The Bible and the Church: Reviving an earlier post

Thanks to the input of a new reader named Francis and the much-loved Fr. Paul, there is now something of an ecumenical conversation about my earlier post, “The Bible as ‘a book of the Church’“. Since those reading this blog via a feed aren’t able to see the “Recent Comments” box and might not be privy to this, I wanted to notify them and invite anyone to join in the conversation if they’re so inclined. Seems like it’s been a while since an ecumenical discussion took place here.

In a comment there, I talk a bit about an issue that eventually led to my becoming Orthodox. Several readers have asked me to write more about that journey, but I’ve found it difficult to do partly because the paint is still wet, so to speak, and also because I don’t know how to talk about it without a specific context (plus, I’m trying to minimize the convert blogorrhea here). One of Fr. Paul’s comments, though, was something of a springboard, so I took the opportunity to explain myself a little more. If you’re interested in that, you can check out the comments for that too.

Don’t forget the new dandy WordPress feature that allows you to subscribe to comments on any post so you don’t have to keep coming back to this site just to see if other people have posted anything new!

Of rosaries and “Orthodox” prayer

In response to my post about the hand-made rosaries made by Alan Creech, Bobby wondered if it would be appropriate for Orthodox to pray the rosary since it appears to be of Western origin.

Let me begin by saying that I posted about Alan’s rosaries simply because I thought Catholic readers here (and perhaps some non-Catholic readers as well) might be interested in purchasing them. I was not recommending the rosary as a required practice, being no spiritual guru but rather a few sandwiches shy of a picnic. Furthermore, as Alan points out in his comment, these beads can be used in various ways. Perhaps Orthodox can use them for the Jesus Prayer as well.

As a Catholic, I never quite “took” to the rosary the way others did, though I did learn to pray it and did so quite often in group settings. This wasn’t motivated by any theological conviction, just a personal preference (or lack thereof, I suppose). There remains little doubt in my mind as to the benefit of this venerable devotion.

As to whether or not it is appropriate for Orthodox to pray the rosary, I for one don’t see how it might not be. The prayers and accompanying mysteries of the rosary have their roots in Scripture, and its basic principle appears to be quite similar to that of the prayer of the heart. In the Russian tradition (a spiritual heritage from which I continue to draw), there is of course the example of the much-loved St. Seraphim of Sarov who, it seems, prayed an “Orthodox version” of the Western rosary. Fr. Alexander Gumanovsky, a spiritual “grandson” as it were of St. Seraphim, recalls in a letter:

…I forgot to give you a piece of advice vital for salvation. Say the O Hail, Mother of God and Virgin one hundred and fifty times, and this prayer will lead you on the way to salvation. This rule was given by the Mother of God herself in about the eighth century, and at one time all Christians fulfilled it. We Orthodox have forgotten about it, and St. Seraphim has reminded me of this Rule. In my hands I have a hand-written book from the cell of St. Seraphim, containing a description of the many miracles which took place through praying to the Mother of God and especially through saying one hundred and fifty times the O Hail, Mother of God and Virgin. If, being unaccustomed to it, it is difficult to master one hundred and fifty repetitions daily, say it fifty times at first. After every ten repetitions say the Our Father once and Open unto us the doors of thy loving-kindness…. Whomever he spoke to about this miracle-working Rule remained grateful to him….*

Based on this excerpt, it seems that the basic form of the rosary was a part of the common tradition of both East and West.

For me, this question of whether or not it is appropriate for an Orthodox to pray the rosary reflects a dilemma caused by the loss of a common life and the mutual alienation between the Orthodox and Catholic Churches. Oftentimes I find that Orthodox—and enthusiastic converts like myself in particular—seem quite determined to engage in a kind of spiritual line-drawing—that is, they are careful not to “taint” themselves with anything that remotely resembles a Latinism, since things Western are generally considered to be less or even not worthy of “the pure faith”.

But it has always been the case that the various Churches have influenced and shared with one another the treasures distinct to their particular heritage. The Western liturgies show Eastern influence, just as the Eastern liturgies contain in themselves elements adopted from the West (the Byzantine Liturgy of Presanctified Gifts is one such example). A wise priest once reminded me that in my zeal to be immersed in the Syriac tradition, I ought not lose the broader vision evidenced by 6th-century monk John Moschos, who gathered into his work The Spiritual Meadow various lessons and practices of the holy fathers irrespective of whether these were Syrian, Egyptian, Palestinian or Asian. You might say he had a rather “inclusive” understanding of Christianity. I’ve been hanging on to this advice as a fledgling Orthodox who is trying to negotiate, appreciate and integrate his whole spiritual heritage, which owes a great debt to the Catholic tradition.

It is not easy, on this side of schisms, for anyone to reappropriate the common heritage of the Churches and appreciate the distinct developments, Eastern and Western, that are in harmony with it. I think the process will happen only very slowly, and perhaps necessarily so. Yet forms of prayer such as the rosary, drawn as it appears from the sources of Tradition itself, can perhaps be embraced without the hard labels of “Catholic” or “Orthodox”, “Western” or “Eastern”.

In the West Syriac tradition, we begin and end canonical prayers with a set of prayers called the “Kauma” or “Standing Prayers” (roughly equivalent to the Byzantine Trisagion prayers). Toward the end of each Kauma, it is customary to recite the Angelic Salutation (“Hail Mary” or “Peace be unto you Mariam”, as it is often translated from the Syriac).  Though this prayer is strictly speaking not “necessary” because it is a later addition to the structure of the Kauma (perhaps of Latin/Catholic influence, since it has a “Western” ending), every West Syriac prayerbook I’ve seen retains it. When I pray it, I do so in hope that one day the separated Churches will again be able to drink from the one chalice and resume the life of common and mutual edification which we’ve lost with time.

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* “The Rosary and Orthodoxy“, The Walsingham Way (Vol. II, No. I, Fall 1999). The article also gives suggestions for an Orthodox adaptation of the rosary.

An apprenticeship for seeking fools

There is certainly no lack nowadays of people who delight in asking endless questions just to have something to babble about, but it is difficult to find someone who loves truth in his soul, who seeks the truth as medicine for his ignorance. Just as the hunter hides his traps, or an ambush of soldiers camouflages itself, so these questioners spew forth elaborately constructed inquiries, not really hoping to learn anything useful from them, because unless you agree with them and give them the answer they want, they imagine that they are fully entitled to stir up a raging controversy.

But if “Wisdom shall be given to a fool who seeks after wisdom,” (Proverbs 17.28 LXX) how great is the price at which we should value the “wise hearer,” whom the Prophet places in the company of the “honorable counselor”? … Those who are idle in the pursuit of righteousness count theological terminology as secondary, together with attempts to search out the hidden meaning in this phrase or that syllable, but those conscious of the goal of our calling realize that we are to become like God, as far as this is possible for human nature.

But we cannot become like God unless we have knowledge of Him, and without lessons there will be no knowledge. Instruction begins with the proper use of speech, and syllables and words are the elements of speech. Therefore to scrutinize syllables is not a superfluous task. Just because certain questions seem insignificant is no reason to ignore them. Hunting truth is no easy task; we must look everywhere for its tracks. Learning truth is like learning a trade; apprentices grow in experience little by little, provided they do not despise any opportunity to increase their knowledge. If a man spurns fundamental elements as insignificant trifles, he will never embrace the fullness of wisdom.

“Yes” and “No” are only two syllables, yet truth, the best of all good things, as well as falsehood, the worst possible evil, are most often expressed by these two small words. Why do I mention this? Because in former times someone on trial could join the ranks of Christ’s martyrs by a single nod of his head, for this one act signified total commitment to true religion.

If this is so, what theological term is so insignificant that it will not greatly upset the balance of the scales, unless it is used correctly? We are told that “not one jot nor one tittle shall pass away from the law” (Matthew 5.18); how then could we safely pass by even the smallest point?

… But as for us, let us not succumb to the reproaches of men, or be conquered by their contempt, so that we abandon our investigation. Far be it from me to be ashamed of these small matters; indeed, if I ever attain to even a fraction of their dignity, I would congratulate both myself for having won great honor and my brother and fellow-investigator for an achievement far above the mediocre.

St. Basil the Great, On the Holy Spirit I.1-2

Broken words from a broken body

I was going to write a nuanced yet sophisticated post about the Christology of the Assyrian Church of the East based on an essay by Sebastian Brock about how the term “Nestorian” has been tragically misapplied to that Church, but I got utterly disoriented (pun intended) in the cloud of theological terms: prosopon, hypostasis, ousia, qnoma, kyana, etc. And since Professor Brock does a much better job than I ever will of explaining the whole thing (he has a 7-column chart and everything), I’ll just let you read that essay for yourself.*

What I’ve basically learned is that the various parties in the Christological controversies of the 5th century understood the terms in slightly different ways, and when ecclesial politics got thrown into the mix, things went very, very wrong. Even though almost everybody (except the Eutycheans) believed that Christ was consubstantial with the Father and with us—that is, that he was fully God and fully man—they ended up parting ways because of diverging articulations of that central mystery, not to mention some rather indelicate squabbles between church leaders. And so, 1500 years later, the ecclesial walls and theological scars persist.

All this got me thinking again about the problem of language in theology. We human beings are awfully small creatures with awfully small minds and awfully small vocabularies to be talking about a God who is bigger than big. The first time I read the writings of Dionysius the Areopagite, I was deeply struck by the poverty of human thought and language to capture the identity of this terrifying, living, transcendent Being we call “God”. One of my teachers (the one who told me about Dionysius) taught me that theology must always begin with this awareness that our minds and words are impoverished beyond our own comprehension. As the years have gone by, the importance of what he said has only become more evident to me.

It seems to me that the sense of this impoverishment has slipped in and out of Christian consciousness over the centuries. The divisive debates that took place in the 5th century illustrate this, as do the later polemics between Greek East and Latin West. Then there’s the Reformation. The list goes on.

But we should be suspicious not only of our language. I think we should also be suspicious of ourselves. One of the things I’ve seen quite clearly in the Christological controversies of the early Church is the recurrent tendency of Christians, clerics and laity alike, to use theology to their own gain. Sometimes it was because they wanted to get a bishop deposed; sometimes it was because the political status of their local Church was in jeopardy; other times it was just because they had a bad temper. (Yeah, you know who I’m talking about.) How much did it have to do with God? Some. Not very much.

I don’t want to die a cynic, and in fact, at 30, I’m too young to become one. We’ve all met them: they’re the crusty people in church who always make it a point to let everybody know that they more S than others do (let S=theology, Scripture, liturgy, church history, church politics, etc.), that though every ecclesial cloud has a silver lining thousands of people have been killed looking for it. Sometimes they linger or make their rounds on the blogosphere.

I don’t want to die a cynic, and I think that accepting the limitations of our language and the  polymorphous perversity of our fallen nature is the antidote to cynicism. The cynic subscribes to a kind of gnosticism, really: “Everybody’s crooked and I know that better than they do themselves”. But the one thing the cynic can’t grasp, it seems to me, is that he is himself a victim of the same things. He can criticize everybody but himself, when in fact the Church is the way it is because everybody is just as radically broken as he is.

The other day I stumbled upon a comment on a Christian blog in which the author said that he found himself unable to recite the Nicene Creed because, among other things, it makes him think of all the dubious structures that put it together and what the other people who are saying it mean by the same words. I can see his point. We Christians have imprisoned, tortured and executed people in the name of the Creed, and many of us will probably only mutter gibberish if we were asked to explain what we mean when we say that Jesus is “consubstantial with his Father”. So why should we say it?

We say the Creed in part because we acknowledge that we’ve received this faith from those who’ve gone before us, that our faith is at least in this sense dependent on them whether we like it or not.  Even if the words cannot contain God; even if I don’t know what the Fathers meant by “substance” or “begotten not made” or “proceeds from the Father”; and even if that edifice served in some way to unify an earthly kingdom while dividing the heavenly one; this is all part of what it means to be Christian. The reason the Creed and the Church have such checkered histories is because God did not turn the belligerent, screaming, power-hungry “little ones” away from the Kingdom. By that same logic, I gained admission.

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* The essay I’m referring to is “The ‘Nestorian’ Church: A lamentable misnomer,” in Fire from Heaven: Studies in Syriac Theology and Liturgy (Hampshire: Ashgate, 2006), 1-14. See also the essay, “The Christology of the Church of the East” in the same volume. Since I don’t live near a decent library, I had to sell my bird nest collection to buy it.

An Indian Orthodox perspective on the General Synod of Catholic Bishops

I know this is a bit stale since the General Synod of Catholic Bishops on the Bible in the life of the Church took place over a month ago, but I only serendipitously unearthed this today.

Fr. K. M. George is principal of the Orthodox Theological Seminary in Kottayam, India. He attended the Synod as a fraternal delegate of the World Council of Churches (WCC) and offered some thoughts in an interview with a fellow Indian Orthodox priest who is currently studying in Rome.

I was particularly interested in Fr. George’s observations on synodality:

It was Pope John VI who instituted a permanent secretariat for synods. Now there is a special Synod hall on the side of St. Peter’s Basilica with all modern facilities. It is named after Paul VI. Before, the Synods or Episcopal Councils were not a regular event in the life of the Roman Church. For example, the famous Second Vatican Council (1963-65) met about 100 years after the First Vatican Council.

Pope John Paul II was enthusiastic about holding synods, because they expressed the principle of ‘collegiality’ so essential to the church’s life. There is certainly the influence of the Orthodox Churches in this since they insist on episcopal collegiality as fundamental to the governance of the Church. Collegiality is the spirit of togetherness when the bishops like the Apostles think and act as one body through mutual understanding, exchange of constructive thinking. This is expected at all levels of the Church from parish council to the synod.

…

In the Roman system, synods have only a consultative, advisory status. It is the Pope who makes the final decisions. So Synods are not in fact decision-making bodies. This is different from the Eastern Orthodox tradition where synods are decision-making bodies. Patriarchs and Catholicoi are subject to their synods though they can in effect lead the synod with personal charisma, vision and general acclamation. However, the primacy of the head cannot be in conflict with the principle of collegiality. The Roman Catholic Church now wants to combine the absolute primacy of the head, namely the Pope, with the ancient principle of episcopal collegiality.

It is important, I think, that more than a year before the Synod, Pope Benedict XVI gave synodal authority a slight boost by giving the bishops the power to vote on issues. The vote would still require the ratification of the Pope to take effect, of course, but it is still a significant change in that, whereas a Catholic synod played a strictly advisory role to the Pope, Benedict XVI has consciously accorded it greater decision-making authority. As such, the current Catholic practice moves a bit closer to that of the ancient Church.

The interview with Fr. George can be found in full here.