, as would most of us, that the extravagant mercy of the father is wasted on the wastrel son, and it is simply not fair. The older brother wants clear consequences for his younger brother's misbehavior. The father is more interested in celebrating his son's return home, extending mercy where there should be punishment. So, God (the father in this story) is not fair.

Fr. Paul, I think rightly, interpreted this as the triumph of mercy over justice. It got me thinking though (hard enough that I had to ask for a pencil from a fellow choir member in order to remember my thought while trying to sing responses in Greek). John Rawls, the famous political philosopher, argues for what he calls "justice as fairness." In what he calls the "original position," participants develop rules for society while sitting behind a "veil of ignorance" regarding their social, economic, racial or sexual status. His theory is that given complete ignorance about your place in society, you will do your best to construct civil laws which will benefit everyone as best as possible, in other words, you will seek to be fair. In this, fairness is read as a sort of minimum baseline by which all people should benefit. But it is clearly a minimum, the best you can do. In the story however, this isn't really what Fr. Paul meant (I presume) about justice, this sort "minimally fair" definition.

A far more common definition of justice, at least as we hear it bandied about in our civil discourse, is justice as retribution, as punishment. The older brother wants the younger brother to be punished for his disrespectful (for he truly is terribly disrespectful to his family) behavior. We want criminals to be punished for their crimes. The truth about our penal system is that it makes no attempt to restore the criminal, it is simply about punishment and removing the "threat." This is certainly our rhetoric about terrorists, they should be punished and removed. All attempts to find out why they utilize the disturbingly effective tool of terrorism are seen as a waste of resources.

Yet in the parable, the father is just as prodigal as the son, precisely because he wastes his resources, twice! First he gives his property to his young heir, well before his son would legitimately inherit it (i.e., the father is not dead yet!), and then, when the ungrateful little wretch returns, he spends even more money (out of the older brother's share!) to celebrate! Mercy in this case is a wasteful extravagance which restores the younger son in the good graces of his family. This is not mercy contrasted with justice, but mercy as restorative justice, which is really the only justice worthy of the name. Mercy is justice as shalom, as peace, restoring relationships to either what they were. Or, since as Orthodox we really don't believe that the garden was perfection, but was the beginning of perfection, it is a restoration of relationships to what they are called to be in the Incarnation. Restorative justice is not about minimal fairness or right retribution, but the establishment of a world in which we are freely able to bear the fruits of the Spirit, love, joy, hope, peace, and mercy. In a world where we fail, mercy is granted in order to restore us to healthy, life-giving relationships. Perhaps it is mercy that elevates justice from retribution or fairness to shalom. It is certain though, mercy is not at all fair.

Medical Calvinism

Thu, 21 Feb 2008 16:00:00 +0000

I can't take credit for finding "Mythbusting Canadian Health Care -- Part I", but I think it is a MUST READ. I am looking foward to Part II. It was first brought to my attention on Elizabeth's blog, who found it on her friend Monica's blog. I have always been frustrated by the "but-socialized-healthcare-would-be-awful-after-all-look-at-Canada" argument, especially since I have never met a SINGLE Canadian who says this, or who would trade their social benefits for all those lovely things I get as a citizen of this grand and powerful nation. The best quote (well, one of many worthy quotables, but which explains my choice of title):

[quote=Sara Robinson] The philosophical basis of America’s privatized health care system might best be characterized as medical Calvinism. It’s fascinating to watch well-educated secularists who recoil at the Protestant obsession with personal virtue, prosperity as a cardinal sign of election by God, and total responsibility for one’s own salvation turn into fire-eyed, moralizing True Believers when it comes to the subject of Taking Responsibility For One’s Own Health.[/quote]

And finally, a useful link to Fresh Air's interview of our current Candidate' Prescriptions.

The Canaanite Woman: Exclusion or Mercy

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 16:00:00 +0000

The Sunday of Jesus and the Canaanite woman passed two weeks ago, and Fr. Paul's sermon has kept me thinking. In his posted sermon notes, Fr. Paul framed the passage as a narrative of exclusion vs. togetherness:

[quote]The key to the passage is that the woman, through her persistence, challenges that narrative. It is interesting to note that, of all the stories found in the Gospels, this is the only time anyone ever gets the better of Jesus in a discussion; it sparks admiration on his part for the woman. And so, when confronted with a choice between his people’s narrative and the person right in front of him, Jesus ultimately chooses the person, granting her the healing of her daughter that she seeks. In doing so, he and the woman begin the creation of a new story, more universal in scope, a “narrative of togetherness.”[/quote]

In his sermon, Fr. Paul emphasized the Canaanite woman's hope in asking Jesus, a member of an oppressive people, for mercy. Requesting mercy from the member of a group which historically excludes her and her people opens her to the risk of yet another rejection. The hitch in this is that Jesus is not just any Israelite. He must have at least something of a reputation, enough that a woman in Gentile territory has heard of him, and is bold enough not only to seek him out, but to challenge the narrative of exclusion which Jesus repeats.

So, when do we risk asking for mercy, and when do we not? As a woman in a church whose praxis excludes women, sending them away from the altar much like the disciples ask Jesus to send the woman away at the beginning of the story, what does it mean to ask for mercy? Do our leaders give us reason to hope, emboldening us to challenge the narrative of exclusion and request mercy? What possibility is there in Orthodoxy to frame narratives of togetherness that do not rest on a false 'complementarity' which by reducing men and women to socially constructed stereotypes denies our unique human personhood? Will our bishops look at the person in front of them?

Luke Timothy Johnson on 1 Tim 2:8-15

Wed, 06 Feb 2008 16:00:00 +0000

I am currently working on church order and the Pastoral Epistles. To no one's surprise, I was a bit distracted by the rather disturbing passage in 1 Timothy 2:8-15. I found Luke Timothy Johnson's comments to be quite thought provoking, especially the final quotation.

The Text:

2:8 I desire, then, that in every place the men should pray, lifting up holy hands without anger or argument; ⁹also that the women should dress themselves modestly and decently in suitable clothing, not with their hair braided, or with gold, pearls, or expensive clothes, ¹⁰but with good works, as is proper for women who profess reverence for God. ¹¹Let a woman learn in silence with full submission. ¹²I permit no woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she is to keep silent. ¹³For Adam was formed first, then Eve; ¹⁴and Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and became a transgressor. ¹⁵Yet she will be saved through childbearing, provided they continue in faith and love and holiness, with modesty.

NRSV, from: http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=69325867

Comment:

Paul begins with balanced proscriptions to both men and women, assuming that "god is not confusion" and "all things should be done decently and in order" (1 Cor 14:33, 40). Paul recognizes the equality of women within the ekklesia, as long as it does not conflict with the culturally defined gender roles of the oikos. He is a social conservative. "Paul was not in this case engaging in sober exegesis of Genesis, but supporting his culturally conservative position on the basis of texts that in his eyes demonstrate the greater dignity and intelligence of men and, therefore, the need for women to be silent and subordinate to men" (Johnson, 208).

To read this text as normative is problematic, in that it is "gratuitous in context, going beyond what is required for the situation; that it is based solely on Paul's individual authority ("I do not allow"), rather than on a principle intrinsic to the good news; and that the warrant for the injunction is, in fact, a faulty reading of Torah" (Johnson, 211). Johnson clearly disavows a literal obedience to a faulty text. He also refused to censor the text. Whether the text is placed in lectionaries or not, people will read and interpret the text, perhaps without critical interpretation. Instead, he argues, we must engage the text:

"Such engagement, however, will also recognize that contemporary assumptions concerning family structures and power relationships are not themselves absolute, but are relative and culturally conditioned in a way not unlike Paul's own assumptions. We may prefer them; we may regard them as superior to Paul's; we may even hope that they represent growth toward God's will for the relations between the genders. But we cannot be so parochial as to think that further growth is not possible or even necessary. Finally, as we think about that growth, we might even be grateful to this passage as well as others in the Pauline corpus for reminding us that the noblest Christian ideals ("in Christ there is neither male nor female" or "God wills the salvation of all") must always be negotiated within the hard and resistent [sic] circumstances of cultural contexts in which the power and privilege-as well as their complex and ambiguous embodiments-of difference are always present" (Johnson, 211).

Source:

Johnson, Luke Timothy. The First and Second Letters to Timothy : A New Translation With Introduction and Commentary. Vol. 35A. 1st ed. The Anchor Bible, New York: Doubleday, 2001.

Nicholas Afanasiev, Gifts, and Ordination

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Nicholas Afanasiev is very concerned to clearly pair ministry with gifts, and ensure that the church remains charismatic rather than subject to law. “Activity in the Church equals ministry and ministry presupposes a corresponding charism, for there can be no ministry in the Church without the gifts of the Spirit” (61). Conversely, if a charism has not been given to an individual, the individual cannot perform the ministry associated with the charism. Laics, in their baptismal ordination, are given a royal and priestly charism, which allows them to concelebrate the eucharist in worship, to witness to the Truth in the teaching and governance of the clergy, to receive teaching as truth, and by implication, to reject what is not Truth. Laics are not teachers: “The office of the teacher does not belong to laics. They are not able to teach in the ecclesial assembly and to instruct the people of God. However, the lack of the gifts for teaching that characterizes laics does not rule out the fact that laics as members of God’s people can have their own individual views and privately express their own opinions,” (76) nor are they administrators. Bishops govern, and those who have the teaching charism teach. Afanasiev points out that while teaching has always been a part of the bishop’s ministry, it has not always been a part of a presbyter’s ministry.

However, at this point, Afanasiev seems a bit circular, and leaves some significant questions unanswered. Laics do not teach, for instance, because they do not have the charism of teaching. If they had the charism of teaching presumably they would be ordained. At one point in our history, we had the ministry of the didascaloi, specifically appointed to teach. According to Afanasiev’s logic, they were no longer laics, because they had the additional gift of teaching. They were not necessarily priests, nor were they bishops. So, which comes first, gift or ordination? If the latter, how do we recognize someone’s ‘fit’ for ministry? What do we do when the ministry which corresponds to the gift no longer exists? What do we do when the Church does not recognize the charisms of people, or does not have the diversity of designated ministries to correspond to the diversity of gifts? He assumes that if the gift is attached to a particular ministry, those who don’t have this ministry do not have the gift (59ff). How is the gift recognized? By whom?

By rejecting the legal models (representative democracy of the Moscow Synod, virtually all of Balsamon’s logic in interpreting the canon’s of Trullo) in favor of a charismatic and grace-based understanding of the Church, Afanasiev neglects to offer a clear alternative, or any kind of mechanism to incarnate a charismatic model. On the one hand, the bishop is confirmed by the people, and according to Cyprian, makes decisions only with the consensus of the people. Yet Afanasiev also says that the bishop’s decisions are the will of God, as consensus is given in ordination itself. Consensus “could have been latent” (62), or “silently accompanied the actions of the bishop” (62). Laics fulfill their ministry by “having full knowledge of what is being done in the Church and themselves witnessing to the will of God” (64). But does ‘knowledge’ and ‘witness’ necessarily imply the active ministry of the laics in the church that Afanasiev so rigorously defends in his press to restore regular communion and emphasis on concelebration?

On the one hand, Afanasiev complains that the loss of the doctrine of the royal and priestly ministry of God’s people has made impossible lay activity based on gifts. He vociferously rejects the loss of the laic’s consecrated status, as they are ordained in baptism as royalty, priests, and prophets. On the other hand, his assertion of who has those gifts is rigid, there is no crossover or blending in gifts, and he makes no mention of how we recognize and received gifts unless they are already a part of an ordained ministry.

So, to summarize with some questions:

How are gifts recognized, by whom, and do the precede or follow ordination?
Are particular gifts and ministries so distinct from one another? If gifts are given as a result of the Spirit rather than the law, is the Spirit so precise in who gets what? History does not seem to support such a narrow understanding of gifting and ministry.
What do we do when we have gifted teachers who are not ordained (or can’t be b/c they are women), and presbyters and bishops who are hardly gifted teachers?
By what mechanism do we achieve “consensus” and is it not possible that representative governance allows for the exercise of laic discernment and accountability (gifts Afanasiev grants all laics - 61) without them necessarily ‘governing’ the church?

Some interesting quotes:

“The ministry of laics in the Church in the sacramental area does not invalidate the ministry of those who preside over the people because without them the ministry of laics would be unable to be expressed. More precisely, it would be left outside the Church. Laics are concelebrants with the bishop and the presbyter for it is in concelebration that the sacraments are performed. Laics are the bishop’s concelebrants not just because they have some active role in the sacramental ministry but because they, being the priests of the most high God, actually celebrate those sacraments. Only with the concelebration of the laics can the bishop or presbyter celebrate those acts. Only a layperson who had been degraded from his priestly status (becoming non-initiated by this) is deprived of sacramental ministry. As a member of the people of God, a laic ministers together with those who preside over him” (38).

Ininfrequent reception of communion: “…those are the innovations that were being established in ecclesiastical practice and against which both the council in Antioch and the compiler of the Apostolic Canons were struggling. When despite these ordinances the custom of rare or relatively rare communion became entrenched in ecclesiastical practice, it then became necessary to interpret these canons in accordance with the existing practice” (51).

Sacramental ministry is not only open to laics, moreover without their participation no sacrament can be celebrated in the Church. Exercising their sacramental ministry in the Church, the people minister in a different manner from their presiders and the presiders minister in a different manner from the people but nevertheless,everything in the Church is celebrated by their common action” (57).

In the sphere of administration and teaching the people of God is governed and instructed by those ordained for these ministries. In these spheres laics can neither govern nor teach jointly with those who governing or instructing them. The prerogative of the people in these spheres is examination, expressed through consensus and ecclesial reception. Examination is the testimony of the people of God to the fact that the rulers and teachers whom God has ordained do in fact rule and teach according to the will of God and that the gifts of the Holy Spirit that they have received abide in them. Pastors and teachers do not rule and teach in their own name or in the name of the people that has authorized them but Christ himself rules and teaches through them as the one Shepherd of one flock. In all of the three main spheres of activity in the Church Christ worships, rules and instructs through the gifts of the Spirit that God has poured upon the ministers of the Church” (79).

All citations taken from: Afanasiev, Nicholas. The Church of the Holy Spirit, trans. Vitaly Permiakov, Ed. Michael Plekon. Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007.

Zizioulas: Personhood as Gift

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 16:00:00 +0000

A series on Zizioulas and Ethics, the first of which is here.

[quote=Aristotle Papanikolaou] “In the process of healing the abused victim is also moving toward personhood as a gifted event. In the same way that depersonalization, “nonpersonhood”, happens in and through a set of relations, albeit violent, destructive and oppressive, personalization, the coming to personhood, being a person happens in relations of love and freedom. It is only in such relations, which presuppose the kenotic, and hence, ekstatic movement toward the other, that the abused victim is rendered a unique, free and unrepeatable being, a person. In relations of love and freedom, the precondition for which is a kenosis, a self-emptying in order to receive the other, the effects of nonpersonhood are reversed. Even though fear itself is not emptied in God’s trinitarian life, the analogy still holds between the uncreated and the created insofar as existence itself results from movements of self-destitution and receiving. All this suggests that personhood is not an inherent quality, but a gifted reality, a gifted event. We cannot claim personhood; we are gifted personhood. It is a gift which is truly an “excess” that is not only unable to be contained in thought, but which results in an overflow of additional gifts of personhood.”

And a relevant footnote:

“In conversation on this point, it was asked of me whether a newborn baby abandoned in the fields is then still a person. The answer is yes and no. No in the sense that such an abandonment renders this baby a nonperson, and to deny this is not to take seriously the reality of dehumanization. The only hope for a baby to still be person is the fact that s/he is always loved by God. Humans in this sense are not inherently persons, as if they can claim such a dignity for themselves or as part of their essence, but always in relation to the eternal love of God.”¹

[/quote]

Personhood as a gift is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, each and every person is assured of their unique, irreducible personhood because they are creations of a God who, in Christ, by the power of the Spirit, relates to each and every one of us. The other edge however, is the possibility that personhood is not given. While it is the mercy of God that we are gifted with personhood regardless of our qualities or capacities, it is not necessarily a mercy granted by our fellow human beings. We deny personhood by reducing someone to merely qualities or capacities, or even denying them their unique combination of qualities or capacities. The possibility that we might not grant to one another full personhood is a danger of a relational ontology in which uniqueness is only discovered in and through relationship. This way of thinking about personhood, about granting or refusing the humanity of another, flips on its head typical human rights logic which posits a full human being who, by virtue of their full humanity (or, for Christian human rights theorists, the status as imago dei) has a right to basic needs. The person before us, the face before us, is a person only if we treat them as such. Refusal to do so, whether by denying basic needs, or denying their particular capacities or uniqueness, denies them their personhood, their full humanity. It dehumanizes them. This a failure not of meeting the already existing rights of another, but a failure of our obligation to recognize, and thus fail to ‘realize,’ their humanity. In short, failure to grant full personhood to another is a failure of our own imago dei (or for the persnickety Orthodox readers, a failure to enact in our likeness), a failure to do unto others as we would have them do to us, see us as full persons.

While there may be comfort in the fact that God grants this gift to all creation, this does not lessen the consequences of our failure of responsibility. As human beings we are given an awesome power, the ability to grant humanity to another. This is the ultimate dependance on the other for our own ‘otherness.’ We are not autonomous human beings, we are frighteningly dependent. Anyone whose love has been abused or rejected, or anyone who cannot attain food or clothing because of a humanly-created social circumstances, knows this. We may want it to be otherwise, especially if we are steeped in Western notions of autonomy. Indeed, it is appropriate at times to remove oneself from situations of dangerous dependance, such as an abusive relationship. However is not a sign of autonomy, but a failure of love in the midst of dependance which is often only overcome by engaging in ‘healthy’ dependance. Wanting autonomy and being autonomous are two different things.

The significance of personhood as a “gifted event” in the context of a discussion about whether or not “ethics” has a place in Orthodox thought is central. If, via relationship, we can deny one another personhood, is not ethics the discipline which helps us think carefully about how we relate to one another in ways that best recognize their otherness? To engage the other in a manner that denies our responsibility to grant them personhood is, to use a simple category, bad. It is a failure of our responsibility to the other, which is precisely what Levinas, whom Zizioulas believes is closer to patristic understandings of otherness than is Buber, Husserl, Heidegger or Sartre,² calls ethics. So, why is Zizioulas so resistant to “ethics” and with what does he replace it?

To be continued:

Zizioulas on an “ascetic ethos” and a feminist critique.

References

¹ Aristotle Papanikolaou, “Person, Kenosis and Abuse: Hans Urs Von Balthasar and Feminist Theologies in Conversation,” Modern Theology 19, no. 1 (2003):, 56-57.

² Ibid., 56-57 and n. 100.

Zizioulas : Ethical Apophaticism

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 16:00:00 +0000

In 1991, Zizioulas introduces the phrase, “ethical apophaticism… with which to indicate that, exactly as the Greek fathers spoke of the divine persons, we cannot give a positive qualitative content to a hypostasis or persons, for this would result in the loss of his or her absolute uniqueness and turn a person into a classifiable entity.”¹ Zizioulas’ is concerned that the “uniqueness of a person escape and transcend any qualitative kataphasis.”² Uniqueness, essential to true personhood, answers the question who we are, not what we are. What we are includes “qualities and capacities of any kind: biological, social or moral.” Zizioulas acknowledges that we cannot divorce who we are from what we are, but stresses the importance of distinguishing between the them. Discernible qualities, such as being a Orthodox european-american upper-middle class educated woman are crucial for personal identity, but because they are my qualities rather than another’s I am unique, and I cannot be reduced to simply any Orthodox european-american upper-middle class educated woman. Uniqueness is only recognized through free relationships in which a person “simply is and is himself or herself and not someone else.”³ Love then, is not based on particular qualities of the other, but the recognition of their unique irreplaceability. To isolate a person by a particular quality is to reduce their full, unique identity to something which is quantifiable and replicable.

Ethical apophaticism, then, allows for a certain amount of indescribability, of ‘mystery,’ in each and every person who is unique, irreducible and free. The qualities and capacities that each person has come together in something more than merely the sum of its parts. Zizioulas hints at the implications of his ethical apophaticism when, in an illustration of his point, he condemns the cultural essentialism which answers the the woman who asks, “who am I?”, by saying, “you are a woman.” According to Zizioulas, “this is an answer of ‘what’, not of ‘who’.”⁴ Zizioulas argues that uniqueness “cannot be guaranteed by reference to sex or function or role….”⁵ Zizioulas is correct that his notion of personhood as uniqueness realized in relationship is not a “‘misty’ mystery,” but he does very little dispel the the rather foggy relations embodied in society, or the Orthodox church.

This is in part because Zizioulas repeatedly rejects ethics. “Ethics,” says Zizoulas, “operates on the basis of the polarity of good and evil,” and while culture and time may affect what principles belong to the categories of good and evil, “there can be no ethics without a categorization of what ought and what ought not to be done.”⁶ Since the unique, irreducible and free human person cannot be identified by the qualities of good or evil, nor, slips in Zizioulas, can their actions, “the notion of ethics automatically collapses.”⁷ Zizioulas supports this inherently reductionistic quality of ethics by citing the definition of ethics given by V.J. Bourke, in which Ethics is “the philosophical study of voluntary human action, with the purpose of determining what types of activity are good, right, and to be done… What the ethicist aims at, then, is a reflective, well-considered, and reasonable set of conclusions concerning the kinds of voluntary activities that may be judged GOOD or suitable (or EVIL and unsuitable)….”⁸ Eliding doing with being, Zizioulas rejects both deontological and natural law ethics. I absolutely agree with Zizioulas that ethics is not the study about good or evil persons. I suspect that no person other than Christ is fully either. I do not however, understand his rather brief claim that “acts” cannot be so described. I certainly do not prefer the language of good or evil, but I would like to ask Zizioulas, is not an act which reduces another person to a quality or capacity, which denies their unique, irreducible and free personhood, a sin? Does it not miss the mark of personalizing the other? Of humanizing the other?

To be continued:

“gifted personhood” (Papanikolaou), kenoticism and the “ascetic ethos” (Zizioulas), and of course, a feminist Orthodox critique.

References

¹ John Zizioulas, Communion and Otherness: Further Studies in Personhood and the Church, (London: T & T Clark, 2006), 112.

² Ibid., 112.

³ Ibid., 111.

⁵ Ibid., 111.

⁶ Ibid., 81.

⁷ Ibid., 82.

⁸ From “Ethics”, New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2nd edition, 2003, vol. 5, p. 388f.” Cited in Ibid., 81-2, n.180

Theophany, Subsidiarity and the EPA

Sun, 06 Jan 2008 16:00:00 +0000

Today, in celebration of Theophany, my friend John let his facebook friends know that he "blessed the Pacific Ocean. It's ambitious, but hey, we have a big God." Traditionally, the celebration of Christ's baptism in the Jordan and conclusion of the Christmas season (twelve days...after the 25th of December, not 30 days after Thanksgiving) is accompanied by the blessing of water which is taken home in small vials by parishioners to keep on hand for the year. The prayers of blessing are an eloquent reminder that the incarnation of Christ is meant to be a blessing to the universe not simply the human beings who populate God's creation. The are also, or at least should be, a reminder of our obligation to participate in creation as a blessing, not a curse.

Which, of course, brought me round to the great state of California and our not so great EPA. I find it ironic that a Republican administration that theoretically touts small government would reject the bid of California to enforce tougher emissions standards in the name of a 'better' federal standard. Of course, the EPA under Bush has hardly served its mandate of environmental protection. The opposition to a "patchwork of regulations" is more likely motivated by a desire to protect the U.S. automobile industry. The EPA's own regulations are hardly better, especially if California is accompanied by 15 other states in applying the waiver. The EPA's denial that there is any serious problem requiring California's greater regulations is simply another strand in the administration's refusal to take global warming seriously (which of course, will make the Pacific all that much more ambitious to bless as it licks at our doorsteps). This is a classic states rights issue.

What pushes me into the state's rights camp in this case is a key component to Catholic Social Teaching, Subsidiarity. Subsidiarity basically argues that the smallest possible unit capable of solving a problem should do so. So, if I can tie my own shoes, it is better that I do so than my parents. Or, more significantly, if a local community can solve its own problem, it should do so rather than a state or the federal government. Conservatives love subsidiarity. Of course, subsidiarity has other implications. If the local cannot meet its needs, it is the responsibility of the next unit 'up' to do so, and on 'up' the hierarchy from individual to international until a solution is reached. The debate is usually about whether the smaller or more local can succeed with or without help (so, can individuals and small businesses really continue to provide for health care needs without a national plan? I don't' think so, but that is another topic).

Federal regulations of emissions are necessary. Without them, many states would do nothing, and since pollution tends to wander far afield of its source, there must be national and international controls. But this does not mean that a more local unit, in this case, the state of California, cannot implement tougher measures. Indeed, if the national government refuses to do so, given the real danger emissions poses to our immediate and far-flung future, I think they should do so. I must admit, I am a little shocked that the EPA would so whimsically deny a state its attempt to address such a serious concern. Unless of course, they don't think it is all that serious (see above).

Now, I want to be clear: I don't think that regulating emissions is sufficient. It leans towards greater energy efficiency as a solution, not reduced energy consumption. Nor do I think that the Orthodox liturgy obviously demands that we support California. However, I do think that blessing the waters of the world should press us to think carefully about the policy and lifestyle decisions that we are privileged to make as participating members of God's world, and citizens of the U.S, who consume energy far out of proportion to our population.

Related Resources

In the midst of editing this post, I read a very interesting article in the most recent Journal of the Society of Christian Ethics. My only quibble is that the phrase "Liturgical Asceticism" was hardly coined in 2004. It has been a part of Orthodox parlance as long as I can remember. Other than this admittedly petty point, it is an excellent article, well worth the read:

Margaret R. Pfeil, "Liturgy and Ethics: The Liturgical Asceticism of Energy Conservation." JSCE v. 27, no. 2, 2007, 127-149.

Remember the Neediest

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 16:00:00 +0000

Perusing a paper copy of the NYT the other day I noticed an odd little phrase at the bottom of a column buried deep in the first section, "remember the neediest." It looked more like a space filler than anything significant, butI found the same phrase repeated throughout the section. It struck me as a bit odd, this random reminder to remember those in need. So, I turned to my trusty research tool, Google, and did some investigating.

It will be no surprise to regular readers of The Times and NYC residents in particular that the phrase is not at all random. In 1912, the NYT publisher Adolph S. Ochs, in the wake of a thought provoking encounter with a poor man on the street the previous year, sent out a reporter to collect stories of "the Hundred Neediest Cases in New York."¹ The December 15, 1912 inaugural article ran under the headline: SANTA CLAUS PLEASE TAKE NOTICE! HERE ARE NEW YORK’S 100 NEEDIEST CASES. Having grabbed Santa Claus's attention, the article began: "Fathoms deep beneath the exhilaration and joyousness of Christmas there is a world of desolation and hunger which few of the dwellers in light and air have had time or chance to realize: the world of famine in the midst of plenty; of cruel heart and body hunger with bounty in sight, but not in reach; the world which only the organized charities have been able to hold above the line between life itself and death."² Following this dramatic introduction were 100 'Cases,' written in equally florid prose, and numbered in order to preserve confidentiality.

In its first year, 117 readers contributed $3,630.88. Over the course of 96 years (not counting this year), the Fund has raised over $229 million.³ The Fund no longer gives to the 100 neediest individuals, instead distributing funds through selected social service agencies. Heather Mac Donald documents not merely a change in the manner of distributing funds, but in the philosophy behind the annual appeal which originally had at its heart "a crucial moral distinction between the deserving and the undeserving poor."⁴ Each 'case' documented the situation of someone in 'deserving' need. Mac Donald's survey of what constitutes deserving in the eyes of The Times and its readers is worth a look.

Mac Donald's central point however, is that by 1969, "Gone were the holiday paeans to the generosity of ordinary citizens; gone, too, was the paper's honesty about self-induced misfortune. Instead, this was the moment that the Times turned sour and became an apologist for the welfare state." No longer did the elite hold the poor their own rigorous standard, in which "moral character determined the strength of a person's claim for assistance," and that struggle overwhelmed by adversity deserved generosity. Instead, poverty is a result of "vast, impersonal social and economic forces that supposedly determined individual fate." According to Mac Donald, the shift from the deserving poor to a situation in which "need became the sole criterion for aid, with moral character all but irrelevant" is a story which "traces the rise of moral relativism among opinion and policy makers, the triumph of the entitlement ethos, and the transformation of the New York Times itself into a proponent of victimology and double standards."⁵

As an unabashed fan of the "welfare state," or at the very least, of a society that takes seriously its obligation to care for all of those who participate in its success, there are a number of points on which Mac Donald (and her sympatica, Ayn Rand) and I simply disagree. I believe the shift from "deserving" individuals to "need" springs from a growing recognition of just how complicated, and systematic, is the prison of poverty. I hardly think this is a sign of moral relativism.

As a Christian, I am even more disturbed. Jesus nowhere says, "feed the hungry widow that worked for her food but got ripped off by some evil bossman who probably molested her in the process." He simply says, feed the hungry. Need is Jesus' sole criterion. Jesus' response to those who complain about receiving the same wages as those who worked half as much time is to point out that God does not appear to judge based on 'worthiness.' St. John Chrysostom, who eloquently fanned the flames of hell for the rich who do not share their wealth, stresses that almsgiving is a virtue in itself. Whether the poor person deserves the alms is irrelevant to the imperative to give. All that matters for the poor person is the “one plea, his want and his standing in need: do not require anything else from him; but even if he is the most wicked of all men and is at a loss for his necessary sustenance, let us free him from hunger” (On Wealth and Poverty, p. 52). Almsgivers are not meant to be judges. The elite who sets themselves up as judge over the needs of others are like “those who set up those games and give no prizes at all until they see others punishing themselves” (1Cor 188B). The refusal to be generous to another person, made in the image of God, is, according to Chrysostom, the heights of inhumanity.

Deserving and undeserving poverty is a moral category only for those who sit in judgment, not those who seek to serve needs. The Neediest Cases Fund may not be perfect in its motivation or implementation, but it is hardly immoral.

All administrative costs of the Fund are covered by The Times. The current campaign began Nov. 4 and will end Feb. 8. A collection of articles, including the all-important 'how to donate' instructions, are available here on The Times website.

Book Sources:

John Chrysostom. Baptismal Instructions. Translated by Paul W. Harkins Ancient Christian Writers; the Works of the Fathers in Translation, No. 31. Westminster, Md.,: Newman Press, 1963

John Chrysostom. On Wealth and Poverty. Translated by Catharine P. Roth. Crestwood, New York: St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1984.

John Chrysostom. On Repentance and Almsgiving. Translated by Gus George Christo The Fathers of the Church, a New Translation ; V. 96. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1998.

Liturgical Ethics 1

Sun, 18 Mar 2007 16:00:00 +0000

Last month when I was at New Skete, Sr. Rebecca and I got into an interesting conversation about the emphasis on sin in the lenten season. Last night, I led an informal discussion about our experience of sin and the liturgy with the monks and nuns. At one point, Br. Christopher asked if there might be something to a 'liturgical ethic'. I jokingly responded that I certainly hope so, as my dissertation depends on the possibility. I also said that I think we tend to have a great vision for what is happening in the 'eschatological' space of the liturgy, but that as long as one among us is hungry, alone, sick, neglected, then I am not sure that our reality corresponds to our vision. Br. Stavros commented that this is certainly not a new concern, after all, Chrysostom preaches about poverty and hypocrisy in the church all the time. He is right. But, this is what I should have said:

As long as our practice is to exclude females from full participation in the liturgy according to all that they are gifted and capable of doing, our liturgy not only embodies an injustice towards the people of God (male and female), it inflicts injustice. As long as any girl or woman's ability to participate is limited by being female, whether it is as simple as carrying a message back to the priest in the altar (which must be done by a man during liturgy, though at other times I can certainly go into the altar to help clean) or as complicated as recognizing by ordination the priestly or diaconal gifts of a woman, our liturgy perpetuates injustice. In the language of Zizioulas, our liturgy as praxis reduces its participants to their gendered nature, which violates his assertion that it is in the liturgy and only in the liturgy that we truly become the unique, irreducible and free human beings we are created to be in God.

Every young girl that is excluded from serving in the altar next to her brother is sinned against by us. Every boy who thinks it is his privilege to serve derives from being a boy is being given a false understanding of the power and relevance of maleness, and is sinned against. I once had a conversation with a Greek man about his son and daughter serving in the altar. He said that his son did not serve in the altar in his church. When I asked why, he replied, "I will not permit that injustice into my household." And yet we bring it into our household all the time. Even those who tentatively agree that women are capable and called to the same service as men in the church often simply shrug at the present situation. 'Injustice' is somehow not a liturgical category, but a category of secular ethics. After all, the liturgy is supposed to change us, not the other way around, and if we are not being transformed by the liturgy, then it is our fault, our responsibility, something wrong with us. It is hardly conceivable that the liturgy may itself be unjust.

Injustice springs from sin, from individual and corporate sin. We choose to allow this injustice to continue in our midst. We choose to allow this sin to continue. When we are confronted with a woman (or man) who is angry, we may be sympathetic, but we don't really know what to do. I say 'may' because often the response to these angry women is not one of sympathy. The assumption is that there is something wrong with the woman, she needs to allow herself to be changed by the liturgy. The problem is, she is changed by the liturgy. Instead of recognizing the injustice outside of herself, she begins to 'recognize' her own 'inadequacy', her own 'inability'. She begins to believe the image of woman that the exclusionary practices of our liturgy convey. We begin to believe that it is acceptable to exclude women simply because this is how we have always done it (which we have not); we begin to believe that there must be some good theological reason for this (which there is not), that God must have intended it to be this way (which I believe God does not), that perhaps women really are deficient in some way (we are not!), or that despite all evidence and theology to the contrary, men and women are called to serve God in radically different gendered ways.

There are many questions that can arise from a liturgical ethic, but one of them must be the question, is the liturgy as it is practiced today ethical? Is it leading us to our telos as unique, irreducible and free human beings? Or is it perpetuating the stereotypes and reductions of culture, 'nature', or even of a theology that does not yet reflect the full uniqueness of each particular human person?

Anonymous

Sun, 22 Apr, 2007 - 01:17

Barring women from the priesthood has nothing to do with the Church viewing women as deficient or inferior. Besides Christ, who is more holy than the Theotokos? She even surpasses the angels. No mere man ever can claim this. Christ proclaimed the Resurrection first to the myrrh-bearing women, who surpassed the Apostles with their bravery. They were not afraid to go and anoint Christ's tomb when doing so could have meant persecution and perhaps death for them. Add the numerous amounts of women saints and I don't think we can say our church is inherently sexist.

So why are women forbidden from serving in the altar? The church on earth is a reflection of the heavenly order. The priest is a living icon of Christ. This is why he is male, bearded and required to wear the rassa. Not every male can be a priest, only those whom the church sees worthy of such a responsibility. Priests are filled with the grace of the Holy Spirit so that they can perform their priestly duties; however, as individuals, priests are human and sinners like the rest of us. Their priesthood makes them worthy of respect because of their responsibilities and the grace that God gives them, but it does not make them more holy than someone else per se. Men sin like women do, so clearly God did not choose men to become priests because they are more holy than women, but because they serve as icons of Christ. Christ appointed this responsibility to men, and we do not have the authority to challenege this. Proof of this lies in the fact that Christ chose only men to be his Apostles (whence we get the Apostolic succession of our clergy), while he had both men and women follwers.

Having said this, women have resposibilty in the church as well. Child bearing and child rearing, no matter how old fashioned this may sound, is a woman's responsibity and argueably more difficult than the priesthood! How important is it the role of the woman here, to raise the next generation of pious Christians! What a tremendous calling. The women train their children to be pious, to walk in the commandments of God, to transform the world with their love. Women also help keep order in the church and often act as examples through their piety and good works. There are so many inspiring women in our church who through their selflessness and love for others put many men to shame and also give strength to us in our spiritual struggles. It's not just child rearing either; look at the nuns, look at the women saints and martyrs. Clearly women are not barred from holiness. The priesthood is a special thing for a particular purpose, it is not the pinacle of Christian life or the top of the church's "corporate ladder". Let us focus on our own sins and try to improve ourselves as Christians and not try to overturn the order that Christ, in his mercy for mankind, has appointed for us.

Anonymous

Mon, 23 Apr, 2007 - 01:18

Paraphrasing from what I once read in a statement from the Pope of Rome:
I cannot conceive like a woman does, this is injustice, and should be redressed.

Anonymous

Sun, 29 Apr, 2007 - 01:18

I'm an Orthodox Jew, and we have an understanding of historical continuity that seems to conflict with your view of ordaining women. I do not fully understand Orthodoxy in the Christian context, but from what little I have seen I sense that you also emphasize a traditional approach to religion, stemming everything back to the time of the Apostles. Thus, from both perspectives, Jewish and Christian, I am not entirely convinced by the above argument based on a modern, western and American understanding of philosophy and ethics than the spirit of the tradition which you have received.

Guest

Tue, 11 Mar, 2008 - 10:41

Rock on... The liturgy has many purposes--catechetical, ethical, formative, and ultimately, transformative. We should constantly have these purposes in view when evaluating our praxis.

Garvey on Certainty

Fri, 09 Mar 2007 16:00:00 +0000

I made it to presanctified liturgy this week, an evening which ended with a very interesting conversation over dinner. We started with a conversation about Natural Law theology (something I think quite a bit about as a student in an ethics department dominated by Catholic natural law ethicists), moved to Orthodox theology, and what we can know and not know about God and humanity. I was asked what I can say for sure about God, who does not change. Expressing hesitancy about whether God does change or not, I replied that in the end, all I can say is that God is love, whatever that means. A friend responded that the idea that God might change was frightening, which is a fair response, except that in the end, God is love, and change can only be in or ‘towards’ love, not away. The next morning I finally got around to reading my January issue of Commonweal over breakfast, and a column by John Garvey was particularly striking. While Garvey is speaking of the debate between science and religion, his conclusion is apropos to our conversation:

There are at least two problems with what should be, but is not yet, a genuine dialogue between science and religion. One is the inability of the nonbelieving side to look seriously at those deep traditions that might challenge their own set of certainties. There are essential differences between explanations and descriptions. Science is good at the business of description and leans, when it theorizes, toward explanation, but always tentatively. Wittgenstein got at something vital when he wrote, “It is not how things are in the world that is mystical, but that it exists.” The Orthodox tradition of apophatic theology, which stresses God’s unknowability-or what is called “negative theology” in the West-is essential here. Basil the Great said, “Anyone who says he knows God has a depraved spirit.” Gregory of Nyssa said, “Concepts create idols. Only wonder comprehends anything.” This could be a beginning.

On the religious side, there is a need for certainty that leads to fundamentalism and to such awkward “god of the gaps” lurches as intelligent design. It is only when we give up our need for certainty-a form of ego protection-that we can begin to find confidence, a trust that we are not wrong in our sense that love and compassion are built deeply into the center of reality, despite its obvious woundedness, and are not merely our tiny human contribution to a meaningless, if marvelous, universe.[/quote]

Unction and the Invitation of God

Tue, 26 Apr 2005 16:00:00 +0000

Last night was Holy Wednesday, the Service of Unction. Fr. Peter gave a short sermon in which he answered the question, who may come forward to receive unction, and need they be Orthodox? His answer, which he pulled from the seven prayers of the priest during the service, was simple: if you are in need, if you desire the healing of God, come forward. While he did not mention this, the seven gospel readings reflect the open invitation of God. Jesus' answer to the question, 'who is my neighbor' is that your neighbor is the one you treat as your neighbor (Luke 10:25-37). Jesus picks out of the crowd Zacchaeus, whose sin in the eyes of his people is obvious as he sits among tax collectors (Luke 19:1-10). Jesus sends his disciples out to freely give healing and teaching to those outside the bounds of the religious community (Matthew 10:1 & 10:5-8). Jesus calls us to unlimited forgiveness (Matthew 8:14-23), and condemns not using gifts for the benefit of others (Matthew 25:1-13). The Syrophonecian woman is honored precisely because she understood that there was enough of God to go around (Matthew 15:21-28). The gospel readings conclude with Jesus' demand that we learn what the following scripture means: "'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.' For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners" (Matthew 9:9-13).

The motivation for my reflection however, is not the readings itself, but a saddening conversation I had immediately after the sermon. A friend whispered that the sermon should have emphasized that the sacrament of unction is only available to Orthodox. He reasonably argued that every other sacrament is for Orthodox, and if we allow non-Orthodox to receive the oil of healing, we are either diminishing unction as a sacrament, or we should allow any one who comes forward to receive any other sacrament, even the Eucharist. Of course, my inclination is to say, "precisely."

Aren't there a variety of questions we should think about? Does every sacrament need to have the same requirements? There may be reasons to limit the reception of the Eucharist, but is that true for all sacraments? The entire thrust of the gospels is the open invitation of Jesus to participate in God. This is the good news! There is no restriction placed in these readings. As a matter of fact, the people whom Jesus invites are the outcast, the least, the fringes of the society. He invites them despite the fact that by doing so, he is flying in the face of religious tradition. Perhaps he does so because it is an affront to religiosity. Isn't this the Jesus we need to take seriously? When we deny someone a sacrament, are we rejecting a person whom God has invited? In the service of Unction, sin, need, and desire are the only requirements, and there is no one who lacks at least one (sin) of these three! The Church does not exist to protect God, to defend the creator of heaven and earth. The Church is the community who participates in God, a people gathered by God through whom God works. It is not our job to decide who is invited, but to welcome those who come, for whatever reason. The sacraments are a real symbol and real presence of God's grace. God's desire is that all be saved, that all may be saved (1 Timothy 2:4-6). At the very least, we must be cautious when we choose to restrict the reception of God's grace. Fortunately, God can and does work around our reception. But that does not make us less accountable for being more concerned with 'orthodoxy' than with grace, mercy, healing, hope, life; more concerned with proper beliefs than with actually living the gospel which is offered to all who desire it, regardless of the extent of their belief. After all, tonight we will read about the utter failure of those who committed themselves to following Jesus. If they didn't get it, yet Jesus was present to them, who are we to say who is welcome to receive the grace of God?

Purity & HIV/AIDS

Wed, 30 Mar 2005 18:56:28 +0000

James Keenan, S.J. gave the Gasson Lecture at BC today, a paper entitled “Educating in a time of HIV/AIDS.” While he said many things worth discussing, he underscored the ‘lack of political’ will in finding a solution to the pandemic, despite detailed and accurate analysis and sufficient resources. The lack of political will is ‘sheathed by a fearful protectionism concerned with preserving moral purity rather than care for the other’ (a reasonably accurate paraphrase). Official government responses to AIDS/HIV are characterized by a concern to preserve ‘our image’ and ‘our children.’ Thus, we can’t fund needle exchange programs despite studies which establish that they don’t increase drug use and they do save lives, because we can’t send mixed messages to our children (an example given by Jim).

I am struck by the problem of mixed messages, the fear that we cannot do what we know to be helpful to save lives because we are afraid of what it might communicate to our children. The same logic lies behind abstinance only sex-education. If we encourage our youth to wait, and educate them about the use of condemns, birth control, safe sex and sexually transmitted diseases, we will be giving them a mixed message. Really? Are our youth so naive and unable to think that they cannot consider their options responsibly? If they are so naive, it is our own fault.

There are two problems (at least) underlying this protectionist fear.

First, the fear of ambiguity. What is wrong with a message that is ambiguous, that encourages individuals towards an honest and responsible assessment of the decisions they must make in a reality of multiple options? Do we really think that if we tell our children that there is only one option, it will blind them to a world full of choices? By doing so, rather than encourage them to make an informed and responsible choice, we usher them unprepared into a world where they will have to make decisions among conflicting options. We simply cannot protect our children or ourselves that way. We live in a world full of mixed messages. We need to learn to make weigh options and take responsibility for our choices.

Second, the our insistence on purity. This is particularly disturbing, especially in light of Jesus. Jesus was so unafraid of preserving the image of purity that he was thought to be no different than the sinners with whom he spent his time. And yet we, as followers of Jesus, are concerned that no one mistake us for the person who contracted a disease in a back alley, or at the tip of a needle.

As an Orthodox, I find this disturbing. We, especially during lent, spend a great deal of time focusing on fasting, on ascetical discipline. Yet does this necessarily help us become people of mercy and compassion, who are unafraid to associate with those our church says are the least? Is our own individual purity more important than serving those in need? Is it more important for us to go liturgy than it is to serve the poor? Mother Maria Skobtsova is provocative because she is seems to imply that serving the poor is a eucharistic activity of the same value as actually taking the eucharist. It is sad that she is unique in our tradition.

Body & Worship

Fri, 25 Mar 2005 16:00:00 +0000

Fr. Thomas Hopko, in the most recent edition of Women and the Priesthood comments that ordaining a woman is tantamount to ordaining criminals and the disabled, both of which he considers problematic. Thus, the following thoughts:

There is no perfect body. Every body is frail, broken, or breaking. How many priests stand before God in perfect health? How many of our priests are obese, have high blood pressure, weak backs, a rash? Is the priest whose body is ravaged by cancer no longer able to present the sacraments because his body will soon bring an end to his present life?

The work of God is not dependent on the perfection of our bodies. At some level, we are all dis-abled. For some, our disabilities are significant enough that we cannot perform particular tasks. And, perhaps, one of these tasks is to preside at the Eucharist. But disability itself cannot prevent the movement of the Spirit. To think otherwise is to limit God according to our weaknesses. Note Christos Yannaras’ defense of the canon law which forbids the ordination of men who were raped as children. Who or what triumphs in this theology? A God who becomes a broken body, and by doing so, enabling matter to participate in the divine, or simply a broken body?

Today

Tue, 22 Mar 2005 16:00:00 +0000

Today is the first day of spring, the second tuesday of lent or perhaps the entrance into Holy Week (depending on your geography), and a beautiful but chilly day in Boston. So much for spring.

Today, I am a graduate student in theological ethics at Boston College, officially ABD! I am also vaguely ADD, which is why I am introducing myself to myself in a blog, rather than cranking out the proposal, or hanging out with friends. Actually, given the season, everyone is about to scatter to celebrate the season with friends and family. The nice thing about BC is that it grants an Easter break. The bummer is that it is not my Easter. Pascha this year falls somewhere at the end of eternity, otherwise known as April. At least by then, spring will arrive and the resurrection will be mirrored in the fecundity and renewal of nature, at least to my flower-starved eyes.

As already hinted at, today I am also a member of the Eastern Orthodox Church, specifically, St. Mary Antiochian Orthodox Church in Cambridge, MA. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but today I am delighted and relieved to be a part of an ethnically and generationally diverse, english-speaking, vibrant congregation. A rarity in my experience of Orthodoxy.

Enough for today.

Dei Profundis

The Ice Dragon

Pascha Cheese Recipe

When to Start

Ingredients

Steps

Is Jesus human, or male?

On 'This Year's Election': A response regarding Fr. Reardon

The Virtuous 'Straw-Man'

Is Feminism Hatred?

Holding Salvation

Gender, Ordination and Same-sex relationships: An unavoidable association?

Humility or Humiliation?

Oh the evil West

Our Sympathetic Mother

The 'Saint's Test'

Performing the Liturgy

Intertextual Evdokimov

WDL 6: Sr. Cecelia Harvey, Sermon for Saturday Matins

Sr. Cecelia Harvey

Our Lady of the Sign, Communities of New Skete

WDL 7.3: (Almost everything but) Women in Worship

WDL 9: Reflections of a 'dedicated listener'

WDL 7.2: Jenny Mosher, 'Women, Children and Theology'

WDL 7.1: Carrie Frederick Frost, 'A Theological Vision of Motherhood'

WDL 6: Women in real, live, ministry

WDL 5.5: The Diaconate

WDL 5: A surprising turn of conversation...

WDL 4: Detachment from what?

WDL 3: Juliana Schmemann, Adventurous Women, and Motherhood

WDL 2: Who belongs?

WDL 1: Blogging 'Women Disciples of the Lord'

WDL beta: 'Women Disciples of the Lord' - Conference and Questions

According to the Need of Each

The not-so-faithful Saints:

The Forms and Ways

Postscript

From woman also came the best

A Sad Divide

Kiss of Peace, Part 2

Kiss of Peace, Part 1

The Presentation

The 'Monopoly of Darwinisn': an open letter to Met. Hilarion Alfeyev

Response to Linsley on 'Why Women Were Never Priests'

Cult of Personality

Cults of Personality

Simply Beautiful

Us against Them

Praying Aloud

Beloved Let Us

Sunday of the Myrrhbearing Women

"Sunday of the Myrrhbearing Women"

Why can't you be satisfied?

Virtuous Icons: Unique Persons or Gendered Stereotypes

Introduction

Conclusion

So I will know my people's plight

A Paucity of Imagination

The Change We Seek

Conservative Feminism?

I am so sorry

Perception vs. Reality: A Rant

Talking Right, Stumbling Left

Dancing before God

Sr. Katrina - Memory Eternal

The Transfiguration

Vision of Transformation

Wanderings and Wonderings About Women and Walls

But I am a woman...

Bells!

Poem: Phillip Lopate

Hauerwas on Liturgy: Take 2

Quote: Hauerwas on Liturgy

A Rueful Observation

A Disingenuous Compliment?

No, a “rueful observation”

A Radical Mother's Day

Mother's Day Proclamation (1870)

Julia Ward Howe

Visual Metaphors: Shut Out

Our Lady of the Sign,
Communities of New Skete