“Accept us, Holy Father, as we are”

. . . [C]ommunion with Rome does not separate us from our Orthodox ecclesial reality. We say this with profound humility, a deep ecumenical awareness and a touch of humour: we are an Orthodox Catholic Church. . . . We would like to live, in the very heart of the Catholic Church, a life that could be accepted by Orthodoxy. Let us do so, Most Holy Father. That is the key to all real progress along the ecumenical way. Accept us, Holy Father, as we are: Eastern Orthodox, who want to live our full and complete Eastern Orthodox tradition in full communion with Rome.

Gregorios III, Melkite Greek Catholic Patriarch of Antioch, to Benedict XVI, Pope of Rome (May 8, 2008)

I first read these words of Patriarch Gregorios III at Eirenikon a few days ago, and have been thinking about them since. “Orthodox in communion with Rome”…some Eastern Catholics are the only ones to believe that this is even possible. I’m glad to say that I’m one of them. Not easy, and some days very hard—but possible.

A Place for the Fathers (Part III)

The Ecumenical Significance of the Fathers

Thus far, Cardinal Ratzinger has argued that significance of the Fathers in theology has been diminished by modern developments in the Catholic understanding of Scripture (the introduction of the historical-critical method) as well as Tradition (the two views of tradition covered in Part II).

In continuing his quest for a place for the Fathers in modern Catholic theology, Ratzinger considers their importance from an ecumenical standpoint:

Even if the Fathers seem to be losing stature as interpreters of Holy Scripture and witnesses to tradition, do they not, at least, have a distinguished ecumenical significance. Thomas Aquinas and the other great Scholastics of the thirteenth century are “Fathers” of a specifically Roman Catholic theology from which the Christian churches of the Reformation consider themselves completely separated and which, for the churches of the East, also expresses an alien mentality. But the teachers of the ancient Church represent a common past that, precisely as such, may well be a promise for the future (Principles of Catholic Theology, p. 140).

Since they were theologians in a time when the Church was yet undivided, the Fathers constitute a heritage shared by the Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant churches.

“Whereas the theology of the Eastern Churches has never aspired to be anything but a patristic theology” (p. 140), Ratzinger says, the churches of the West, both Catholic and Protestant, have developed their respective theologies in particular ways that are not accepted by the other side. Indeed, the great influence of medieval Scholasticism on Catholic theology was one of the sore points for Protestant theologians during the Reformation.

With candor, Ratzinger acknowledges that Catholic theology since the Middle Ages has been definitively shaped by someone other than the Fathers, although this person’s influence was in some way grounded in patristic thought:

For we must admit, on the one hand, that even for Catholic theology, the so-called Fathers of the Church have, for a long time, been “Fathers” only in an indirect sense, whereas the real “Father” of the form that ultimately dominated nineteenth-century theology was Thomas Aquinas, with his classic systematization of the thirteenth-century doctrina media, which…was in its turn based on the “authority” of the Fathers (p. 142). [Emphasis added.]

A similar situation arose within Protestantism:

On the other hand, it is evident that Protestant theology is also not without its “Fathers”, insofar as the leaders of the Reformation have, for it, a position comparable to the role of the Fathers of the Church. The perspective from which Scripture is studied and the point of departure for ecclesial life bear their mark and are inconceivable without them (p. 142).

These observations lead him to this, in my opinion, extremely insightful conclusion:

Indeed, we must go a step farther and say that the division of the Church is revealed above all in the fact that the Fathers of the one side are not the Fathers of the other. And the ever more observable inability of one side to understand the other even in language and mode of thought stems from the fact that each has learned to think and speak at the knees of totally different Fathers. The differences among the sects do not have their source in the New Testament. They arise from the fact that the New Testament is read under the tutelage of different Fathers (p. 143). [Emphasis added.]

Here, then, is how I would sum up Ratzinger’s evaluation of the situation:

• The separated churches have each been shaped under the teaching of different “Fathers”.
• The Eastern Churches, whose theology “has never aspired to be anything but a patristic theology” (p. 140), have been and continue to be committed to the Fathers of the Church properly speaking.
• In the West, however, things are quite different. Catholic theology, since the Middle Ages, has been dominated by one “Father”, Thomas Aquinas, whose influence can still be felt today. The Protestant churches, for their part, have been shaped by their own “Fathers”—the leaders of the Reformation through whose lens Protestant Christians continue to read Scripture and practice their faith (Luther, Melanchton, Calvin, etc.).

Ratzinger is, first of all, concerned with the situation in the West. In order to truly hear and see each other once again, Western Christians (Catholics and Protestants) will have to learn and understand each other’s Fathers, but the ecumenical impasse remains: this quest for mutual understanding will not make the Fathers of one group the Fathers of the other.

Who would deny that Thomas Aquinas and Luther are each Father of only one part of Christianity? …. And so the question remains: If these Fathers can be Fathers for only a part of Christianity, must we not turn our attention to those who were once Fathers of all?

The solution is for Catholics and Protestants to both return to their common Fathers—the Fathers of the ancient and undivided Church. Happily, this orientation toward the Fathers, as Ratzinger stated earlier, has always been the posture of the Eastern Churches. In the return to patristic theology, then, lies the hope for the reconciliation, first of all, of the Catholic and Protestant Churches in the West, and then of this whole Western Church with the Eastern Churches.

Even if the Fathers’ importance as exegetes and bearers of tradition have been called into question in modern Catholic theology, their ecumenical priority still stands unchallenged. They remain the teachers of a once-unified Church, and therefore constitute the shared heritage of all Christians. As such, these Fathers are the ones to whom the separated Churches must return in order to find their way to each other.

[This series will be continued on Monday.]

“Hurled Quickly Like Spears”: Short Prayers and the Fathers of Egypt

Today, May 15th, the Byzantine calendar commemorates St. Pachomios the Great, one of the founders of cenobitic (common life) monasticism in the deserts of Egypt. Although many people might associate monastic spirituality with long prayers and rigorous ascetical feats that are basically impossible or irrelevant for those of us living and working “in the world”, there is probably much that we can learn from these Egyptian fathers if we don’t dismiss them right away.

The monks of Egypt actually spent most of the day working with their hands, and interspersed their work time with short prayers, sometimes accompanied by a metania (prostration). This was part of their endeavor to obey Jesus’ command to “always pray” (Luke 18.1) and Paul’s injunction to “pray without ceasing” (1 Thessalonians 5.17). Among the prayers recited by them were short Scripture texts, often psalm verses, which were memorized for this very purpose—for example, the prayer of the tax collector (”Lord, have mercy on me”) or “I will fear no evil, for You are at my side” (Psalm 23.4). Take for instance this advice from St. Makarios the Egyptian:

Some of [the monks] asked Abba Makarios: “How should we pray?” The elder answered him: “It is not necessary to rattle on, but one has only to stretch out one’s hands and say, ‘Lord, as you will and as you know, have mercy on me!’ On the other hand, if a battle is impending, pray, ‘Lord, help me!’ He himself knows what is necessary and treats us with mercy. ” (The Sayings of the Desert Fathers, Makarios §19)

This famous practice of reciting brief prayers throughout the day even reached the ears of St. Augustine of Hippo:

It is said that the brothers in Egypt have certain oft-repeated prayers, which are nevertheless extremely short and are hurled quickly like spears, so that the vigilantly maintained intention, which more than anything else is necessary to the one who prays, might not diminish and become dull through tarrying too long. (Letters 130.20 [to Proba])

Extremely short prayers hurled quickly like spears? Now, there’s a monastic practice I think we can all keep!

[You can read a short account of the life of St. Pachomios here.]

*****

Also, blessings and many years to Sr. Macrina Walker, OCSO, who makes her profession of perpetual vows today!

A Place for the Fathers (Part II)

The Fathers as Witnesses to Tradition

Having considered the ambiguous status of the Fathers in Catholic theology today, Ratzinger turns his attention to the role of the Fathers with regard to tradition (no distinction between “Tradition” and “tradition” here). Even if they are accorded a secondary importance with regards to the interpretation of Scripture—second, that is, to the historical-critical method—, he says, the Fathers are still “of primary importance as witnesses to tradition” (Principles of Catholic Theology, p. 137).

But what does it mean to be a witness to tradition, other than to be a witness to the interpretation of Scripture? On this point, Ratzinger seems to hold to the definition of tradition not as a distinct “source” of revelation, but the Church’s very interpretation of Scripture. This, he suggests, is the view of tradition held by the bishops of Trent and Vatican I: the Fathers were recognized as witnesses to tradition because they were revealers of the Bible. Thus, the Fathers’ role as bearers of tradition is rooted in and inseparable from their being regarded as the Church’s primary interpreters of Scripture.

In modern Catholic theology, however, things are quite different:

…[W]ith respect to tradition, modern Catholic theology has arrived, by both the irreconcilable paths that it has followed, at what amounts to an almost total dissolution of the bond between the concept of tradition and patristic theology (p. 138). [Emphasis added.]

He then discusses two modern views of tradition that have led to this “almost total dissolution”.

A Place for the Fathers (Part I)

In this and subsequent posts in the series, I will refer to Pope Benedict XVI as “Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger” or simply “Ratzinger” since he wrote Principles of Catholic Theology in 1982, long before he was elected Pope of Rome. No disrespect is intended.

In Principles of Catholic Theology: Building Stones for a Fundamental Theology, Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger devotes a section of the second chapter (Section 1.E, to be exact) to the consideration of the place of the Fathers of the Church in modern theology. Readily, he notes that the importance of the Fathers in modern Catholic theology is riddled with “strange inconsistencies”. One of these, for him, is the inherent tension between two divergent movements in the Church of the 20th century: ressourcement and aggiornamento.

The first of these movements, which began after World War I, was the so-called ressourcement, or a return to the sources of Scripture and the Fathers “that were no longer to be seen through the eyes of Scholastic philosophy but were to be read in themselves, in their own original form and breadth” (p. 134). This movement led to the rediscovery of biblical and patristic thought in the Catholic Church, and boasted of great names like Frs. Henri de Lubac, Jean Daniélou and Yves Congar.

The second movement was to become a sort of battle-cry in the era of Vatican II: aggiornamento, or “the bringing up to date”, which sought to engage the contemporary world with the message of the Gospel in a mode that would be “current and effective” (p. 134). The Pastoral Constitution of the Church in the Modern World (Gaudium et spes) that emerged from the Second Vatican Council best reflects this initiative to meet the world with a relevant articulation and embodiment of Christianity. The world was asking new questions and experiencing new things—the rise of atheism, two world wars, new medical technology, etc.—and the Church wanted to speak to those new questions and new experiences.

Ratzinger notes that there is an certain opposition in the direction of each of these movements: ressourcement is primarily about returning to historical roots, and aggiornamento is principally concerned with the present and the future. In the period following Vatican II, it was aggiornamento that won out, and eventually “the Fathers came to be pushed into the background” (p. 134). This conflict gave rise to what is for Ratzinger “a highly complex problem in which is reflected the whole dilemma of theology” (p. 134). The problem is in turn embodied in these questions:

• Do the Fathers of the Church have any significance for contemporary theology?

• Should they be accorded significance, or should they be seen as figures of the past, as subjects of historical investigation with barely, if any relevance, for the Church today?

No Sign But Tears and Stillness

This will be the sign for you when you have drawn near to entering into that region [of truth]. When grace has begun to open your eyes to perceive an exact vision of these things, then your eyes will begin to shed tears until your cheeks are washed by their abundance, and the fervor of the senses will be slowed that they may profitably be restrained within you. If there is one who teaches you other than this, do not believe him. But you are not permitted to seek another indication from the body besides tears as a manifest sign of the perception of truth, unless in the silence of the activity of the members of the body. This happens when the mind is raised above existing things, and the body ceases from tears and perception and any movement except physical vitality.

St. Isaac of Nineveh, On Ascetical Life, IV.59

Church Unity and Legitimate Variance, Part V: Oneness and Diversity

Up to this point, I’ve been speaking of “legitimate” variance—as opposed, I suppose, to differences of the “illegitimate” kind. This legitimate/illegitimate construct can carry a powerful connotation (and I’m still not sure if I subconsciously intended it). It could be taken to imply that variance in belief and practice is something to be feared, something dangerous, something threatening to the unity of the Church. As long as one takes this view, then divergence in religious expression (whether in thought or practice) must always be kept in check, for the Body of Christ is always faced with the threat of division.

Now, I think there are certainly instances in which that might be true. However, in the last piece of this series (for my attention is already strained), I would like to consider another way of thinking about diversity—namely, that it is a good not merely to be “tolerated” but understood and celebrated as a manifestation of the Spirit in the life of the Church.

This view of diversity, I suggest, is rooted in Luke’s account of the Pentecost event in Acts 2.1-11. Although it is often the “pyrotechnics” (sound, fire, the ecstatic speech, etc.) in this passage that get our attention, Luke’s primary focus in his description is not the occurrence of ecstatic speech per se but rather the proclamation in diverse languages of the “mighty works of God” under the inspiration of the one Spirit. True, the disciples “were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance” (Acts 2.4), but we mustn’t miss Luke’s stress on the intelligibility and inclusivity of the phenomenon:

And at this sound the multitude came together, and they were bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in his own language. And they were amazed and wondered, saying, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us in his own native language? Parthians and Medes and Elamites and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabians, we hear them telling in our own tongues the mighty works of God.” (Acts 2.6-11)

Three times in this passage, Luke tells us that the members of the audience, varied in their geographical origin, language and ethnicity, heard the disciples’ preaching in their own native language. This is because, I think, he wants to emphasize the going forth of the Gospel to all the peoples of the world—a trajectory which found its humble beginnings that day.

The Spirit of Freedom and Diversity

The Holy Spirit is a Spirit of freedom. The Holy Spirit not only unites us but also ensures our infinite diversity in the Church: at Pentecost the tongues of fire were ‘cloven’ or divided, descending separately upon each one of those present. The gift of the Spirit is a gift to the Church, but it is at the same time a personal gift, appropriated by each in her or his own way. ‘There are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit’ (I Corinthians xii, 4). Life in the Church does not mean the ironing out of human variety, not the imposition of a rigid and uniform pattern upon all alike, but the exact opposite. The saints, so far from displaying a drab monotony, have developed the most vivid and distinctive personalities. It is not holiness but evil which is dull.

Metropolitan Kallistos of Diokleia, The Orthodox Church [New Edition], pp. 242-243

Church Unity and Legitimate Variance, Part IV: Love, the Language of Truth, and the Will to Include

In the earlier, lesser-known days of this weblog, I wrote an essay on the love and humility with which St. Maximos the Confessor approached theological discourse, and the example which he sets for us today. I thought it would be worth revisiting that post for the sake of furthering the present discussion. The link follows the end of this post.

One more thing before I send you in that direction, though. Insofar as the unity to which Christians are called is a unity bound by love, our will to unity must also be a will to include rather than exclude. What I mean is that we Christians must attempt to live, speak and think in ways that enfold as many people as possible into the fellowship of the Church. This is true first of all with respect to Christians who find themselves disagreeing with one another on points of doctrine. They ought to struggle to count each other as being within the Church rather than outside her.

As I said in the first post of this series, there is today a theological maximalism in the Church that is driven by the need to exclude—to separate true believers from errant heretics. Don’t get me wrong: there are of course times when Christians have to draw boundaries between truth and falsehood, between orthodoxy and heresy. But the will to exclude cannot be our first instinct or response. In fact, even when we are forced to draw the lines, we must do so only with deep regret and sadness. God’s will for the Church, after all, is that she gather into her fold men and women “from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and tongues” (Revelation 7.9) so that Christ might be “all in all” (1 Corinthians 15.28; Ephesians 1.23). By her constitution, she tends toward inclusion. As followers of Jesus, we ought to always lean toward reaching out, toward reconciliation, toward embrace. In this way, we will be more like our Master who once defied established norms by talking to a Samaritan woman and eating with people on the margins of religious correctness.

But on to an old post. Whether it’s your first read or second, I hope you’ll find it helpful.

• Searching for Truth with the Eyes of Love: Some Lessons from St. Maximos the Confessor

Church Unity and Legitimate Variance, Part III: Truth and Our Will to Unity

Do Christians today actually want to be united? As I thought about the material in the last few posts, I found myself coming back to this question over and over again.

The will to unity, it seems to me, was a driving force in the ecclesiology and pastoral practice of Fathers like St. Basil and St. Gregory the Theologian. I’m not sure that most Christians today, whether Orthodox, Catholic or Protestant, are as convinced of the imperative of unity given to us by Christ. In this essay, I’d like to address what I think is one of the most crippling factors in ecumenical conversations: an actual deficiency in our will to unity that is in turn caused by an internalized dichotomy between “truth” and “unity”.

On the night before he was betrayed, Jesus prayed for us in this way:

I do not pray for these [the Apostles] only, but also for those who believe in me through their word, that they may all be one; even as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory which you have given me I have given to them, that they may be one even as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. (John 17.20-23)

The oneness which Christ had in mind for us is the oneness of himself with the Father—that is, it is a unity which reflects and participates in the love between the Divine Persons (”that they may also be in us”). In fact, we could even say that there is a sort of perichoresis or circumincession among his disciples. They are to be “in” one another even as the Father is “in” the Son, and the Son “in” in the Father. No wonder, then, that Jesus said that this “perfect” unity of the Church would bring the world to faith: in the disciples’ love for one another, they would somehow, mysteriously, reveal the Father’s sending of the Son as well as the Father’s love for them.

If this is the power of unity, then what is the effect of our disunity?