No Other Foundation: Recent Episodes
Fr. Lawrence Farley and Ancient Faith Radio
Reflections on Orthodox Theology and Biblical Studies - Fr. Lawrence Farley offers brief commentary and analysis on topics related to Orthodoxy, theology, morality, the Scriptures, and contemporary culture.
In 2010 country singer Miranda Lambert recorded and released a song written by Tom Douglas and Allen Shamblin entitled “The House that Built Me”. It was a clever song as well as a moving one, playing on the notion that we build houses; houses do not build us. The point of the song, however, was that the house the singer once lived in did build her— i.e. it was responsible for the kind of girl she became. In the song, the singer confessed, “You leave home, you move on, and you do the best you can. I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am.”
I have just finished reading the excellent and admirably honest autobiography of Anthony Hopkins entitled We Did OK, Kid. Hopkins seems to have been (he is still alive) one of those people who grew wiser, better, and kinder with age. Throughout the book, however, I thought I could discern a life suffused with loneliness and sadness.
When I was a young man and a new teenage convert to the Christian Faith through the Jesus People movement I believed whatever I read in a book as long as it was written by someone with letters after their name. Yep: I was that dumb. And so when I first read an article written by S.G.F. Brandon saying that Jesus was a Zealot, I was shaken in my faith and thrown for a loop. In my distress I turned for help and refutation to the young people who converted me, fellow Jesus People just a few years older than myself. They basically just shrugged and said (essentially) “whatever”. Yet despite my distress, I soldiered on and tried to keep my doubts firmly locked away.
Eva Mozes Kor was a Jewish girl, born in Romania to Alexander and Jaffa Mozes, the only Jewish residents in the area. She had three siblings, one of whom was her twin sister Miriam. Her parents and two older sisters were gassed in Auschwitz; she survived because, along with her twin sister, she was the subject of medical experiments that Josef Mengele was performing on twins there. After the camp was liberated by the Red Army in 1945, Eva went to live in Poland, Romania and eventually the U.S. She died on July 4, 2019 at the age of 85 in Krakow, Poland accompanying a group on an educational tour of Auschwitz.
Not too long ago I wrote a blog piece entitled “Music Hath Charms” in which I argued for the softening and transformational nature of music (adding a plug for choir directors with the suggestion they were mostly all underpaid). One person who read the piece called my attention to some (shall we say) less edifying music and said, “What about this music?” I replied: “Good point.” My respondent was right: not all music hath charms to soothe the savage breast. Indeed, some music hath charms to incite a savage breast or even to create savagery in the human breast where it did not exist before. All music hath charms but sometimes the charms are harmful.
Recently I was scrolling through the website of a famously-liberal denomination which quickly became excruciatingly boring because it was so predictable. In the early 1980s my (then) Anglican bishop the Right Reverend H. V. R. Short described the group as “humanism with God-talk” and I was curious to see what it was like now. The answer: more humanism, less God-talk. The website was basically a collection of leftist causes with an occasional nod to the notion of “exploring faith”. Jesus was brought in for the odd cameo appearance to justify their acceptance of… well, pretty much anything so long as it was liberal and on the extreme left. And it occurred to me that their Jesus bore little resemblance to the one found in the New Testament or in the history of the Church.
In the narrative in John 5 we find a story which our Lord heals a paralytic who had been lying by the pool of Bethesda, and there is a detail there that I had missed in all the decades I had been reading that story. It is this: our Lord healed the man with a word, telling him to take up the pallet on which he had been lying and walk home. The man did so. It was, St. John informs us, a Sabbath when this miracle occurred. As he was walking home carrying his pallet, some Jews saw him and rebuked him for doing this, saying “It is the Sabbath and it is not allowed for you to carry your pallet.” The man replied that “He who made me well was the one who said to me ‘Take up your pallet and walk’”. The Jews responded with a question: “Who is the man who said to you ‘Take up your pallet and walk?’” Eventually of course all discovered that it was Jesus who had said that.
Way, way back in time in the years 1979-1981 I lived in the village of Turtleford, Saskatchewan, having moved there from suburban Toronto. Turtleford was a rural village of about 500 souls and my ministry as an Anglican priest took me to other villages, such as Spruce Lake and Livelong (and no, I am not making up any of these names). When I first arrived in Turtleford as the village’s local Anglican priest, I needed a map to navigate the countryside to find other villages and towns. The way from Turtleford to Prince Albert (where my bishop lived) took me past the village of Fairholme.
Those familiar with liturgical worship will be familiar with the pre-anaphoral dialogue— the dialogue between celebrant and people that takes place just before the celebrant prays the anaphora, the long prayer over the bread and wine which consecrates them to be the Body and Blood of the Lord soon to be received in Holy Communion. It is an important dialogue, indeed, even a crucial one, for it constitutes the celebrant’s blessing from the royal priesthood (i.e. the assembled laity) to offer the Eucharist in their name and as their mouthpiece. That is why he faces them throughout—or should face them, as Fr. Sergei Glagolev (inset above) taught us. Besides, who turns their back to someone in the middle of talking to them?
In his 1697 play The Mourning Bride, playwright William Congreve wrote that “Musick hath charms to sooth a savage breast [i.e. a savage heart], to soften rocks or bend a knotted oak”.
Recently I watched the very interesting 2016 documentary entitled “Rome: Empire Without Limit with Mary Beard”. Ms. Beard, a very readable British scholar, functioned as host and narrator. Regarding Christ, Ms. Beard said, “one Jewish Rabbi had developed new ideas. His name was Jesus. The Sayings of Jesus, as they were called, were only written down later. But it’s clear enough that for the Jews he was preaching blasphemy. And at the beginning at least, for the Romans he was just another troublemaker. However exactly the story went, he was arrested, put to trial, and sentenced to death Roman-style, by crucifixion. The Romans must have thought “problem solved”, but it was only the start.
In the Protestant Evangelical world the priest (sorry: “the pastor”) is not a figure of authority within the local church community but is primarily a preacher, an administrator. He can be available for counselling, if necessary. In large mega-churches he functions as a CEO. But he is not a figure of authority within the church; anyone can disagree with his sermon, his Biblical exegesis, and his doctrine in the same way as they would disagree with any Christian. The Evangelical version of the Reformation doctrine of “the priesthood of all believers” effectively functions to deprive the pastor of most of his traditional presbyteral authority.
In a wonderful old book by Leslie Farmer published in 1944 entitled We Saw the Holy City (mentioned briefly in last week’s blog), Farmer tells a story about how he led a group of soldiers on leave during the Second World War to the church in Bethlehem at Christmas time. The Reverend Farmer was assigned to Jerusalem as the Methodist Army Chaplain for two years during that war and through exploration and scholarly research he got to know many of the places of pilgrimage in Jerusalem and throughout the Holy Land very well. Besides his pastoral duties to the sick, he also spent much time talking to soldiers on leave passing through the city and would lead them to the holy places and explain their significance.
Time to climb aboard our time machine and leave the year 2026 for a time over a thousand years before Christ, the time when Eli was high priest in Israel during the period of the Judges (read all about in 1 Samuel). The land is in turmoil yet again: the Philistines immediately west of us are threatening attack and everyone is afraid.
Recently I read a copy of the alumni magazine from a mainline Protestant seminary. It was very well done and showcased a number of people, both faculty and students, all fervent in their faith and zealous to serve the Lord. It presented the seminary, as it intended to do, as a place of thriving faith, burgeoning mission, and robust spiritual health, which I’m sure it is. Reading it you would never know that the seminary was part of a denomination (which I will not identify) that is on its deathbed.
A held by a wonderful and learned priest, Fr. Justin Hewlett, someone present (a Baptist, if memory serves) asked a question about the Eucharist. He had been reading some anti-Catholic literature which had denounced the supposedly Catholic teaching that Christ was re-sacrificed at every Mass and he wondered, since the Orthodox use the same kind of sacrificial language about the Eucharist that the Catholics do, if we also believe that Christ is re-sacrificed at every Divine Liturgy. He pointed out that Bible texts like Hebrews 9:25-28 make the notion of Christ being re-sacrificed every week untenable.
With the expected influx of ordinations to the priesthood hoping to keep up with the recent surge of new converts coming into Orthodox parishes, many new priests will be stepping into pulpits (metaphorical or otherwise) to preach. Given the importance of preaching in the life of a parish (St. John Chrysostom knows what I mean), I am surprised at how comparatively little importance it is given in some places. When I was in seminary back in the Jurassic period we had many, many classes on the Old and New Testament each year, many offerings of Church History, many classes in Theology, but only one class on Homiletics. One asks: what’s the point of learning all that other stuff if you can’t effectively share it?
The term “the donation of Constantine” refers to a medieval forgery, long used to support the claims and authority of the medieval papacy. According to the document, the emperor Constantine the Great, the first Christian emperor, transferred as a gift the city of Rome and the western part of the Roman empire to the bishop of Rome. The story goes like this.
Lately, through the kindness of a friend, I watched recently an old 1961 British film starring a very young Hayley Mills entitled Whistle Down the Wind, dating from before her Disney days. I saw it as a young child when it was first released in movie theatres and re-watching it as an old man I found it had lost none of its magic.
One doesn’t think of stars immersed in Hollywood or British theatre and who attend All The Best Parties sitting in an arena and listening to an address by Billy Graham, but so it was.
In my experience it’s a safe bet that most Protestants are not enthused about the veneration of relics— i.e. bits of a saint’s bone or bits of things they once used, such as pieces of their clothing (these are called “secondary relics”). That would apply even to Protestant “saints”: if I came to a Lutheran carrying a fragment of Martin Luther’s shinbone in a fancy reliquary box and asked him if he would like to venerate it, he would probably take a pass and reply, “Thanks anyway.” If I came to a Calvinist with a similar fragment of Calvin’s shinbone in a reliquary and made the same offer, he would probably knock the box from my hand with a stern Genevan rebuke.
It was during the 1988 All-American Council of the OCA that I overheard Fr. Daniel Donlick (then Dean of St. Tikhon’s Seminary) comment to a group of worker priests (i.e. clergy who supported themselves and their families by working at secular jobs while serving parishes) “We must bow low before you worker priests for your dedication and the work that you do.” It was the kind and generous acknowledgment of a great and humble man. In like spirit, I would also like to bow low before Fr. John Scratch (inset above) at the twentieth anniversary of his repose on January 15 for his dedication and the work that he did— him and others like him in his generation.
During the exchange of the Peace in the Orthodox Divine Liturgy it had been my custom to greet those around me by saying, “Christ is in our midst!”, expecting the reply (and giving as the reply when the greeting was given to me) “He is and ever shall be!” I was therefore quite surprised when the (now late) Fr. Michael Oleksa commented to me, “Actually, that’s not the correct reply: we should reply by saying, ‘He is and shall be”. I immediately looked it up in the service book and found (unsurprisingly, given Fr. Michael’s learning) that he was correct. But what’s the difference? And does it really matter? Isn’t it saying the same thing?
At the ordination of a priest or deacon the following ritual is observed: some of the serving clergy take the candidate to be ordained into the nave (in the case of a diaconal candidate, two subdeacons; in the case of the priestly candidate, two deacons), assist him in making a prostration toward the assembled congregation and they then say “Command!” They then raise up the candidate, turn him around so that he is facing the altar, have him make another prostration and again say “Command!” Having raised him up again, they take him through the Royal Doors into the altar. The candidate is then received by another clergyman (a deacon if the candidate is to be ordained deacon; a priest if the candidate is to be ordained priest) and then brought to the bishop who is seated by the altar table. He is then helped to make a prostration to the bishop as the assisting clergy say, “Command, right reverend Master!” No response is given to these words; the requests for a command are met with silence.
On October 31 parts of the western world celebrated Reformation Day, giving thanks for the Protestant Reformation. (I am tempted to observe that on the old Julian calendar, Reformation Day was on Thursday November 13.) Here I would like to look back and make a few observations about the accomplishments of the Reformation. For the Reformation resulted in a number of things we now too easily take for granted.
Tucked well away in the Divine Liturgy in a prayer that the priest says silently for himself we find a significant title of Christ. The priest offers the prayer as the people sing the cherubic hymn but because it is not a prayer of the Church but a private prayer of the priest there is no reason for the people to hear it and seal it with their “Amen”. Nonetheless, I sometimes feel that it is a shame the people cannot overhear it, for it is very beautiful.
As a baby boomer child of the 1950s, I was taught to hate war. For my generation, war was an unmitigated evil (though, happily, this notion did not spill over into hating or disrespecting our soldiers—later described as “peace-keepers”). Our generation’s hatred of war was well expressed in the 1969 heart-felt anti-war song popularized by Edwin Starr, some of the lyrics of which were, “War! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing!...War I despise, ‘cause it means destruction of innocent lives…It ain’t nothing but a heart-breaker, friend only to the under-taker!”
When I was young, I read a famous poem that I now regard as one of the strangest poems ever written. It is the one entitled “Do not go gentle into that good night” by Dylan Thomas with its repeated refrain “do not go gentle into that good night…rage, rage against the dying of the light”.
When I was a child in grade five, I was given a New Testament by the Gideon Society, like everyone else in my grade. Note: the New Testament, not the entire Bible. I suspect that the decision to confine the gift to the New Testament Scriptures was dictated more by economics than by theology—after all, there were a lot of kids in the schools in those days and giving an entire Bible to each one of them would have cost a lot. Nonetheless the decision tended to give the impression that it was only the New Testament that mattered and that the Old Testament didn’t count for much for Christians.
I am often asked by catechumens questions of basic liturgical etiquette, such as how to enter the church, how to venerate an icon, and when to make the sign of the cross. I am always happy to explain and (if in church) to demonstrate, since these are things that Orthodox people should know and do instinctively. They are part of forming an Orthodox mind and approach to life and worship. But there is a danger in answering such questions without first placing them in a wider context, because answering them without context might give the erroneous impression that Orthodoxy is all about rules.
There are, I suggest, two ways to experience the world. The first is that of the materialist: the world is all that exists. The physical world that we see and experience has no real or intrinsic meaning; it just is. We can, if we like, endow it with meaning from our own heads, but such meaning would be entirely subjective. Religion or philosophy, they say, might imagine that meaning can be discerned in world, but this is an illusion.
I recently read in Jaroslav Pelikan’s excellent Jesus Through the Centuries a line from American scholar Arthur O. Lovejoy, who asserted, “The term ‘Christianity’ is not the name for any single unit of the type for which the historian of specific ideas looks.” Rather, the term describes “a series of facts which, taken as a whole, have almost nothing in common except the name”. At first I thought his statement was absurd, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought it was true. And that I did not believe in Christianity. Please let me explain.
If you Google the term “Pharisees” you find the following: “The Pharisees were a Jewish social movement and school of thought in the Levant during the time of Second Temple Judaism”. That definition is historically true, but spirituality inadequate, for Pharisees were and are not confined to the Levant or to the time of Second Temple Judaism. They can be found almost anywhere, in all places and in all religions. Modern Orthodoxy is home to many of them, for Pharisaism remains a perennial spiritual temptation afflicting the heart of man and especially of the pious.
It occurred to me recently that it is significant that the invisible enemy of our souls is called “the Evil One” in both the Lord’s Prayer and in such passages as 1 John 5:19. That is, our adversary is never named, but only referred to obliquely. He is also referred to as “the Adversary” from the Hebrew word for adversary “satan” (see e.g. the curse in Psalm 109:6 which reads “Appoint a wicked man over him and let a satan stand at his right hand”). This Hebrew word was transliterated into the Greek as Σατάν/ Satan and used as a title in such passages as 1 Thessalonians 2:18. He is also referred to as “the Slanderer” (Greek δίαβολος/ diabololos), usually rendered in English as “the Devil”. Note: all these words are titles, not names; they are in fact verbal circumlocutions used to avoid mentioning his actual name.
From the days of Moses when God made a covenant through him with Israel to come and dwell in their midst, Israel has offered sacrifice to Yahweh their God. The detailed instructions for offering sacrifices and for the shrine centre built to receive them are found in the Pentateuch. Originally this shrine was portable, meant to be disassembled and reassembled throughout Israel’s journeying. It was reassembled in Shiloh which then served as the liturgical and spiritual focal point of Israel’s worship and the center of national unity. David moved the Ark into his new capital of Jerusalem, and his son Solomon built a (very immovable and permanent) Temple to house the Ark. Thereafter all the sacrifices to Yahweh (all the legitimately-sanctioned ones anyway) were offered in that Temple in Jerusalem.
In many Orthodox churches, baptisms are done privately and almost secretly: after the morning Divine Liturgy at which the entire church community was present had concluded and all the people had left, a few people remained behind—or perhaps, if they had not been at the Liturgy, came to church deliberately late to attend the private family baptism to which they had been invited. If Liturgy began at 9.30 am and concluded at 11.00 am and if the people had all dispersed after the post-Liturgy coffee hour, then a baptism would be held in the now empty church around 1.00 or 2.00 pm.
Fr. Nicolaie shares the story of Tara, and the hope that comes when a broken heart is changed by God's healing touch.
A number of Evangelical inquirers have asked exactly what we Orthodox mean in our prayer describing the Theotokos as “the salvation of the Christian people”. They also wonder what we can mean when we pray that we “may obtain paradise through you, O Virgin Theotokos”. These queries are perhaps reinforced every Matins and Vespers which conclude with the priest saying, “Most holy Theotokos, save us!”
Hidden well away in the Greek of the genealogy with which St. Matthew opens his Gospel is a little theological secret—a secret which utterly vanishes in most English translations. Matthew begins his genealogy of Jesus by saying that “Abraham begot Isaac, and Isaac begot Jacob, and Jacob begot Judah and his brothers” and so on and on for about another forty names. The word here rendered “begot” is the Greek ἐγέννησεν/ egennesen, the active mood of the verb γεννάω/ gennao. After so many instances of one man actively begetting someone else, the reader is primed for the concluding climax “and Joseph begot Jesus”. But that is not how the genealogy concludes.
had thought of entitling this piece “About UFOs”, but then quickly reconsidered, not wanting to blow all my credibility before anyone had begun reading it. This piece is an unabashed and unapologetic rip-off of a chapter in Rod Dreher’s new book Living in Wonder in which chapter he deals with UFO phenomena and its current significance. This chapter (along with a previous one dealing with the dangers of the occult and, come to that, the entire book) should be required reading by all seminarians and pastors today. If you have read the book and the chapter on UFOs, consider this something of a précis.
Much to my surprise, some time ago the Nicene Creed was trending online among the Southern Baptists, America’s largest Baptist organization. They were, apparently, debating whether or not that Creed should be added to their official statement of faith. This was a bit controversial since the Southern Baptists are well-known for their position that they have “no Creed but the Bible”. Though it is hard for me to work up any enthusiasm or interest in what our Southern Baptist friends do with their official statement of faith, the news does provoke the question, “What’s so important about the Nicene Creed?” Or, in blunter terms, why should anyone today care about what a bunch of guys decided about 1700 years ago? Permit me to attempt an answer.
Once when I was a new convert to Anglicanism (a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away) I asked my dear Anglican pastor why our Anglican Church no longer canonized any saints. I knew that the Roman Catholic Church continued to canonize saints and (had I only known it back then) the Orthodox Church continued to canonize saints, but the Anglican Church did not. What was the deal?
I have just finished reading a very 2002 interesting book The Case for Christ, written in Evangelical style by Lee Strobel. One of the chapters was about how Jesus fulfilled the Old Testament prophecies of the Messiah, for which Mr. Strobel interviewed Mr. Louis S. Lapides, a Jewish convert to the Christian faith who now has a B.A. in theology from Dallas Baptist University and an M. Div. and a Master of Theology from Talbot Theological Seminary and who is now senior pastor at Beth Ariel Fellowship in California.
The whimsical title of this blog post is based on the 1969 book by David Reuben entitled Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask). I chose the title because although the Church has its own teaching about sexuality, many young Orthodox Christians are afraid to inquire diligently about it for fear the Church will give unwelcome advice. Which of course it will.
Recently I was re-reading a good but somewhat dated book about the episcopate, entitled The Apostolic Ministry, a collection of essays edited by Bishop Kenneth Kirk and published 1946. In one piece, written by Beatrice Hamilton Thompson on the “Post-Reformation Episcopate in England”, the author compared the state of the episcopate at the time Archbishop of Canterbury Matthew Parker (d. 1575) to that of the episcopate at the time of St. Cyprian of Carthage (d. 258).
Recently I have come across an anti-Orthodox polemic which rejects our veneration of icons on the grounds that venerating an image painted on a board of Christ, His Mother, or His saints is contrary to the practice of the apostles and of the earliest Church. The objection is stated with some sophistication, and is not the usual fundamentalist reference to the Mosaic Law’s proscription of carved statues used in worship (e.g. Exodus 20:4f). This more sophisticated objection acknowledges that there were indeed images of Christ, His Mother, and His saints used in the early Church such as can be found in the funerary art of the catacombs and on the walls of churches (such as that of Dura Europos). But, it points out, there is no evidence that these images functioned as anything more than mere decoration. That is, the people did not come up to the wall to kiss the wall art or venerate the images.
Recently a minor fracas in the narthex of our church was caused by (I kid you not) my long hair (see inset for a rear view of said hair). Since my hair steadfastly refuses to grow on the top of my head, you would think I could be cut a little slack for the bit that grows at the back, but apparently not.
Thousands of years ago when I was a teenager and a brand-new Christian, I happened to read an article by S.G.F. Brandon about Jesus being a Zealot, in which he questioned much if not most of the Gospel portrait of Jesus and suggested that the Gospels (particularly that of Mark) constituted a whitewash of Jesus, eliminating His Zealotry from the Gospel picture to make Him and His movement more acceptable in Roman eyes. It was, of course, a precis of his 1967 book Jesus and the Zealots which created something of an academic dust up in its day.
It has been suggested to me that in many (most?) Evangelical circles one becomes a Christian “by accepting the finished work of Christ”—i.e. by believing and accepting as true that on the cross Jesus paid the full price due our sin and by saying a prayer acknowledging this.
I am sometimes asked if an Orthodox Christian can have an assurance that he or she will be saved. The question usually comes from my converts from Evangelicalism. They were previously taught that when one is saved, one is given the assurance that they are saved and this assurance offers a real and constant source of comfort. They ask me, “Were we misled? Can an Orthodox Christian have the same assurance of salvation?”
A story is told of the final temptation of Christ. Satan had been trying to tempt Jesus to sin, to compromise, to abandon His divine mission (see Matthew 4:1-11 and Luke 4:1-13), and according to this story, Satan tried one last time to deflect Jesus from His goal. Jesus had been arrested, interrogated, condemned by the Sanhedrin, brought before Pilate, again condemned, mocked and flogged. He carried His cross along the way from the Roman praetorium to the place of execution and was nailed to the cross. His adversaries continued to mock Him, even unto the end: “He saved others, He cannot save Himself! He is the King of Israel; let Him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in Him!” (Matthew 27:42). And it was then, the story goes, that Satan whispered into His ear the words of the final temptation, intended to convince Jesus to give it all up and indeed come down from the cross. Satan said to Him, “They’re not worth it, Lord”.
In this final episode on this topic, I would like to conclude my extended look at a Reformed view of predestination. There are certain aspects of it that fly in the face of much Biblical teaching.
In my last episode, I examined Paul’s words in Romans 9 and their bearing upon the classic Reformed teaching about predestination—i.e. the notion that before the creation of the world God had already chosen some to be saved and some to be damned, and that these choices were based solely upon His sovereign will, and that furthermore, our human choices to accept or reject Christ were simply the outworking of God’s primordial decisions. Those whom He chose to be saved He would draw to Himself so that they would accept Christ, and those whom He had chosen for damnation He would harden so that they would reject Christ. Those teaching this often refer to Paul’s words in Ephesians 1 in support of their views, so we will examine that passage here.
In his book Reflections on the Psalms, C. S. Lewis wrote a chapter on praising which began with him saying that “It is possible (and it is to be hoped) that this chapter will be unnecessary for most people”. In the same spirit, I hope that this and subsequent episodes on the topic of predestination will be unnecessary for most people.
All of the words of the Saviour are important, even the words spoken that were strictly rhetorical. One such utterance is found in the story of the sinful woman, told in Luke 7:36f.
Protestant critics of Orthodoxy fault us for many things, but one of the foremost of their objections is our devotion to Mary, the Mother of Jesus. Hostility to Roman Catholicism is built into Protestant DNA, so anything in Orthodoxy that resembles something in Roman Catholicism will be subject to criticism, including such more or less innocuous things like clergy wearing cassocks and calling themselves “Father”. Our Orthodox devotion to Mary (whom we call “the Theotokos”) often heads the list of Protestant objections, since it features so prominently in Roman Catholicism.
I have recently come across the teaching that Orthodox Christians should not pray for non-Orthodox. I cannot cite the details of who-where-when, so perhaps I am misunderstanding what is being said. But the concern to differentiate Orthodox from non-Orthodox in our intercessory prayers is real enough: I have been in one Orthodox Church where the list in the narthex on which one could write names to be prayed for in the Litany of Fervent Supplication has separate columns for Orthodox and non-Orthodox. I know of another church where some parishioners write down the names and then add “(non-Orthodox)” after them. What are we to make of this? Are there such requirements made on liturgical prayer?
The method by which the Orthodox Church receives converts is a very controversial topic, and one which has provoked much online discussion. Should a convert be received by baptism, by chrismation alone, or perhaps simply after a recantation of previously-held errors? All three methods have been used in the past. And which groups should be received in which ways? Should the Oriental Orthodox (such as Copts and Armenians) be received in the same way as Pentecostals? What about Roman Catholics? The issue is far from clear, and has usually generated much more heat than light.
The feast of the Ascension is a feast of comfort and consolation for the people of God. But it can for some people represent a stumbling block. Looking at the ascension of Christ as it is narrated in Scriptures, does the Church then really believe that accepting the Ascension also involves accepting a literal three-storey universe?
Many people will (hopefully) identify the above quote as coming from the speech of Polonius in Act 1, Scene 3 of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. It was part of the fatherly talk he gave to his son Laertes before the boy moved away to university. It is now often quoted as a bit of perennial wisdom for life (it was written by Shakespeare, after all). It is not as often known that it was part of a speech that Shakespeare meant to be recognized as almost meaninglessly platitudinous, a kind of Elizabethan “blah-blah-blah, yada-yada-yada”.
I recently spoke with a dear friend who dolefully reported that a distant family member had left his very traditional Protestant church (with its stress on doctrine and Reformed worship) for a group called “The Bridge”. The name of the group reminded me of similar names of such new churches, such as “Connect”, and “Relate”—i.e. the names were intended to highlight their emphasis on relationships. So much for “St. James Anglican Cathedral”, or “Ferndale Baptist Church”, or even “Living Waters Pentecostal Assembly”.
Thousands of years ago when I was an Evangelical Protestant in the Anglican Church, I never prayed to the saints or asked for their intercession. It was made quite clear to me by those around me that obedient Christians never did that and that prayer to the saints (especially to Mary) was idolatry of the worst sort and consequently provoked the ire of the Most High. Catholics, of course, prayed to Mary and the saints, but real Christians didn’t. Even when I got out more and grew a bit and realized Catholics were real Christians, I still was convinced that they shouldn’t pray to saints, and that prayer to the saints ran the risk of traffic with demons. So much for ecumenism!
It is a wonderful thing to know the Scriptures well, but there is a drawback: since we know how all the stories end, we can miss the drama inherent in the narrative. For example, In Luke 7:11f we can read about the grief of the widow of Nain, but since we know that her son’s death will end in his resurrection before he can be buried, we can skip too quickly from her sorrow to the happy ending and miss how terrible that grief must have been for her.
As reported in the Byzantine Texas blogsite, the Ecumenical Patriarch is calling for a unified observance of Easter by next year, 2025, to coincide with the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicea. In a sermon he said, “We beseech the Lord of Glory that the forthcoming Easter celebration next year will not merely be a fortuitous occurrence, but rather the beginning of a unified date for its observance by both Eastern and Western Christianity.” Patriarch Bartholomew went on to declare that it was “a scandal to celebrate separately the unique event of the one Resurrection of the One Lord”.
Imagine my surprise to find that the view that Jesus was not divine was not confined to J.W.’s and Christadelphians. When perusing Facebook (just one of my bad habits) I found a debate televised on Faith Unaltered between Dr. Dale Tuggy (who denied the divinity of Jesus) and Dane Van Eyes (who affirmed it). Apparently cults like the J.W.’s were not the only ones now denying the divinity of Christ. Who knew?
When we are reading the literature of the ancient Hebrews (i.e. the Old Testament) it is important to be aware of the kind of glasses we are wearing—that is, we should be aware of the unspoken conceptual presuppositions that we bring to our reading. If we are not aware of our ingrained conceptual presuppositions, we can make mistakes in understanding ancient literature.
Now that Great Lent is upon us, the question sometimes arises about where we should put our spiritual focus. There are two places we should certainly not put our focus—and only one place where we should.
Presented for your consideration (as Rod Serling used to say): an old man dressed up as an Orthodox priest-monk who is actually neither priest nor monk, performing outrageous antics both in public and online in a furious attempt to draw attention to himself. Mr. Milton Kapner calls himself Brother Nathanael, and he is a Jewish man who has attracted a large following of online listeners to his regular virulent anti-Semitic rants. Though he was once a novice in an Old Calendarist monastery in Colorado, he was kicked out of that monastery and is now not a monk at all, despite wearing monastic garb, but “a showman with a persecution complex who likes to be the center of attention” (from “Orthodox Christianity Then and Now”).
In reflecting on the Sunday of the Last Judgment, the Very Rev. Dr Bogdan Bucur calls our attention to the difference between the Lord’s invitation to those at his right hand in Matthew 25.34: “Come, you blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world,” and the injunction to those on His left, “‘Depart from Me, you cursed, into the everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels” (Matt 25.41). In this account of the last judgment, the difference between those on the right and the left is their deeds during their earthly lives. Fr Bogdan urges us to consider the concrete actions the Lord is expecting us to take during our time on this Earth to physically and practically minister to all those in need around us.
The work of the prophet Haggai is short and easy to miss; it is a mere two chapters in our Bibles sandwiched in between the books of Zephaniah and Zechariah. If you are flipping quickly through the final pages of the Old Testament he easy to miss. After ploughing through longer works such as those of Isaiah (66 chapters), Jeremiah (52 chapters, plus 5 more chapters of Lamentations), and Ezekiel (48 chapters), Haggai looks positively puny in comparison
I remember once when a friend was sharing with me his distress at the liberalism afflicting his Protestant denomination, and the fact that many of their clergy were denying such things as the virgin birth and the divinity of Christ. While murmuring sympathetically, I mentioned that such denials were not the same problem in the Orthodox Church. He then asked me what sort of things we did argue about. When I replied, “Well, things like whether or not a woman can receive Holy Communion while she is menstruating”, he looked at me funny. He didn’t ask, “What planet are you guys on?”, but I could tell he was thinking it. Loudly.
I have just finished reading Crisis of Confidence: Reclaiming the Historic Faith in a Culture Consumed with Individualism and Identity, by my friend Carl R. Trueman. Dr. Trueman is professor of Biblical and Religious Studies at Grove City College, and a member of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church (which, despite the title, has no connection with our own Eastern Orthodox Church).
Every so often one encounters something that breaks the head as well as the heart. By that I refer to things that not only wring the heart with grief, but also confound the head because they are so perversely stupid. One such thing is the recent conversion of a Tasmanian Orthodox priest by the name of David Gould who had been Orthodox for 45 years and who then converted to Islam two years after becoming a priest. He now goes by the name of Abdul Rahman.
I am told that during a very interesting and well-run radio show about deaconesses, it was agreed (or at least widely thought) that Phoebe, mentioned famously in Romans 16:1, was a deaconess. But was she?
Commenting on the epistle reading of Paul to the Colossians, the Very Rev. Dr Bogdan Bucur concentrates on the idea that the passions we struggle with also lead us into idolatry. For “when Christ who is our life appears,” we either die to the passions, or we choose them over Him.This is a battle which happens in our hearts every day, as Christ has already appeared to us through our baptism, and continues to appear to us through our every encounter with Him spiritually and physically in the sacraments and the body of the Church.
I have just read two fascinating pieces about Pope Francis’ recent and controversial document Fiducia Supplicans, which officially allows Roman Catholic priests to bless persons in same-sex relationships, one by an Orthodox and the other by a Roman Catholic.
I note with no surprise whatsoever the news out of England, which is that the Church of England has decided to bless homosexual partnerships. This came after a compromise was struck last February following five years of debate about the church’s position on homosexuality and the inevitable apology offered for the church’s failure to welcome homosexuals.
The feast whose season we now in is called “Theophany” or (in many places) “Epiphany”. This latter is not so much an English word as it is a transliteration of a Greek word, epiphaneia. It is often rendered “appearance” in the English versions, though this rendering can be misleading. One can have a small or insignificant appearance. For example, a person can have a brief cameo appearance in a movie (such as Alfred Hitchcock famously did in his movies), appearances so brief and insignificant as to be missed by inattentive eyes.
I forget, in the course of my long life as a Christian, how many times I have heard people assure me that “God will never give you more than you can handle”. By this they seemed to mean that God knows my emotional limits and capabilities, and will make sure that no disaster befalls me that will tax me emotionally beyond my present strength. Sometimes they affix a Bible verse from 1 Corinthians 10:13 to it to make their case: “No temptation has overtaken you but such is common to man, and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, that you may be able to endure it”. I must report however, on the basis of my long life as a Christian, that the assuring notion that God will never give anyone more than they can handle is nonsense.
I am told on good authority that it is offensive to invite people of other religions to convert to Christianity. Thus it is offensive to say to a Jew, “Jesus is the Messiah and the Son of God and so you should be baptized and become a Christian”. It is similarly offensive to say to a Muslim, “Jesus is the divine Son of God and Muhammad was not a true prophet, nor is Qur’an His Word, and so you should be baptized and become a Christian”. It is also offensive to say to a Hindu, “Those whom you worship as Gods such as Vishnu, Shiva, and Krishna are not true Gods, but idols, and so you should be baptized and become a Christian”.
A quiet confession between us: Nostalgic freak that I am, I still like listening to old songs from the Christian folk group Children of the Day. The group is one of the earliest Jesus People music groups and consisted of four young people, headed by Marsha Carter. They were famous for the song "For those tears I died" - also known as "Come to the waters:, written by Marsha shortly after her conversion to Christ at the age of 16. The song contains the sort of emotionalism that often characterizes young 16-year-old evangelical girls, with tears being cried in the dark, as well as that bit of latent calvinism which often characterizes evangelicals. The song begins with the lines "You said you'd come and share all my sorrows, you said you'd be there for all my tomorrows. I came so close to sending you away, but just like you promised - you came here to stay. I just had to pray."
Today we begin a series on Old Testament saints in their context: surveying major figures of the Old Testament to better understand their lives, their words, and the lessons they can teach us - for, though dead, they still speak. We begin with Abraham: the father of the faithful, and the friend of God.
There are stupider things to do than arguing with a culty fundamentalist. As the late great Jim Croce reminded us, you don’t tug on Superman’s cape, you don’t spit into the wind, and you don’t pull the mask off the ol’ Lone Ranger. Arguing with a culty fundamentalist is, I admit, not as stupid as any of these things, but it is pretty stupid nonetheless, for it is a waste of precious time and utterly futile.
A wise man once said "what we believe always remains intellectually possible, and never becomes intellectually compulsive. I have an idea," he said, "that when this ceases to be so, the world will be ending."
I sometimes tell inquirers at St. Herman’s when they ask that I began my Christian life in earnest as a Jesus People—which usually results in blank stares, since most of them are too young to have heard of the cultural phenomenon known as the Jesus People Movement. The movement has recently come up again for notice in a film called “Jesus Revolution”, based on the true events of the founding of Calvary Chapel in California under Pastor Chuck Smith (d. 2013) and his long-haired hippie protégé Lonnie Frisbee. The film, a well done and positive presentation of the events, stars Kelsey Grammer and features the role of Greg Laurie (played by Joel Courtney) as a new convert to Christ at Smith’s Calvary Chapel, and as someone who would go on to found Harvest Christian Fellowship Church, with campuses in California and Hawaii. Harvest Ministries is the group which released the film.
Recently I heard a very dark and serious song about the judgment of God and His wrath against sinners. It was the folk song “Great God Almighty’s Gonna Cut You Down” (accessed here). I was not aware of the song before; apparently it is an American folk song. The oracular Wikipedia informs me that it was first recorded by the Golden Gate Quartet in 1946 and issued in 1947 by the Jubalairies, and since then has been covered by a variety of singers in country, folk, electronic, and black metal genres, including such singers as Johnny Cash, Tom Jones, and Elvis Presley. It takes some imagination to contemplate someone singing both about blue suede shoes and the wrath of God, but that’s America for you.
I cannot be the only one who has had the experience of visiting a non-Orthodox church service and finding it stunningly empty and plain. After long familiarity with Orthodox worship with its icons, incense, candles, vestments, Gospel books, and crosses, attending such services produces a kind of sensory deprivation, rather like sensory overload in reverse. Entering those churches and experiencing their services left me looking around almost madly for something focus and feed upon—some cross or image. But there was nothing: the walls were barren and empty, with not even a plaque with an inscribed Bible verse to relieve the sensory monotony. It is like bringing to your lips what you expected to be a cup of wine and finding it to contain tepid water: it’s okay, I suppose, but disappointing to the point of surprise and irritation.
Over two millenia there have, of course, been many papal claims, many of which Orthodoxy has always accepted. The claim to be the Patriarch of the West has proved unobjectionable to the East. The claim to be the primate of the Church is also unobjectionable, though this one requires some historical context. It is the claims explicated in detail at the First Vatican Council of 1870 that have proved the sticking point. But let us proceed slowly and carefully.
One would not have guessed that the question of whether to receive a person into the Orthodox Church by baptism and chrismation or by chrismation alone would be a hot issue given the history of reception into the Church. Both methods have been widely used in the ancient and recent past and continue to be used in the present.
There is today in the Orthodox Church a cult of personality—or, more precisely, of personalities, in the plural. That is, there are a number of men, mostly monastics and wearing the badge of “elder” who have set themselves up as judges and arbiters of Orthodox praxis. Most of the hubbub is over matters of ecumenism. Drawing upon the Fathers (often ripped from their historical context) these men declare that outside the Orthodox Church there is little or no grace and salvation. Accordingly, everyone who comes to Orthodoxy from another Christian confession must—not should, but must—be received by baptism, so that those who were received by chrismation must “correct” this “error” and be again baptized.
We conclude our series examining St. Matthew’s citations of the Old Testament. Today we look at his citation of Isaiah 40:3, which reads, “A voice cries, ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of Yahweh! Make straight in the desert a highway for our God!”
We continue our series examining St. Matthew’s citations of the Old Testament. Today we look at his citation of Jeremiah 31:15. It reads, “A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are not.” The LXX renders it more or less the same way, though the order of the chapters is different. In the LXX the text is found in Jeremiah chapter 38, not chapter 31. But the meaning of the text is the same.
We continue our series examining St. Matthew’s citations of the Old Testament. Today we look at his citation of Micah 5:2. “In the Masoretic Hebrew it reads, “But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, who are little to be among the clans of Judah, from you will come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days.” The LXX reads similarly: “And you, Bethlehem, house of Ephrathah, you are very small to be in the thousands of Judah, from which for me will come out to be for a ruler of Israel, and his goings out are from the beginning, from the days of eternity.” It is all the more surprising therefore that St. Matthew’s version reads a little differently from either the Hebrew or the Greek. It reads, “And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you will come a ruler who will govern my people Israel.”
Today we begin a series on the use of the Old Testament in the early chapters of the Gospel of St. Matthew. We will examine his citations in his narrative of Christ’s birth, childhood and adulthood up to the time He settled in Capernaum, bringing a great light to the tribes of Zebulun and Naphtali and to all the world. St. Matthew (either the actual author of the Gospel or the one under whose blessing and authority it was first disseminated) took care to present Jesus as the fulfillment of the Hebrew Scriptures, the Old Testament, and by examining the use of the Old Testament in this Gospel we can see how deeply and creatively the Church used those Scriptures.
G. K. Chesterton wrote that he once left fairy tales lying on the floor of the nursery and hadn’t found any books so sensible since (from his Orthodoxy, “The Ethics of Elfland”). I suggest that Christianity is one such fairy tale, and also that it is a myth. But it is a fairy tale come true, and a myth that became a fact.
I have been reading liberal theology since my college days—i.e. theologies which deny many, most, or all of the major tenets of the traditional Christian Faith. The theologies are as many and as varied as their authors, but they all share a conviction that Jesus of Nazareth didn’t say and do all the things which the New Testament recorded that He said and did, that the Gospels are not to be trusted as history, and that therefore the basic dogmas of the historical Church are wrong. The late Bishop John Spong (inset) is a modern and sterling example.
In my previous piece, “Why I Am a Christian (Part 1)” I examined the question of why one should believe in the physical Resurrection of Jesus from the dead. I looked at the essential historical reliability of the Gospels portraits of Jesus and His claims to be God. I concluded that given the number and audacity of those claims, there were only three live options on the table: either He was a liar, a lunatic, or the Lord. I suggested that His many miracles made sense of and supported the third option.
Many years ago, when I was tucking my eldest daughter into bed, she asked me a question: “Dad, why do we believe in the Resurrection?” I have always taught both my daughters to be strong and to think for themselves, and so I was happy to hear the question, and I answered it as best as I could, giving the historical evidence. At the end of it all, she said, “Oh, good. I was afraid you were going to say that we should believe in it because it was in the Bible.” No chance of that; Dad is not a fideist, nor a fan of circular reasoning. The case for Christianity is a strong one, and can withstand historical scrutiny. Here I would like to set out the case for Christianity in somewhat fuller terms than I did that night so long ago.
I know a man in Christ who prays for Marilyn Monroe every day as a part of his prayers for all the departed. He doesn’t pray for her under her stage-name of “Marilyn” though. He prays for her under her real name of “Norma Jeane”, the name given her by her mother and under which she was once baptized by (of all people) the evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson while under the foster care of a very fundamentalist family.
The story of Cain and Abel is the story of the human race. It is tragically timeless, for it is tirelessly enacted over and over again in every generation. As Larry Norman once queried (as aged historians may remember from his song “Nothing Really Changes”), “Will Cain kill Abel—with a bayonet?” Regardless of the choice of weapon, somewhere and some place that murder is happening even now as you are reading this.
Some heresies never seem to die, but have a disconcerting tendency to pop up in every generation, rather like the emerging heads of the whack-a-mole in the children’s game one sees in Chuck E. Cheese: whack them down as hard and often as you like, but they will pop up again someplace else.
Like many Orthodox clergy, I have lost track of the number of times my Protestant brethren have objected to the priestly title (in my case, “Father Lawrence”), citing the Bible which commands that they “call no man ‘Father’”. They are, of course, thinking of our Lord’s words in Matthew 23:9. If I am feeling puckish and mischievous, I sometimes respond with a simple denial, insisting, “No, the Bible doesn’t say that” just to wind them up and make the final riposte more satisfying. It is not particularly sanctified, but it is fun. What is the difference between “call no man ‘father’” and “call no man your father”? The difference is the difference between a title or form of address and a relationship.
In my Protestant days, I had no problem with anyone talking about Mary—so long as it was Christmas. On Boxing Day, that was it. Over. No more talking about Mary. What are we anyway, Catholics? It was understood that when we packed away the Nativity set, all talk of Mary got packed up along with it. And my proof that Bible-believing Christians should not talk about Mary? The New Testament never did. Well, hardly ever did—just long enough to narrate the Christmas story. Was she in the Acts of the Apostles? Not really. Was she in the Epistles? No. So there you go: no talking about Mary or calling her blessed.
I would like to share with you an easy technique for avoiding moral accountability. Whenever you are caught and called to account for doing something wrong (that is, when you are “busted”), you simply invoke the figure of the Pharisee. Tell your accuser that he is being judgmental and Pharisaical, and that he has no right to judge you. After all, the Lord says, “Judge not”. It works almost every time, functioning as a moral Get Out of Jail Free card.
Recently I listened to a podcast in which Larry Chapp (a universalist Roman Catholic) interviewed Dr. David Bentley Hart. In the course of the interview Dr. Hart asserted that, unlike Roman Catholicism, Orthodoxy does not have an official and authoritative Magisterium. By this he meant that Orthodoxy possesses no institutional organ (such as the papacy and the episcopate dependent upon it) that can routinely and authoritatively declare what is or is not the official teaching of the Church when consulted.
Everyone presumably acknowledges that there is nothing wrong with children dressing up as fairies, Disney characters, Marvel superheroes, and (my own favourite when I was a child) black cats in order to go door to door with their friends after dark to collect candy. The argument against Halloween is that it also glorifies violence, gore, and death, so that it is unsuitable for Christians to participate in Halloween. Collecting candy is fine; it is the frightening stuff that comes afterward that is the problem. Halloween trades in things like graveyards and corpses and ugly witches on broomsticks and bats and cobwebs and Frankenstein monsters. So, the question arises: why do people delight in such scary stuff?
In 1956 an American game show debuted called “To Tell the Truth”. Each round of the game introduced three people all claiming to be the same person, and a team of panelists would ask them questions. Those pretending to be the real (usually famous) person would make up answers, while the real person would answer truthfully. The inquiring panelists would then guess which was the real person. The host of the show would conclude by saying, “Will the real (name) please stand up?” and he or she would then stand up thereby revealing their identity and the accuracy of the panelists’ guesses.
Those familiar with old-time Pentecostalist liturgy will identify the title of this piece as a part of that liturgy. Not, of course, that tongue-speaking Pentecostalists of the old school would admit to having liturgy. Liturgy, for them, is what the Catholics have (along with their step-children, the Anglicans) because they do not have God or the Holy Spirit. Liturgy is usually described by them as “dead liturgy” because the people using the liturgical book are spiritually dead and need such substitutes for true Spirit-led worship.
I have just finished reading Diarmaid MacCulloch’s Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years. It is a thoroughly enjoyable read, comprehensive, and engagingly written. It is also a great doorstopper of a book, so large a hardbound tome that unless one has hands like those of the Incredible Hulk one finds it hard to hold the book in one hand while drinking coffee with the other. The title (“the first three thousand years”) refers to the fact that the author begins his tale in 1000 B.C. to take account of Greek culture and Hebrew history. Such a comprehensive sweep takes many pages: 1016 to be exact, not counting notes, bibliography, and index.
In the baptismal prayer in which the priest blesses the baptismal water, there is a line that baptism will bestow upon the candidate the loosing of bonds, the remission of sins, the illumination of the soul and “the gift of adoption to sonship”. The phrase “adoption of sonship” is a reference to the words of St. Paul, who used the word to describe our salvation in Christ in Ephesians 1:5. There he sums up our salvation by saying that God “predestined us to adoption to sonship [Greek υίοθεσία/ uiothesia] through Jesus Christ to Himself”. Given that this adoption to sonship serves to encapsulate and summarize our entire salvation, we must pay it closer attention and to what it all means.
On September 8, the Church sings that the Nativity of the Theotokos has “proclaimed joy to the whole universe”. It is easy enough to sing, but somewhat harder now for us to understand. Why, we may ask, did the birth of a baby girl in around 18 B.C. or so proclaim joy to the whole inhabited world?
In the late Metropolitan’s Kallistos Ware’s classic The Orthodox Church, he describes the Church as “a continued Pentecost”. This is true, but it is important not to misunderstand his meaning.
It seems to be commonly held among scholars that the so-called monarchical episcopate (i.e. the system of having one bishop governing a city church with presbyters working with him) was not apostolic and did not come to Rome until the late second century or even later. That is the opinion of scholars such as Alistair Stewart (in his commentary Hippolytus: On the Apostolic Tradition), Brent Allen (in his Hippolytus and the Roman Church in the Third Century), and others such as the late great J.N.D. Kelly. By this figuring the Christians in Rome had no one leader who spoke for all of them, but were divided into a number of self-governing communities with different leaders described by various titles. A single leader who could speak for all the communities in Rome only arose in the late second century (with Bishop Victor) or the early third century (with Bishop Pontianus).Writers such as Irenaeus who asserted there were such singular leaders and bishops in Rome from the days of the apostles were, according to this theory, anachronistically projecting back a later system into an earlier time. It also follows therefore that the document known as the Apostolic Tradition, ascribed to Hippolytus and dating from the early third century, cannot be taken as evidence of a monepiscopate in Rome at that time, but must be regarded as the result of extensive redaction. What are we to make of this? Need we dump that section of Irenaeus’ work?
Fr. Lawrence laments the pervasive lessons taught today on gender and hearkens to the Song of Solomon.
Despite his often being stigmatized by later generations as “Doubting Thomas” there is nothing in his past record to indicate such a defect of character.
Fr. Lawrence Farley comments on a discussion that takes place each year during Holy Week.
As as we journey through Great Lent, Fr. Lawrence Farley looks at the Prayer of St. Ephraim.
Fr. Lawrence Farley comments on the Anaphora, which is a Greek word meaning “offering.”
Fr. Lawrence Farley speaks at Daniel Chapel at Furman University on February 6, 2018. Fr. Farley explores the nature and end of humankind from an Eastern Orthodox Christian perspective.
Fr. Lawrence Farley talks about his new book A Song in the Furnace, the message of the book of Daniel.
Fr. Lawrence Farley is convinced that his culture knows absolutely nothing about the true meaning of Christmas.
How the concept of punishment in the world to come was understood at the time of Christ.
North American popular culture, as brought into your home and heart by the North American media, is a very powerful force, and it seems that we too easily underestimate its transforming power.
Fr. Lawrence says it is safe to say that the allegorical method has fallen upon hard times in the scholarly world.
We Christians share certain external similarities with the religions, but these external similarities can mask the inner meanings of the things we seem to share. In reality, everything in Christianity is different from the religions.
Fr. Lawrence continues his series and examines the correlation in the Scriptures between that which is clean and that which is unclean.
It is easy to misinterpret Christianity as a religion like any other but Fr. Lawrence maintains it is unique.
I sometimes cannot help asking myself three liturgical questions whenever I visit churches which serve the Liturgy in the “classic” pattern I learned in seminary—all of those questions quite rhetorical.
We regard it as “Scripture”, a holy text, and of course it is. But it is also a personal letter addressed and written to people other than ourselves.
In the original usage, the Trisagion was sung as a refrain to Psalm 80. The cantor would chant verses of the psalm as all walked in procession and the people sung the Trisagion hymn as its refrain after every verse.
The decrees and canons of the Provincial and Ecumenical Councils today often sound odd in our modern ears.
Fr. Lawrence continues his commentary on the Divine Liturgy with a focus on the Antiphons.
Fr. Lawrence offers commentary on the Divine Liturgy with a focus today on the Great Litany.
The so-called “Holy Fire” is the name given to the fire that appears on ends of the candles of the Patriarch of Jerusalem and others every Holy Saturday.
What does the Orthodox Church think about gay sex? The official answer is not hard to find.
Fr. Lawrence asks if we should be trying to convert those of other faiths or not faith to Christianity.
Fr. Lawrence reflects on the questions that must be asked to determine if someone is preaching "another Jesus." He suggests that the blessing of same-sex activity by some churches raise the same questions as in St. Paul's day.
Where would you find yourself on that day when our Lord road into town on the seat of a foal?
Fr. Lawrence says that any sensible discussion of the moral legitimacy of capital punishment must center on the Scriptures and the Tradition of the Church, not on one’s subjective feelings
How do we spend our Sunday mornings? At a thrift store? On a golf course? Before the television set? And if we choose any of these options, what are we teaching others by these choices?
Fr. Lawrence says the Nicene Creed was created to exclude which goes against the grain of our modern secular society, where the word “inclusive” has become a magic word, conjuring up warm feelings of virtue, righteousness, and goodness.
Fr. Lawrence suggests there are problems involved in declaring that only Orthodox may be commemorated if no further details are provided, for this sets up the liturgist to be a judge over the souls of men. But who then can be included?
In a recent blog post entitled Altar Girls, Fr. Lawrence raised concerns over considering this practice. In this podcast, he now looks at Altar Boys as well as Sub-Deacons and Acolytes.
With many of the autocephalous Churches meeting in Crete this week, some have wondered if this was another "Ecumenical Council" of the Orthodox Church. Fr. Lawrence Farley helps us understand that term.
On the seventh Sunday of Pascha, we commemorate the holy God-bearing Fathers of the First Ecumenical Council.
Fr. Lawrence explains the modern contempt for belief in the demonic and why it should be challenged.