Archive for the ‘Spring Issue IC 64 2012’ Category

St. Melangell

Thursday, September 13th, 2012

ONCE IN A while, one comes across a lovely tale of a prince or princess who becomes a Saint by leading a life of goodness involving no martyrdom and little apparent suffering. They don’t give their lives so much as Such a one is St. Melangell, a girl who gave her life to God in devotion and solitary prayer.

Her story is so catching that it features in children’s stories that actually start with “Once upon a time” and in Celtic legend where she shines forth at the center of nature’s love and harmony. As pretty as those stories are, and useful sometimes to teach children lessons, they tend to cast shadows over hard truths about God.

Melangell’s life is as obscure as anyone’s from 7th century Britain might be, but her story has been told enough times that if we subtract the variations, we are left with some details that in their constancy become reliable and form the contours of a life not at all fairy tale like but quite Saint like. One such detail takes the form of a hare, a character central to the story that introduces Melangell to us.

Now, for most of us, the main distinction between a hare and a rabbit is too little to worry about, but in this story it matters quite a lot. Unlike rabbits, hares don’t burrow and therefore have fewer places to hide, which is why this little hare became key to Melangell becoming known to us as St. Melangell, the patron saint of hares and a protectress of living things, including humans.

Melangell’s father, an Irish king, ordered his youngest daughter to marry a nobleman. Of course, she refused. She desired a life devoted to God, so she fled to a wood outside her father’s realm where she hid herself from all human contact while praying among the wild things. There she was discovered one day by a prince from a town called Pengwern Powys in the Tenat Valley of Wales while hunting hares. His dogs had chased a hare into a thicket where, with no place else to hide, it took rather bold refuge among the folds of Melangell’s garments as she prayed. And it is this fact that rescues Melangell’s story from being a mere legend or simple fairy tale. For Melangell was neither aware of the hunter and his dogs or the hare nor did she offer sanctuary to anyone. She herself was hiding. But she had been hiding there alone for fifteen years, praying, and the hare was drawn to the safety of that spot where Melangell and God, together in communion, had redeemed her thicket and made it a place where living things were free from fear and harm.

Despite the Prince’s awe at Melangell’s holiness and love for critters, it was God who gave sanctuary to both Melangell and the hare. In this important detail, we see not a Celtic Goddess who lives among her creatures or a mere lover of nature whose gentleness attracts creatures to herself but a model of what is to be, when through our devotion to God, God extends salvation to the world and all that live in it.

Prince Brochwell responded by giving Melangell his lands and the woods in which she prayed as a perpetual sanctuary to all who sought refuge there, including people whose lives were hunted either by law or injustice, provided they remained and did no harm. She lived for thirty-seven more years as an abbess, and her land remains a dedicated sanctuary to this day and a place of Christian pilgrimage.

❖ IN COMMUNION / issue 64 / Spring 2012

How’s this for a mission statement? –Epistle to Diognetus

Thursday, September 13th, 2012

For the Christians are distinguished from other men neither by country, nor language, nor the customs which they observe. For they neither inhabit cities of their own, nor employ a peculiar form of speech, nor lead a life which is marked out by any singularity. The course of conduct which they follow has not been devised by any speculation or deliberation of inquisitive men; nor do they, like some, proclaim themselves the advocates of any merely human doctrines. But, inhabiting Greek as well as barbarian cities, according as the lot of each of them has determined, and following the customs of the natives in respect to clothing, food, and the rest of their ordinary conduct, they display to us their wonderful and confessedly striking method of life. They dwell in their own countries, but simply as sojourners. As citizens, they share in all things with others, and yet endure all things as if foreigners. Every foreign land is to them as their native country, and every land of their birth as a land of strangers. They marry, as do all [others]; they beget children; but they do not destroy their offspring. They have a common table, but not a common bed. They are in the flesh, but they do not live after the flesh. They pass their days on earth, but they are citizens of heaven. They obey the prescribed laws, and at the same time surpass the laws by their lives. They love all men, and are persecuted by all. They are unknown and condemned; they are put to death, and restored to life. They are poor, yet make many rich; they are in lack of all things, and yet abound in all; they are dishonored, and yet in their very dishonor are glorified. They are evil spoken of, and yet are justified; they are reviled, and bless; they are insulted, and repay the insult with honor; they do good, yet are punished as evil-doers. When punished, they rejoice as if quickened into life; they are assailed by the Jews as foreigners, and are persecuted by the Greeks; yet those who hate them are unable to assign any reason for their hatred.

To sum up all in one word—what the soul is in the body, that are Christians in the world. The soul is dispersed through all the members of the body, and Christians are scattered through all the cities of the world. The soul dwells in the body, yet is not of the body; and Christians dwell in the world, yet are not of the world. The invisible soul is guarded by the visible body, and Christians are known indeed to be in the world, but their godliness remains invisible. The flesh hates the soul, and wars against it, though itself suffering no injury, because it is prevented from enjoying pleasures; the world also hates the Christians, though in nowise injured, because they abjure pleasures. The soul loves the flesh that hates it, and [loves also] the members; Christians likewise love those that hate them. The soul is imprisoned in the body, yet preserves that very body; and Christians are confined in the world as in a prison, and yet they are the preservers of the world. The immortal soul dwells in a mortal tabernacle; and Christians dwell as sojourners in corruptible [bodies], looking for an incorruptible dwelling in the heavens. The soul, when but ill-provided with food and drink, becomes better; in like manner, the Christians, though subjected day by day to punishment, increase the more in number. God has assigned them this illustrious position, which it were unlawful for them to forsake.

–Epistle to Diognetus (Ch. 5 and 6), 2nd century AD

❖ IN COMMUNION / issue 64 / Spring 2012

Letter from the Editor IC 64

Thursday, September 13th, 2012

ON MAY 4TH, the Dutch celebrate Dodenherdenking, Remembrance of the Dead, a holiday like Remembrance Day in Commonwealth countries and Veterans Day in the United States. Both of those evolved from Armistice Day, the holiday commemorating the end of WWI, but the Dutch holiday honors the Dutch who have died, civilian and military, in fighting or peacekeeping efforts in WWII and after.

This year, the celebration was marred by a controversy centered on a fifteen-year-old boy’s poem. Auke de Leeuw won the annual contest commissioned to select a poem to be read publicly at a ceremony in Amsterdam, but the poem was disallowed because, well, the man it honors fought on the wrong side of WWII. The organizing committee eventually agreed with protesting groups, stating that the poem honors a man who “was not a victim” of the war but “a perpetrator.”

Auke de Leeuw is named after his uncle, who was one of some 20,000 Dutch who for a variety of reasons fought on the German side against the Russians. As in all wars, the issues were not clear to everyone at the outset. These men and boys fought out of hatred for Communism, their own Fascist ideology, a naïve belief that they were better serving Holland, or for mere survival. Some, no doubt, believed in Germany’s cause. Auke’s uncle, Dirke, was one of five brothers (of 11 siblings) who fought in the war, the other four on the side of the Resistance. Auke’s poem illustrates the difficulty of the choices conflict forces upon people and is called The Wrong Choice. It seems from the words of the poem that Dirke Siebe felt compelled to his choice by poverty and hope for a better life.

In pausing to consider Auke’s poem, we do no disrespect to the Dutch remembrance of those Holland has lost to conflict, but rather we allow ourselves to ponder an important question we might otherwise miss. “How can we learn from our mistakes if we are not allowed to name them?” asked Auke in an interview, adding “I was born in peacetime. It is hard enough for me to make the right choices, so how must it have been for people during the war?”

The poetry contest asked Dutch youngsters to consider the effects of the war on those who experienced it in all its dimensions. Auke wanted to show that “everyone loses during a war.” His poem does that, though not in the way poems traditionally read at such national ceremonies do. In telling his story, Auke bears his uncle’s burden through remembrance and publicly confesses his own weakness in bearing the burden of choosing. He reminds us that remembering should be a work of building. Sharing the burden of choice helps us preempt future cycles of suffering and remembrance. It is a peacemaking work that strengthens community and builds bridges of compassion and understanding to others. Read Auke’s poem on page 33 in the Poetry section of IN COMMUNION.

– Pieter Dykhorst

 

❖ IN COMMUNION / issue 64 / Spring 2012

Opening the Doors of Compassion: Cultivating a Merciful Heart

Thursday, September 13th, 2012

by Fr. John D. Jones

As Orthodox Christians, we recognize the ultimate goal of the Christian life to be theosis or divinization—becoming like God as much as is possible for human beings. Yet this process of theosis is not a matter of a discarnate spirituality that retreats from human need and suffering. The journey towards theosis is rather expressed through concrete acts of love and mercy in imitation of God, who is love. As St. Gregory the Theologian writes, ‘Prove yourself a god to the unfortunate by imitating the mercy of God. There is nothing so godly in human beings as to do good works.’…[doing so] constitutes a sacred obligation for us to minister in Christ’s name to our neighbor; that is, to every person in need whom we encounter (cf. Luke 10:25–37).  —Metropolitan Anthony (Gergiannakis)

 

“Prove yourself a god to the unfortunate by imitating the mercy of God. There is nothing so godly in human beings as to do good works.” So wrote St. Greogry the Theologian near the end of his Oration XIV, On the Love of the Poor. This theme is basic to the oration from the start:

St. Elizabeth the New Martyr

St. Elizabeth the New Martyr

Beautiful is contemplation (theoria=the knowledge and vision) of God, as likewise beautiful is action (praxis). The one is beautiful because it conducts our mind upward to what is akin to it. The other is beautiful because it welcomes Christ, serves him, and confirms the power of love through good works (sec. 4)…. Of all things, nothing so serves God as mercy because nothing else is more proper to God (sec. 5)…. We must, then, open our hearts to all the poor [and] those in distress from whatever cause (sec. 6).

But why, someone might ask, this stress on good works? Aren’t we saved by faith alone? Are good works really necessary for salvation? In the Orthodox tradition, salvation is a process of being healed from everything that estranges us from God and from one another. It is a process of growing in the communion and fellowship with the Trinity and one another for which God created us. It culminates in the gift of eternal life with God. None of us, individually or collectively, can save ourselves. Only Christ’s incarnation, death, resurrection, and the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost can save us. Indeed, just as we sing near the end of the Divine Liturgy: “We have found the true faith, worshipping the undivided Trinity who has saved us.”

While Christ’s victory “over death and sin…is indeed complete and definitive…. [Our] personal participation in that victory is as yet far from complete” (Metropolitan Kallistos). Created with free will, God cannot compel us to love Him. God won’t drag us into eternal life with Him. We have to freely consent to the gift of life which he offers us. Our faith in Christ, and thus the Trinity, is our consent to and acceptance of the gift of Christ Himself. But faith by itself does not save us.

Certainly, we only know and experience the Trinity through faith. But “faith by itself is dead if it does not have works” (James 2:17). When faith is active with works, it is perfected by those works (James 2:22). Indeed, St. James writes that we are justified or made righteous by works and not just by faith (James 2:24), that is, a faith that is not active with works. Blessed Theophylact develops this idea:

Many are God–fearing, but fail to do the will of God. One must fear God and do His will. Both faith and works are necessary…or, to express it in the most exalted terms, divine vision (theoria) and active virtue (praxis). Faith truly comes alive only when accompanied by God–pleasing deeds.… Likewise, works are enlivened by faith. Apart from one another, both are dead.

But what sort of works? In one sense, any action that conforms to God’s will is a good work: e.g., telling the truth to someone, worshipping God with reverence, etc. In a narrower sense, good works are often identified with giving alms or money to someone in need or to some charity. But alms in this sense narrowly translates a Greek word that literally means “a work of mercy.” God, after all, does not give alms of money to people but God “performs works of mercy and executes judgment for those who are treated unjustly” (Ps. 102:6). These works include giving food to the hungry, setting the prisoners free, giving wisdom to the blind, lifting up those who are bowed down, watching over the sojourners, and upholding the widow and the fatherless (Ps. 145:7–9).

Works of mercy comprise all our actions to assist those who are in need and distress, whether spiritual, mental, or physical. They include counseling people in spiritual distress; comforting people who are grieving; feeding, clothing, and providing medical help to people in physical need or illness; even simply providing a cup of water if we don’t have money or other resources. Works of mercy can and should extend to efforts to change social structures and policies on behalf of, as well as to advocate for, those who are poor, vulnerable, or treated unjustly. Our works of mercy should express the holistic view of the Orthodox ideal that, as Archbishop Anastasios writes, “embraces everything, life in its entirety, in all its dimensions and meanings…[and seeks] to change all things for the better,” that is, the transformation of all things in a life in Christ. Works of mercy also can be performed by the collective actions of Christian communities: cathedrals, parishes, monasteries, lay associations, etc. Christian communities have been performing such works since the very beginning of the Church.

The Holy Martyrs of Paris: SS. Maria, Priest Dimitri, Ilya, and Yuri

The Holy Martyrs of Paris:
SS. Maria, Priest Dimitri, Ilya, and Yuri

Opening the Doors of Compassion: We Christians should consciously perform works of mercy to imitate Christ and reflect His presence within us. Our intentions and our moral character—the kind of person we are—make all the difference in doing good works for the sake of Christ. It’s a great thing to work at a homeless shelter. But if I do so simply to gain praise or recognition from others or to get someone off my back about helping at the shelter, then I am acting out of selfishness and not out of a love for Christ or for my neighbor. What sort of character should we have? What kind of person should we be or become so that our good works imitate Christ and reflect His presence within us?

“God is love” (I John 4:8). Time and again in Scripture, in our hymns, and in the writings of the church fathers and mothers, God’s love means that God is merciful and compassionate. Recall from St. Gregory that “nothing else is more proper to God” than being merciful and, we can add, being moved with compassion. Compassion is not simply a feeling. Compassion is quite different from pity, from feeling sorry for others, or even feeling empathy for others. We can have all of these feelings and remain unmoved to connect with others or do anything for them. We can feel pity for people and feel quite superior to them.

The Greek verb splanchnizomai, found in the New Testament only in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, is all too often translated as if it indicates the kinds of feelings I just mentioned rather than compassion. Sometimes it describes Jesus’ response to others, and at other times, Jesus uses the term in certain parables. But it is best translated in English as “being moved with compassion.” Compassion means “to suffer with another,” “to share the suffering of the other, to take it upon oneself” (Fr. Boris Bobrinskoy). Compassion moves us away from ourselves towards others. It expresses itself in actions for others and on their behalf. In the gospels, being moved with compassion always expresses itself in action.

Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:20–22): When the father sees his returning prodigal son at a distance, he is moved with compassion and rushes out to him (v.20). He embraces him and welcomes him back home as his son and not merely his servant. This father is one of Jesus’ images of Our Heavenly Father, “who so loved the world that he gave His only begotten Son” (John 3:16). “The Father,” writes Boris Bobrinskoy, “[is] not insensitive in the face of the passion, the suffering, and the decay of humanity,” but moved with compassion, “He sends His Son into the world He so loved.”

Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:29–37): Moved with compassion, the Good Samaritan comes to the place where a Jew, typically despised by Samaritans, has been beaten and left. And he acts: “beholding him,” the Samaritan “came to him and bandaged up his wounds … and he put him on his own animal…” (v.34). Jesus tells this parable to a lawyer who tested him with the question “Who is my neighbor?” At the end of the parable Jesus does not tell him who his neighbor is. Rather, Jesus asks the lawyer a question: “Which of these three men”—the Priest, the Levite, or the Samaritan—“was a neighbor to the man fell among the robbers?” The lawyer gets the point of the parable, for he says the Samaritan “who showed mercy” is the one who was a neighbor. Jesus’ point is that if you know how to be a neighbor, you won’t wonder who your neighbor is. True neighbors draw near to others with a God–like compassion and mercy that extends to everyone.

Our icons for this parable always represent the Good Samaritan by Christ. Origen identifies Christ, the Good Samaritan, as our neighbor. St. Clement of Alexandria elsewhere adds: “We call the savior our neighbor because he drew near to us in saving us.” And Blessed Theophlyact develops this idea: “Our Lord and God…journeyed to us…. He did not just catch a glimpse of us as He happened to pass by. He actually came to us and lived together with us and spoke to us. Therefore, He at once bound up our wounds.”

Being moved with compassion involves being attuned to others. The compassionate person, like our compassionate God, takes notice of others and is attuned to whether they are in distress from whatever cause and regardless of who they are. For St. John Chrysostom, compassionate attunement “is most especially characteristic of the saints. Not glory, nor honor, nor anything else is more precious to them than their neighbor’s welfare and salvation.” Compassionate people, in imitating God Himself, are moved to interact with others, to bear their burdens and sufferings with them, and to alleviate them as possible.

Several texts in Matthew, Mark, and Luke indicate that Jesus was moved by compassion. In every case, Jesus’ compassion leads Him to act or do a good work, a work of mercy. Here are some examples:

Moved with compassion, our Lord takes note that the crowds who have listened to Him are hungry and that it is late in the day. Our Lord then takes action to feed them (Mark 8:1–8, cf. Matt. 14:14ff.).

Moved with compassion, Jesus acts to heal two blind men by touching their eyes and restoring their sight (Matt. 20:33–34).

Moved with compassion for the widowed mother who has just lost her only son, Jesus stops the funeral procession and restores the son to life (Luke 7:11–16).

Moved with compassion for the multitude “because they were … like sheep having no shepherd,” He then acts by commissioning the disciples to go to the lost sheep of Israel: “And as you go,” Jesus tells them, “preach, saying, ‘The kingdom of heaven is at hand.’ Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons” (Matt 9:34–37, 10:7–8, cf. Mark 6:34–44).

The Parable of the Unforgiving Servant (Matt. 18:23–35) or, what the kingdom of heaven is like: Moved with compassion, a king forgives his servant who owes him a ridiculously large sum of money. The king releases him from debtor’s prison. But when this servant won’t forgive a fellow servant a small debt, he shows he doesn’t really understand the king’s action.

The servant rejects the sort of “economy” found in the kingdom of heaven. This economy is not a market economy in which we are encouraged to make as much money as we can for ourselves. It is not a barter economy in which we trade with others who can give us something in return. It is not a tit–for–tat or you–scratch–my– back–and–I’ll–scratch–your–back economy. It is not an economy in which we do business only with those dear to us or who can do something for us.

The economy in the kingdom of heaven is a gift economy in which we are all invited to participate. When he compassionately forgave the debts of the servant, the king gave a gift of forgiveness and compassion to the servant. The servant, however, did not pass that gift on by forgiving his fellow servant. He wasted both the compassion and forgiveness given to him. So, he excluded himself from the kingdom of heaven. As Blessed Theophlyact writes:

The person who lacks compassion is not the one who remains in God, but the one who departs from God and is a stranger to Him…The master in His love for humankind takes issue with the [unmerciful] servant in order to show that it is not the master, but the savagery and the ingratitude of the servant, that has revoked the gift.

The fundamental economic principle, if you will, in the kingdom of heaven is “freely you have received, freely give” (Matt. 10:8). We freely receive the great gift of Christ Himself and His love for us in and through the Holy Spirit. What are we to do with this love? As Christ tells us, “Love one another as I have loved you” (John 13:34). In passing Christ’s love for us to others, we return that love to Christ. That is what it means to do good works for the sake of Christ.

St. Herman of Alaska

St. Herman of Alaska

God’s love for the world is an ecstatic, energetic outpouring of Himself to the world. If we freely accept this gift, e.g., the Eucharistic gifts of the Body and Blood of our Lord, in true faith, what else should we do but join our love to Him and transmit His love to others? This is why faith in God, the Trinity, must express itself in actions. “Faith without works is dead” since such faith amounts to refusing the gift of love, who is Christ, and the Trinity. Faith without compassionate and merciful good works amounts to saying “Thanks, but no thanks” to God Himself and His love and mercy.

TrinityCultivating a Merciful Heart: St. Gregory the Theologian delivered his Oration On the Love of the Poor at a time when leprosy was a major illness. He hammers away at the utterly inhumane neglect and rejection that many Christians of his day showed to lepers. Lepers were often driven from cities, abandoned, denigrated as sub–human, and left to suffer in poverty and terrible pain because many people simply could not stand to be around them and thought they were cursed by God. In our modern societies, people with mental illnesses, serious physical deformities, people with AIDS, prisoners, the poor, immigrants, indigenous people, unborn children and others all too often have been treated like lepers.

If we are moved with a Christ–like compassion for others, then we will be moved to serve all others without any exception—even our enemies—because we affirm and experience all others as brothers and sisters in Christ who bear the image of Christ within them. Our Lord, after all, associated with all of the despised people of his time: prostitutes, tax collectors, lepers, the poor, Samaritans, etc. The Good Samaritan exemplified a Christ–like compassion when he rendered assistance to a Jew, for he broke down all of the common psychological and social barriers between Samaritans and Jews.

Serving and praying for others with compassion is not always easy, and not just because we may be unclear about how to respond to others with compassion.For instead of opening our hearts to others, we often close and harden our hearts, and push others away from us. Think of a time when you’ve been very angry with someone. Think of how your chest tightens, how your mind is filled with animosity towards that person, and how you push him or her away from you. So too, there are many homeless people in our cities. It’s not always pleasant to draw near to them (that is, be neighborly to them) especially if their behavior reflects a significant mental illness such as schizophrenia. They are, however, rarely if ever a danger to anyone. And yet when we see homeless persons, it’s very easy physically and psychologically to recoil from them and avoid them. If we harden our hearts to others in these ways, how can we be moved by compassion to serve them as our brothers and sisters in Christ? What are we to do with our hearts when they all too often become hardened to others and, at the same time, to Christ?

In the Orthodox Christian spiritual life, our hearts are the spiritual center of our existence. Our heart is not a place filled with mere sentimental emotions. It is the place in which each of us—body, soul, mind, and spirit—is able to stand in God’s presence. The heart, as Metropolitan Kallistos writes, is “the center of the person, the seat of wisdom…the meeting place between the Divine and the human…the place of divine indwelling, where…God is at work within me.” But the heart is also the place of all kinds of passions and thoughts that will close off this meeting place between ourselves and God if we yield to them.

We engage in prayer, fasting, repentance, and confession, and we participate in the mysteries or sacramental life of the Church to clear away the thoughts and passions that shut us up within ourselves. To nurture and protect the love and compassion which God bestows upon us, we must cooperate with the Holy Spirit to cultivate a merciful and pure heart, a heart overflowing with the love of God the Father in and through the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the communion of the Holy Spirit (2 Cor. 13:14, which is used as the blessing at the beginning of the Anaphora of the Divine Liturgy).

One traditional way of cultivating a merciful heart is through the frequent repetition of the Jesus Prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.” We do not repeat this prayer to lull ourselves into a meditative state. We do not repeat this prayer primarily for relief from some particular struggle which we are enduring. We repeat this prayer—which is based on the prayer of the Publican—to stand before God fully attentive to all of the ways in which we betray our love for Him and others, thereby pushing Him and them away from us.

The martyrs and saints were extremely conscious of how often their love and faith faltered. They knew—they experienced—that while God’s love for us never fails (Matt. 28:20, Rom 8:39), our love for God and for each other all too often does fail. They knew with great honesty and humility that we are too easily led astray by the passions and selfish desires that harden our hearts and close us off to God and to one another. The saints and martyrs constantly sought Christ’s mercy and forgiveness. If I am honest with myself—“No matter how often I repent, I appear a liar before God, and repent with trembling” (Compline Prayer to the Theotokos)—as the first among sinners, I become aware of my constant need for God’s mercy and forgiveness.

We do not, however, repeat the Jesus prayer to beat ourselves up with guilt and get stuck in our past. Rather, the deep awareness of our sinfulness should make us aware of our utter dependence upon God’s life and healing love. Our repetition of the Jesus prayer can make us aware that God’s healing love and forgiveness are an utterly merciful gift. Nothing we do, say, or believe merits this mercy. The message of Christ’s forgiveness is always a message of encouragement and healing: You’ve stumbled and faltered; ok, pick yourself up. “Arise, take up your bed and walk” (Mark 2:9, John 5:8), and get back to the business of forging a life grounded in faith, love, and mercy.

If our experience of God’s mercy penetrates our hearts and minds, if we become utterly humble before God, then the grace of the Holy Spirit can cultivate a merciful heart within us. The person with such a heart is enabled to become—better: is moved to be—merciful and compassionate to others. She bears their suffering and distress, and prays and acts for the relief of that suffering and distress. The person with a merciful heart bears the crosses that come with loving others. Here is St. Isaac the Syrian’s wonderful description of the person with a merciful heart:

And what is a merciful heart? It is the heart’s burning for the sake of the entire creation, for humans, for birds, for animals, for demons, and for every created thing….From the strong and vehement mercy which grips his heart and from his great compassion, his heart is humbled and he cannot bear to hear or see any injury or slight sorrow in creation.

We can only cultivate a merciful heart and open the doors of compassion to others through the uncreated grace, life, and energy of the Holy Spirit. The great gift we receive from living with a merciful heart is that we are enabled to radiate the love of the Trinity to the world and to bring Christ to others. In doing so, we participate in the process of our salvation, of sharing in the life, love, and energy of the Holy Trinity. Our life in Christ is inseparable from our communion and fellowship with the Trinity and with one another. We cannot, after all, say we love God if we don’t love our neighbor (I John 4:20).

theotokosPut simply, in manifesting Christ’s love in the world, we grow in likeness to Christ, and, thus, the Trinity for which we were created. This is what it means to be a living icon of God. The icon of the Theotokos of the Sign often graces the apse in many ortho-dox churches. In her purity of heart at the Annunciation, she freely consents to the incarnation of our Lord within her. She bears the Son of God in the flesh. That’s why we call her “Theotokos.” Consider too the wonderful way in which we refer to the martyrs and saints: “our ven-erable and god–bearing (theophoros) fathers and mothers.”

A living icon of God is a bit like a wind spinner. The wind blows; the spinner turns and passes the wind on. A well–made spinner doesn’t try to hold onto the wind or hoard it. While wind spinners blow in response to any sort of breeze, we have to be far more vigilant about the breezes to which we respond. There is the breeze of the Holy Spirit which blows us into the gift–economy of the kingdom of heaven. It enables us to love the Lord our God with all our hearts and minds, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. There are, however, the many breezes of our own passions and thoughts as well as the seductive influences of our society. These breezes blow us away from God and our neighbors into the prideful individualism of seeking our own self–interest above everything else. The breeze of the Holy Spirit blows us in the direction of life; the other breezes, in the direction of death.

 

 

The Liturgy after the Liturgy: During the Divine Liturgy, setting “aside all earthly cares,” and drawing “near in faith and love and in the fear of God,” “we…receive the King of all invisibly upborne by the angelic hosts.” Immediately after the Divine Liturgy, we pray with St. Symeon Metaphrastes:

Freely You have given me Your Body for my food, You who are a fire consuming the unworthy. Consume me not, O my Creator, but instead enter into my members, my veins, my heart.… Cleanse me, purify me, and adorn me…. Give me understanding and illumination… Show me to be a temple of Your One Spirit and not the home of many sins.

When we return to all of our earthly cares, how can we bear the gift of the Divine Liturgy in the world? What should our liturgy after the Liturgy involve?

The Liturgy has to be continued in personal, everyday situations. Each of the faithful is called upon to continue a personal liturgy on the secret altar of his own heart, to realize a living proclamation of the good news “for the sake of the whole world.” Without this continuation, the Liturgy remains incomplete…. The sacrifice of the Eucharist must be extended in personal sacrifices for the people in need, the brothers [and sisters] for whom Christ died…. the continuation of Liturgy in life means a continuous liberation from the powers of the evil that are working inside us, a continual reorientation and openness to insights and efforts aimed at liberating human persons from all demonic structures of injustice, exploitation, agony, loneliness, and at creating real communion of persons in love (Archbishop Anastasios).

St. John Chryostom also emphasizes the Eucharistic character of our works of mercy on the altar that “is composed of the very members of Christ, and the body of the Lord becomes an altar. That altar is more venerable even than the one [in the sanctuary] which we now use. For it is holy because it is itself Christ’s Body [which] you may see lying everywhere [among the poor], in the alleys and in the market places, and you may sacrifice upon it anytime.”

St Theodosius the Cenobiarch

St Theodosius the Cenobiarch

Indeed, for St. Maximus the Confessor, “the person, who can do good and does it, is truly God by grace and participation, because he has taken on a proper imitation of the energy…of His own kindness.” This is exactly what St. Gregory the Theologian wrote: “Nothing is more Godly in humans than to do good works” since the more literal translation of that text is: “There is no better way for a person to possess God than to do what is good.”

All Christians are called to preach the Gospel, the Word of God, to the world. But we should never underestimate the powerful ways in which our works of mercy can proclaim the Word of God and bring Him, Christ, to others. As a young man and a pagan, St. Pachomius was a conscript in the Roman army. Confined to a prison while awaiting service, groups of Christians came and ministered to him and the other conscripts. Wondering why they did this, he was told that Christians are “merciful to everyone including strangers.” “Pachomius, the pagan, was moved by the charity of these Christians. It remained with him all his life; for him, a Christian does good to everyone.”

Lamenting the low level of social ministry by the Russian Orthodox Church in Moscow, Patriarch Alexis II wrote:

We all know that the Church is built not only by faith and by the preaching of the Word of God, but also by concrete works, without which faith is dead (James 2:18)…. An Athonite elder recently said that the world is tired of speeches. We now need not words but actions that bear witness to faith and mercy. These actions must be a sermon without words that are much more effective and convincing.

St Theodosius the CenobiarchFinally: St. Theodosius the Cenobiarch was well known for his great mercy and compassion to the poor, to those who were ill and dying, and many others. St. Symeon Metaphrastes commended St. Theodosius as “the eyes of the blind, the feet of the lame, the clothes of the naked, the roof of the homeless, the physician of the sick…” And so it can be for each of us—as individuals and as Christian communities— according to the grace and unique gifts we receive from the Holy Spirit; our strengths, weakness, and circumstances; and, above all, our willingness freely to accept and to pass on to others the gift of Christ’s love for us.

We offer prayers to the Theotokos to open the doors of her compassion to us. Let us also fervently pray that she helps us open the doors of our compassion to others and animate our lives with the good works that flow from a merciful heart. Let us be moved with compassion to serve Christ by serving others. Let us be especially attuned to the poor and to all of those in distress whoever they are and for whatever reason. Let us, then, work with the grace of the Holy Spirit to be perfected as living icons of Christ and to join “the cloud of witnesses” (Heb. 12:1)—“our venerable and God–bearing fathers and mothers”—who through their faith, love, and good works bore Christ’s love—the Trinity’s love—in the world.

Priest John D. Jones is Professor{Anchor:_GoBack}, Department of Philosophy, Marquette University and Associate Priest at Saints Cyril & Methodius Orthodox Church (OCA) in Milwaukee. This paper is a revised version of a lecture presented at the Orthodox Christian Women’s Association Conference, Doing Good Deeds, in October 2011. A copy of the paper with notes can be obtained by emailing Fr. John at [email protected]

❖ IN COMMUNION / issue 64 / Spring 2012

Saint Alexander Schmorell: A Canonization in Munich

Thursday, September 13th, 2012

by Jim Forest

Saints come in many sizes and varieties, ranging from kings to beggars, surgeons to street sweepers, scholars to the illiterate, the extraordinary to the unnoticed. Some never marry, some are the parents of large families. Some die in bed in their old age, others die early in life at the hands of executioners. There are millions of saints — heaven is crowded — but relatively few of heaven’s population have been formally canonized. The vast majority are rank-and-file saints, an inspiration to those who knew them, but never placed by name on the church calendar.

Reporting on canonizations, journalists often say that so-and-so was “made a saint” today at such-and-such location, but in fact the Church does not make saints. Canonization is merely an act of carefully considered recognition that a particular person became a saint in his lifetime and is unquestionably among the blessed and thus in no need of our prayers for his forgiveness and salvation. The saints who are singled out for special recognition are mentioned at the Liturgy on a particular day every year, some locally or nationally, others in churches around the world. They are also depicted in icons in both churches and homes.

What is it that makes the Church occasionally canonize a particular saint? In many cases it has to do with some remarkable quality or achievement — their exceptional impact on other lives. The memory of their works and lives needs to be passed on from generation to generation in order to encourage others to follow in their footsteps. It is one of the ways the Church declares, “This is sanctity. This is the path to eternal life.”

Cathedral of the New Martyrs and Confessors of Russia

The majority of those canonized are martyrs. One of these — Alexander Schmorell — was added to the church calendar this past weekend. His canonization took place at the Cathedral of the New Martyrs and Confessors of Russia, a church in Munich not far from Schmorell’s grave. On the far side of the cemetery, at Stadelheim Prison, Schmorell was beheaded on 13 July 1943. He was only 25 at the time. He was an Orthodox Christian who had put his life at risk by being part of a anti-Nazi resistance group.

The canonization got underway on Saturday afternoon, February 3, as people began to gather in the church. Aware that the reporters and cameramen present would need certain photos before the ceremonies started, Fr. Nikolai Artemoff, dean of the cathedral, brought out the icon of Alexander Schmorell in anticipation of its formal presentation later in the day. Many photos were taken, a pre-canonization ceremony that would not have been imagined in earlier centuries. The icon showed Alexander Schmorell as the tall, brown-haired young man he was, wearing the white robe of a physician with a Red Cross arm band (he had been a medical student at Munich’s Maximilian University), his left hand raised in a gesture of greeting, the other holding a blood-red cross plus a white rose. He is standing against a pure gold background representing eternity and the kingdom of God.

As Father Nikolai explained to the journalists, the white rose in his hand symbolizes the White Rose group Schmorell co-founded with Hans Scholl in the spring of 1942. Before the arrests began the following February, the group succeeded — assisted by friends in many German and Austrian cities and towns — in widely distributing a series of six anti-Nazi leaflets. All six members of the core group were guillotined. (The story is powerfully told in an the Oscar-nominated film, “Sophie Scholl – The Final Days,” much of which was photographed in Munich.)

Press photos taken and interviews completed, at about 4 PM a procession of about two hundred people set out led by a cross bearer. Behind the cross were six bishops: Archbishop Mark (who leads the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia in Germany), Metropolitan Valentin of Orenburg (the Russian city where Schmorell was born), Metropolitan Onufriy of Czernowitz in Ukraine, Archbishop Feofan of Berlin, Bishop Michael of Geneva, and Bishop Agapit of Stuttgart. How many priests? I lost count.

The frigid air was challenging — it was about 15 degrees below zero Centigrade (5 degrees Fahrenheit), with snow and ice on the ground. Though the cemetery, Perlacher Forst, was just across the street, its entrance was several hundred meters away. Once inside the gate, we wound our way through tombstone-lined paths, first stopping to pray at the graves of Hans and Sophie School, the brother and sister who were the first to be executed from the White Rose group, and Christoph Probst, beheaded the same day — 22 February 1943. Here three tall black crosses stand side by side, a single cross piece linking the crosses over the Scholl graves. Sophie, the one woman in the White Rose inner circle, and the youngest, was 21 when she was killed. Today many German streets and squares are named in honor of Sophie and Hans Scholl, Alexander Schmorell, Christoph Probst and others executed for their part in the White Rose. Hans and Sophie came from a closely-knit Lutheran family. Christoph Probst was baptized in the Catholic Church a day before his execution.

Archpriest Nikolai Artemoff placing a candle of the grave of St Alexander Schmorell

Archpriest Nikolai Artemoff placing a candle of the grave of St Alexander Schmorell

The procession than continued to Alexander Schmorell’s resting place, not far away. A bouquet of white roses was resting against the rough surface of the tombstone and more flowers heaped over the grave. Embedded in the stone was a bronze Russian Orthodox crucifix. Memorial prayers — a panikhida — was sung, concluding with the melodic two-word chant, Vyechnaya Pamyat (eternal memory), sung repeatedly by all present. Every year there has been a panikhida sung at this grave on the 13th of July, the anniversary of Schmorell’s death, but this was the final panikhida. Now that he has been officially glorified, future services at his grave no longer have a penitential character.

The high point of the day came during the Saturday evening Vigil, which began at 5 PM and lasted three-and-a-half hours, by which time an almost full moon was shining through the windows. In the middle of the service, several icon stands were placed in the center of the church with candle stands behind. At least a hundred candles were lit, forming a curtain of light. Finally a procession of bishops, clergy and altar servers poured out of the sanctuary carrying an icon of Saint Alexander Schmorell followed by another icon crowded with images of New Martyrs of the twentieth century. Next came a huge silver-bound Gospel book, a copy that had been a gift from Russia’s last czar, Nicholas II, to Russian Orthodox Christians in Germany. The two icons and the Gospel book were solemnly placed side by side on the stands, then incensed. Finally everyone in the church, beginning with the six bishops, venerated the icon of the newly recognized saint.

“When they brought out the icon,” Nancy told me later that night, “it was such a climax, with the servers holding all those fans over the icons and the choir singing with such exaltation. It was as it there were neon arrows pointing at the icon of Alexander Schmorell and saying, ‘This is what really matters.’ It’s the Church pulling out all the stops. They couldn’t do more to make you look in that direction and feel the importance, the challenge, of this brave life. You couldn’t not get it. This is what the Church does in interpreting human events and letting us know what’s truly valuable. This is something that requires all the ceremony the Church is capable of. But it’s not ceremony for its own sake. It’s all meant to confront us with the inner meaning of a young man putting his head on the chopping block. The canonization ceremony pulls you out of ordinary time and confronts you with the message: consider this life and let it influence your own.”

At the Liturgy the following morning, the church was even more crowded than it had been for the Vigil. We were jammed together like cigarettes in a carton — it was challenging to make the sign of the cross without grazing your neighbors with your elbows. Perhaps as many people were present as would fill the church for the All-Night Easter service. (Also present on Sunday– given a special chair placed at the right end of the iconostasis — was Bishop Engelbert Siebler, representing the Catholic Archdiocese of Munich.)

In the Orthodox Church every Sunday is regarded as a little Easter, but rarely have I experienced so intense a paschal radiance. Resurrection was at the heart of Father Nikolai’s sermon, delivered just before communion. He reminded us that the name the White Rose group adopted for itself had been proposed by Alexander Schmorell. His suggestion came from a story in the novel The Brothers Karamazov, written by Schmorell’s most beloved author, Dostoevsky. In one chapter Christ comes back to earth, “softly, unobserved, and yet, strange to say, every one recognized Him.” He is suddenly present among the many people in Seville’s cathedral square, a place were the pavement is still warm from the burning of a hundred heretics. Responding to a mother’s desperate appeal, Christ raises from the dead a young girl whose open coffin was being carried across the square on its way to the cemetery. Flowers have been laid on her body. “The procession halts, the coffin is laid on the steps at [Christ’s] feet. He looks with compassion, and His lips softly pronounce the words, ‘Maiden, arise!’ and she arises. The little girl sits up in the coffin and looks round, smiling with wide-open wondering eyes, holding a bunch of white roses they had put in her hand.” This merciful action completed, he is recognized by the Grand Inquisitor, who orders Christ’s arrest.

The white rose is a paschal symbol, a sign of the victory of life over death.

That Alexander Schmorell would one day be canonized at this cathedral had been evident for years. He is shown among of a row of twenty-two martyrs of the twentieth-century included in an icon that has long been part of the cathedral’s iconostasis. After the Liturgy and the emptying out of the church, I went to look more carefully at that older icon. Schmorell is easily picked out — there he is, in the first row, third from the right, wearing a white robe. What is remarkable is that, within the group, he alone group has no halo, for at the time the icon was painted canonization was only anticipated. In one hand he holds a thin cross, in the other a scroll with these words taken from his last letter to his parents:

“This difficult ‘misfortune’ was necessary to put me on the right road, and therefore was no misfortune at all…. What did I know until now about belief, about a true and deep belief, about the truth, the last and only truth, about God? Never forget God!!”

One can imagine future icons of Saint Alexander of Munich will often use the same text while other iconographers may decide to use his last words, spoken to his lawyer as he was being taken to the guillotine: “I’m convinced that my life has to end now, early as it seems, because I have fulfilled my life’s mission. I wouldn’t know what else I have to do on this earth.”

In a time when fear is being sold every minute of the day, every day of the year — where would the “war on terror” be were we not prisoners of fear? — the pilgrimage to Munich to honor a saint who had freed himself from the tyranny of fear gave me an injection of pure courage.

(report written 9 February 2012)

* * * * *

Extracts from Fr Nikolai Artemoff’s sermon:

Holy New Martyrs are glorified by the Church because, in the particular circumstances of their own times, they bore a clear witness to Christ and in so doing sacrificed their own lives. On July 13, 1943 Alexander Schmorell was executed by means of the guillotine in Munich’s Stadelheim Prison. On Sunday (in Russian, the “day of resurrection”) the 5th of February 2012, he shall take his place among the band of New Martyrs of Russia, to whom this cathedral church is dedicated.

The death of a martyr is always comprised of both the love for Christ as well as, through this love, the exposure of wickedness of evildoers in this world, and therefore also those who pave the way for Satan and his complict servant, the antichrist.

Alexander Schmorell’s favorite book was The Brothers Karamazov, from which the name “White Rose” hails, as a symbol of purity and resurrection (as evidenced in the resurrection of the girl at the appearance of Christ in Seville at the beginning of the “Legend of the Grand Inquisitor”). The path of Alexander Schmorell led from religious instruction which he received from priests in Munich, to the contribution of an Orthodox worldview via F.M. Dostoevsky in the catagorical repudiation of both regimes, enemies of man and idols that they have become of the “Fueher”, Hitler, as well as of Stalin, both nationalist and socialist. The “White Rose” considered Nazi rule as anti-Christian, but for Alexander Schmorell, no less anti-Christian was the regime in which his beloved was enslaved — Bolshevism. “I admit to my love of Russia without reservation. Therefore I also stand in opposition to Bolshevism.”

The last flyer of the White Rose primarily authored by Alexander Schmorell (Nr. IV) witnesses to his concept of the spiritual dimensions of this struggle in the name of God and his Son, Christ. He wrote:

“When he [that is, Hitler] blasphemously uses the name of the Almighty, he means the power of evil, the fallen angel, Satan. His mouth is the foul-smelling maw of Hell, and his might is at bottom accursed. True, we must conduct a struggle against the National Socialist terrorist state with rational means; but whoever today still doubts the reality, the existence of demonic powers, has failed by a wide margin to understand the metaphysical background of this war. Behind the concrete, the visible events, behind all objective, logical considerations, we find the irrational element: The struggle against the demon, against the servants of the Antichrist. Everywhere and at all times demons have been lurking in the dark, waiting for the moment when man is weak; when of his own volition he leaves his place in the order of Creation as founded for him by God in freedom; when he yields to the force of evil, separates himself from the powers of a higher order; and after voluntarily taking the first step, he is driven on to the next and the next at a furiously accelerating rate. Everywhere and at all times of greatest trial men have appeared, prophets and saints who cherished their freedom, who preached the One God and who with His help brought the people to a reversal of their downward course. Man is free, to be sure, but without the true God he is defenseless against the principle of evil. He is a like rudderless ship, at the mercy of the storm, an infant without his mother, a cloud dissolving into thin air.

“I ask you, you as a Christian wrestling for the preservation of your greatest treasure, whether you hesitate, whether you incline toward intrigue, calculation, or procrastination in the hope that someone else will raise his arm in your defense? Has God not given you the strength, the will to fight? [...] Though we know that National Socialist power must be broken by military means, we are trying to achieve a renewal from within of the severely wounded German spirit.”

(with thanks to Katja Yurschak for the translation of Fr. Nikolai’s words)

* * *

Hymns sung at the glorification of Saint Alexander of Munich (annual commemoration day July 13):

Troparion, tone 4:

Today a light adorns our glorious city, / having within it your holy relics, O Holy Martyr Alexander; / for which sake pray to Christ God / that He deliver us from all tribulations, / for gathered together in love we celebrate your radiant memory / imitating your bravery, / standing against the godless powers and enemies.

Kontakion, tone 4:

From your mother you did inherit the love of Christ, / and through the love of your care-giver you were nourished in the fear of God, O all-glorious one, / to Whom you did give thyself, O all-honorable Alexander, / and you diligently pray with the angels. / Entreat on behalf of all who honor your memory a forgiveness of their sins.

* * *

A section of the web site of the Cathedral of the New Martyrs and Confessors of Russia is devoted to St Alexander Schmorell, with texts both in Russian and German:
http://www.sobor.de/index.php?option=com_content&view=category&layout=blog&id=79&Itemid=109&lang=de

A biographical essay (“Alexander Schmorell: a Witness in Dark Times”) is here: www.jimandnancyforest.com/2011/02/02/alexander-schmorell-a-witness-in-dark-times/

Russian translation of “Alexander Schmorell: a Witness in Dark Times”: http://www.sobor.de/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=272:alexander-schmorell-a-witness-in-dark-times&catid=79:alexander-schmorell-verherrlichung&Itemid=109&lang=ru

An English translation of Schmorell’s letters from prison:
www.katjasdacha.com/whiterose/alexbriefe_e.html

A set of photos of the canonization:
www.flickr.com/photos/jimforest/sets/72157629206699911/with/6832060277/

A set of photos having to do of the White Rose:
www.flickr.com/photos/jimforest/sets/72157625346459536/with/5161067764/

Wikipedia entry about the White Rose:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_rose

* * *

Jim Forest is international secretary of the Orthodox Peace Fellowship — www.incommunion.org — and is the author of many books — see: http://www.jimandnancyforest.com/books/ . He belongs to St. Nicholas of Myra Russian Orthodox Church in Amsterdam and lives in Alkmaar, the Netherlands.

* * *

❖ IN COMMUNION / issue 64 / Spring 2012

Forgiving All in the Light of the Resurrection: A Scientific Approach

Thursday, September 13th, 2012

by Elizabeth Gassin and Robert Enright

What is forgiveness? When we began studying forgiveness in the 1980s, our first concerns were definitional. What exactly is this process—this virtue—that philosophers and theologians had been advocating for thousands of years? In order to move forward with our psychological research, we first let those wise voices speak. We combed ancient texts and the work of current thinkers in philosophy and theology, gleaning ideas about what forgiveness is and is not. From this endeavor, we generated a definition that stressed the following points:

  • Forgiveness takes place in the context of being treated unfairly. Defining what is “unfair treatment” requires a rational, relatively objective evaluation, not simply an emotional judgment.
  • When we forgive, we willfully give up resentment and other negative responses to the person who hurt us, even though we may have a right to those responses.
  • When we forgive, we strive to respond to the wrongdoer based on the principle of beneficence, or doing something for the good of another (not just for ourselves).
  • Beneficent responses are based on one or more of the following: compassion, unconditional worth (that is, realizing the offender is a person worthy of respect simply because he or she is a human being), generosity, and/or moral love. The offender does not have a right to be treated in a way that reflects these elements of beneficence, but in forgiveness we choose to act according to one or more of them anyway.

Because there are so many flawed ways to define forgiveness, we also took care to define what forgiveness is not. The following are examples of concepts that are sometimes confused with forgiveness but are either completely separate ideas or are somehow incomplete in what they convey about the concept:

  • Legal pardon: Forgiveness is the decision of an individual who has been hurt and does not prohibit the legal system from enacting punishment if some crime was committed in the hurtful situation.
  • Condoning, justifying, or excusing: Forgiveness acknowledges a moral wrong has been committed by the offender and does not in any way imply that the hurtful action was unavoidable or even acceptable.
  • Balancing scales: Justice is not required before forgiveness is offered. While a person may forgive and seek justice at the same time, the former does not depend on the latter. For example, the victim of a robbery may seek to have the goods returned or compensated but also forgive the robber, regardless of whether justice is attained.
  • Forgetting: It is nearly impossible to forget the details of a hurtful situation. Forgiveness involves learning to recall the situation in a new light.
  • Saying “I forgive you”: Forgiveness concerns our inner orientation towards someone who has hurt us. In some cases, telling the person that one has forgiven him or her is impossible or inadvisable. In addition, in the absence of authentic forgiveness these words can be used in a haughty or manipulative manner.
  • Reconciliation: We maintain that reconciliation is a re–establishment of a prior relationship with an offender, which is not the same as developing a positive personal orientation towards an offender. In most cases, reconciliation would require the offender repent of his or her hurtful behavior, so that the hurt person is not walking back into a situation where he or she will be injured again. Forgiveness, on the other hand, concerns one’s overall orientation towards the offender and is under control of the person who was injured.

With these thoughts about forgiveness in hand, we set ourselves the task of developing ways to assess forgiveness and studying its effects on people.

What Does the research show? In turning to our research that addresses the impact of forgiveness on those who offer it, it is important to note that the studies we mention here are usually what scientists call true or full experiments. This means we can make fairly confident cause–and–effect statements from them. In other words, in a true experiment, if we find that those participating in a group that learns about and engages in the forgiveness process ultimately demonstrate less depression than those who participate in a different kind of group (or no group at all), then we have the best evidence we can get that the forgiveness experience caused a decrease in depression. Psychologists conduct many other types of studies, but none give us causal insights like a true experiment.

In our previous article, we outlined the impact of the forgiveness education program we have designed for children in Belfast and Milwaukee. As we noted in that article, we have sound evidence that children who received our forgiveness curriculum demonstrate a bigger drop in anger than children who do not learn about forgiveness. And this is not the only series of studies to show that children benefit from forgiveness interventions. In Hong Kong, Hui and Chau conducted an experiment with forgiveness education for sixth–graders (11 and 12 year olds) and found that those who were exposed to the program gained more in self–esteem and hope and decreased more in depression than those who did not go through the program. Maria Gambaro and colleagues demonstrated that in comparison with an intervention that did not teach forgiveness, a forgiveness program with young adolescents led to improved self–reliance, increased academic achievement, better attitudes toward teachers and parents, and fewer school conduct problems.

But what about the impact of forgiveness on older adolescents and adults? The evidence base is convincing that they, too, benefit from learning to forgive. Over the past few decades, our research group has conducted many studies with adolescents and adults, taking them through the forgiveness process outlined in the book, Forgiveness Is A Choice. In short, this process involves admitting the hurt, deciding to forgive, working on forgiveness, and experiencing the fruits of forgiveness. There are of course various sub–steps at each of these points, which you can learn more about from the book or on our website. Each person’s forgiveness journey is unique, but several research projects have provided evidence that the steps we use mirror what many people experience as they forgive in natural, non–experimental settings.

Because there are so many experimental studies assessing the effects of forgiveness interventions on these older groups, we offer a summary of their findings and an example of one particularly inspiring project. Our experiments with older adolescents and adults have included people who have experienced some of the deepest hurts in life. We’ve studied the impact of forgiveness on survivors of sexual abuse, those addicted to drugs and alcohol, men whose partners had abortions without their full consent, women in emotionally abusive relationships, and college students raised by rejecting parents. We’ve also studied how forgiveness affects those in particularly challenging situations, such as those recovering from heart disease and those who are terminally ill. First we will look at forgiveness’ effects on mental health variables, such as anxiety and hope, and then at a relatively new line of research looking at the impact of forgiveness on physical health.

Almost every one of our studies on forgiveness and mental health has turned up some indication that offering forgiveness is good for the soul. On the whole, this work demonstrates that forgiveness interventions decrease anger, depression, anxiety, trauma–related symptoms, and grief, and increase hope, quality of life, self–esteem, feelings of mastery, and finding meaning in life. A particularly moving example of this work is Mary Hansen and co–authors’ work on forgiveness among the dying. Patients in end–of–life care went through a 4–week forgiveness intervention and were compared to those who had not yet had the intervention. Those who went through the program demonstrated less anger, more hope, and higher quality of life than those who had not yet had the intervention. What an amazing double gift: to offer forgiveness to an offender in the last days of one’s earthly life, and to receive in return peace of heart and mind for the final journey.

Several aspects of this body of work make it even more remarkable than it seems at first glance. First, in the scientific enterprise, conclusions about a topic under study are bolstered when different research groups produce similar outcomes. Therefore, it is important that we note that our group is not the only one finding that programs based on the forgiveness process lead to improved mental health. Other researchers who implement programs emphasizing the process of forgiveness produce comparable results. It is also significant that when such experiments are conducted outside the US, usually researchers obtain similar results (as did Hui and Chau in Hong Kong, as discussed above). This may mean that the positive effects of forgiveness on psychological health are universal, which from a theological perspective suggests we have been created to be forgiving. Finally, we also note that when researchers follow up their participants months after the studies, they often find that those who went through forgiveness programs still demonstrate the psychological benefits that were evident right after the programs finished. In short, widespread scientific evidence is amassing that forgiveness is a balm for the human psyche that spans time, space, and culture.

The experimental work on forgiveness and mental health has been going on now for over 20 years. Experiments assessing the impact of forgiveness on physical health, however, are relatively new. Even so, they are showing that being merciful to an offender may be as good for the body as it is for the soul. In a 10–session intervention with male cardiac patients, Martina Waltman and her colleagues showed that those going through a forgiveness–oriented intervention showed fewer anger–induced defects in heart functioning than those who participated in an intervention on a different topic. In a laboratory experiment, Charlotte Witvliet and her colleagues showed that when college students were directed to imagine forgiving an offender, they demonstrated better heart functioning and less tension in facial muscles than when they did not imagine forgiving an offender.

Although it is early to draw any firm conclusions about why offering forgiveness might cause better physical health, a recent experiment in doctoral dissertation by Samuel Standard suggests one reason forgiveness may be medicinal. Standard led some of his participants through a forgiveness process and compared them on several health–related measures to other participants who had not yet received the intervention. He found that those who went through the forgiveness process ended up with lower cortisol levels than those who had not yet been exposed to the process. Cortisol is a stress hormone that, if chronically present, can cause major damage to many systems in the body. For example, it has been linked to reduced immune system functioning, high blood pressure, and decreased bone density. In short, it seems that holding a grudge is literally a chronic stressor on even a physiological level!

The science of forgiveness is painting a very clear picture: being merciful to someone who hurt us is good for us, psychologically and physically. In the last article of this series, we will explore why we seem to be built this way. Relying on Orthodox theology, spirituality, and liturgical life, we will attempt to show that the science of forgiveness and the faith of forgiveness are built on one and the same foundation: the life of the self–giving Holy Trinity, Who seeks to heal us body and soul.  IC

 

*In Communion issue 62 carried the article Forgiveness Education: A Prospect for Peace in which the authors described their forgiveness education work in Belfast, Northern Ireland and the inner city of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. In the current article, they broaden their focus, looking at how academic scholarship has helped define forgiveness, and they assess its impact on people, body and soul. Issue 65 will carry the article Forgiving All in the Light of the Resurrection: An Orthodox Theological & Liturgical Approach.

 

For a copy of the bibliography and complete list of the studies and reports referenced in this article, please send an email to [email protected]

 

Robert Enright teaches in the Department of Educational Psychology at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Elizabeth Gassin teaches at Olivet Nazarene University. Both are members of the International Forgiveness Institute, Inc. in Madison, WI. Prof. Gassin is an Orthodox Christian and has written on forgiveness from an Orthodox perspective. More about their work can be found at the International Forgiveness Institute’s website at www.forgiveness-institute.org.

 

forgiveness institute


International Forgiveness Institute

1127 University Avenue, Suite 105
Madison, Wisconsin 53715 USA
Telephone:  608-251-6484
E-mail:  [email protected]

 

❖ IN COMMUNION / issue 64 / Spring 2012

Serving the Poor: Beyond Food, Clothing, and Shelter

Thursday, September 13th, 2012

by Julia Demaree

For where two or three are gathered in my Name, I am there in their midst. 

–Jesus (Matt. 18:20)

Our mission statement is simple and challenging: “Emmaus House, an Orthodox Christian ministry, welcomes all to offer hospitality, healing, and hope in solidarity with the poor and the homeless. We are inspired by the Gospel: in breaking bread together, we recognize the presence of Christ.”

Emmaus House is in central Harlem, lodged in a run down but homey, four-storied brownstone in Mount Morris on a vastly gentrified street. Our building houses one live-in, non-salaried directress, one live-in volunteer, one board member who overnights weekly with her dog, two cats, and an unknown number of wild, outdoor cats. Volunteers offer food and clothing to those in need three days a week and provide referrals, especially for housing, and we take turns responding to the “stranger at the door.” A former resident does our office work and we hope to find a neighborhood handyman to help respond to the creaks and groans of our old house.

We are an old community sprouting new wings, ever mindful of the tremendous legacy of our deceased founder, Fr. David Kirk, while staying responsive to the gifts of the community’s new members and the problems endemic to serving the poor.

We are a Christ-Centered Ministry where we strive for the ideal of St. Maria of Paris: “There is not and there cannot be any following in the steps of Christ without taking upon ourselves a certain share, small as it may be, of participation in this sacrificial deed of love. Anyone who loves the world, anyone who lays down his soul for others, anyone who is ready, at the price of being separated from Christ, to gain salvation for his brothers is a disciple and follower of Christ.”

Passersby  often ask about the meaning of Emmaus. The word is printed on the bright red awning jutting over our first story windows. Most of them don’t crane their necks to look up to see the Orthodox cross nailed to the facade. If they approach the door, they’ll see a festal icon in a wooden box. If they come into the vestibule, they’ll be greeted by a large icon of “Christ made without Human Hands.” And then if they walk down the hallway and turn right, they’ll enter our Orthodox Chapel, “Christ of the Homeless.” The chapel’s freshly painted golden walls hold remnants of chant, sad stories of broken lives, shards of abated anger, and messy details of relationships gone amiss. While sitting on the wooden bench, names get added to our prayer list, the Mother of the Street icon becomes a parting gift-in-hand, and both parties feel the power of healing from time spent together in a sacred space.

We welcome all to taste and see the Orthodox world through these tangible gifts and grace-filled moments. We remain mindful of how Fr. David provided Muslim residents with prayer rugs and a private area for their prayer times during the day. Emmaus continues to carry on under this flag of openness to all as we labor under the Christian non-negotiable statute of unconditional love in service to all—Christ in every face.

In the Spirit of Community: When Father David Kirk passed in May 2007, a few board members wanted to turn his legacy into a foundation claiming they couldn’t imagine Emmaus House without him. Some of us fought to keep Emmaus going as a ministry, and the twelve residents that had cared for him during his six years of failing health attempted, with some supervision, to keep the community intact while they continued to serve the poor for two more years. In 2009, a lack of funds and escalating house tensions forced the doors of Emmaus House to close. It was shattering for the residents, who in spite of their many difficulties, had come to define themselves as family. They still stay in touch with each other and with Emmaus by phone and email.

Then came the long, lonely wait, that “dark night of the soul” that is wont to hit us when we are living with absolute uncertainty. It was a year spent purging the house of its years of collected debris and praying for some signs of new life. Jim Forest sent an encouraging email saying that while he was sorry about the closing, he knew that Emmaus would rise again like a phoenix out of the ashes as it had done many times in the past. We were also laboring under the immense shadow of Fr. David and the layered legacy that was associated with his Emmaus House. We focused on honoring his last two wishes: to carry on as a community serving the poor and to call on Orthodox people to engage in works of mercy.

Slowly, very slowly, signs of life began to reappear, like tiny green plants emerging in a Lenten Spring. Passersby asked if the house was going to reopen. Neighbors left bags of clothing at our doorstep. An African-American man asked why we had a white Christ posted out front, didn’t we know where we were? (Good point. We put up a better icon). City Harvest began delivering fresh, recycled food. Our summer intern visited a prisoner and a shut-in elder. An auntie happily told us about her readiness to resume baking the peach pies she used to bake for Fr. David. Our traveling kitchen crew delivered hot soup to the homeless on the street. Former residents dropped in to visit and help. New volunteers began to appear and make commitments. The neighborhood needy came for recycled food and clothing. Orthodox priests brought youth to Saturday workdays, blessed our house, and held prayer services in our chapel. Urban and suburban Orthodox laity brought large bags of clothing to give away. Two pilgrims drove six hours roundtrip from Pennsylvania to our doorstep with a truck full of clothes and canned goods.

old Harlem,At the same time we were encouraged by these developments and alarmed at how the exclusivity of the gentrification process was destroying the presence of community that had always defined Harlem. On our block, there was no longer any stoop-sitting, a gracious tradition from the south that allows for catching up with and watching out for one’s neighbors. Most of the community gardens had been reclaimed by the city under the ruse that they would be used for low income housing. Signifi-cantly, old timers noted that the new-comers wouldn’t even make eye contact with them when they passed by them on the street. Apartment dwellers and home-owners felt betrayed by their local politicians and were outraged that our local community board was no longer an open forum for all. It all came to a head when 125th street, the heart of the old Harlem, was rezoned for commercial purposes.

We started hearing more and more eviction stories, and of the scare tactics being used against people who had paid their rent faithfully for years. More and more long- time Harlem residents were becoming marginalized and, with rising rents, could barely make ends meet. Merely nodding off on a park bench could lead to an arrest or humiliating harassment. In the early stages of gentrification, Fr. David asked repeatedly whether Emmaus should relocate to where the poor really were, suggesting Camden. Today, we would answer him that there are plenty of disenfranchised people left to serve in Harlem, folks who are trapped in a city with fewer and fewer options and whose powerful leaders are doing all they can to turn the island into a “gated community” for the wealthy.

So, Fr. David, we are still in Harlem. Currently, we are a gaggle of prayerful individuals who are trying to address the vast inequalities of what Dorothy Day called “the dirty, rotten system.” We pray that we have the discipline to do the inner work to receive the “gift of community.” We realize that going to church on Sunday is not necessarily the same as being part of a daily community in which we give up a lot and take responsibility for things that we might not otherwise want to bother with. There, we have to make commitments to other human beings and no longer define ourselves as individuals, but as members of a body where all of the parts learn to fit together. As we progress, then, we are striving to be both a “community of resistance” to those who would like to see “undesirable” people just disappear as well as being a “community of hope” to these quietly desperate people.

Fr. David once wrote, “Jesus, the broken man, remains beside us on this road to Emmaus. Holding me in his hands, He gives thanks, and He broke me and gave me to my sisters and brothers, who in turn, sent me out to help feed the crowd.” By our name, Emmaus, we are mandated to “break bread” (Luke 24:13), and indeed we do, in small clusters of diverse people sitting around our old dining-room table under the gaze of the large icon of the Ugandan martyrs. We actually received a small grant to host “fellowship dinners” so that people from different backgrounds have an opportunity to experience their commonality. And we wait patiently to be able to receive the body and blood of Christ in our chapel, “Christ of the Homeless,” on some Sunday morning. For this, we pray.

Works of Mercy: “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself” (Luke 19:13). hen the choice of our white Christ was challenged by our nomadic friend, ben Israel, I replaced it the next day with a Coptic image of Christ with text that read: “We are our brother’s keeper.” Could it be that these two acts were “works of mercy”? He gave me the gift of “enlightenment” in a neighborhood that easily sees the white person as a “do-gooder,” while I gave him back the gift of “acknowledgement,” in appreciation of his sensitivity training.

For the most part, when we hear about performing a “work of mercy” we think of giving a needy person our extra jacket or a hot cup of soup and slice of bread, and if we’re courageous, we might even add in a mattress for the night. Materially speaking, the poor need the help of the rich who live with excess and secure rest night after night, having their physical needs met—indeed, often over-met. There can be no argument about what to do for the person who is cold and unprotected on the street on a wintry night. There can be no argument about providing the mother, trying to raise five children in the shelter system, with food and clothing. We must always be ready to provide on this material, survival level for those in need. For this, we need to be in a constant state of prayer, and to practice mindfulness.

At Emmaus, we try to use creativity and sensitivity when we address these most basic human needs. One hot day, two of our male volunteers began offering cold glasses of lemon water to the people waiting in line for their food bags, a simple act of hospitality that elicited many a thankful smile. Every two or three days, a former Emmaus resident, who is now homeless and on the street, comes to exchange his dirty clothes for a set of clean clothes we have washed for him. He is not ready to give up his addictive lifestyle but he wants to keep a connection with us, and with his memory of Father David. Even though our act is minimal, it is helping to build a relationship with him, giving us an opening to talk to him about making a change. On another day, a knock from a “stranger at the door” came from a woman looking for a change of clothing for a one-legged man who lives in his wheelchair on the street. When she returned, she picked up clothes for his girlfriend, work clothes for herself, and the container of clothes we had set aside after her first visit. In her, we have an example of the poor serving the poor.

We are fortunately free to choose and define the way we serve, so we are not beholden to governmental time constraints nor eaten alive by bureaucratic accountability. We bow to no agendas of discrimination. The burden, then, falls on us to monitor our behavior, question our motives, catch our shortcomings, talk through our differences. Our style is to take our time with people, keep the encounter fresh with caring and possibility, and to reach out to all in some small way, especially to the most needy.

Often just having someone listen with respect is taken as a generous gift. “For the Christian there is no stranger,” wrote St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, born Edith Stein. “Whoever is near us and needing us must be ‘our neighbor’; it does not matter whether he is related to us or not, whether we like him or not, whether he is morally worthy of our help or not. The love of Christ knows no limits. It never ends; it does not shrink from ugliness and filth. He came for sinners, not for the just. And if the love of Christ is in us, we shall do as He did and seek the lost sheep.”

Sometimes we are the lost sheep, the supposed caregivers, the ones who want to “serve the poor.” One can feel a sense of power and safety from the caregiver’s seat, the vulnerable seat being reserved for the receiver. Often we shy away from the receiving position because it is easier for us to serve if we slip into the “us and them” paradigm. It’s a place to avoid looking at our own “poorness,” shortcomings, and fears. We have much to be taught by the poor. They are often the humble ones, stripped down and kept marginalized by our greedy culture. We try to create occasions to talk with them about their lives, to glean their wisdom, and affirm their sanctity.

Transforming Ourselves: “All human nature vigorously resists grace because grace changes us and the change is painful” (Flannery O’Connor, The Habit of Being). God would have us make changes in ourselves. He gives us the gift of pain so that we will accept our shortcomings, thereby acknowledging our need for Him through others, and in doing so, He brings us closer to Him. The overall curve of our life journey should be to turn away from darkness, where we dwell in pain and isolation from others and from Him, and to move towards the light, which brings peace because in the light we are naked again, wearing our birth clothes and approaching a state of innocence. Then we are graced with a homecoming.

Chapel of Christ, the homelessThe unresolved pains of our childhood, those hidden dark places, easily get triggered in a community setting. We often “act out” from the unresolved wounds of our younger self. My Chinese teacher once told us that “if someone’s behavior bothers you, then it is your problem.” Surely not, I thought, in some cases it is so clearly the fault of the other person. Blaming and judging others is a hedge for us to hide behind, a way to avoid taking full responsibility for our own behavior. He was telling us to take that pivotal moment of discomfort as a challenge to grow. Working through painful moments of conflict with each other is the true challenge of the work of Emmaus House. We are all broken in some way and we need the palpability of a community setting to be forced to engage in this process. Personal growth rarely happens in a vacuum. We must strive to serve others from the place of being a whole, healed human person.

When we hide or turn away from our pain, it can be from shame or in fear that others will see our unworthiness. The truth is that we are all unworthy, and it might just be the eyes and ears of the other that might provide the insight or support that moves us along toward wholeness. It might be that the touch of their hands provides us with the moral support to pull us out of our doldrums. Christ told us that it was the work of our hands that would help finish the work that He began. Let us fight to keep engaged and open to the fruits of this work. For this work, we have to be brave hearts and fearless warriors. To work with the poor, we have to be willing to value pain, to claim it as an asset, and to experience it as Christ-centered and God-given. Through the gate of pain we can enter into the deep waters of experience with others and reach for the shore of love.

My heart always skips a beat when I engage with folks on the street whose marginal lives are so exposed and whose lives are held by such fragile threads. They do not have the luxury or the wherewithal to hide or to camouflage their poverty, their disappointments, and their desperation. Life is proclaimed on their faces, in their body smell, in their empty pockets, and in their outstretched hands. I tend to move closer to them so that some of their vulnerability will rub off on me, inform my life of the need for humility, and the need to beg for love. The essential, unadorned accoutrements of life are spread out on the sidewalk between us and I am awed by these encounters every time. I confess, that as a former street artist, I am often drawn to the individuality and the resourcefulness of their physical presentation. Often I can sense a lost talent that got derailed by the relentless demands of a cruel world, some bad luck, or perhaps an inability to focus from early in life. Yet strands of creativity break through in their dress and the way that they approach. Let not our over-sanitized condition impede us from the feast of seeing and loving Christ in every face.

The “Souls in Motion” Model for Hospitality: There is no greater act of hospitality than Mary’s reception of the living Christ into her womb. Before I started working in Harlem, I had read Susan Sheehan’s fascinating 17-year history of a mental patient, with the pseudonym of Sylvia Frumpkin, that appeared as a four part series in The New Yorker, called Is There No Place on Earth for Me? I was struck by how this title is resonant with Christ’s brief stay on earth as he went from town to town, with no place to lay his head, often encountering heavy resistance to his words and very presence. I was undone by the chaos and the untouchable aspect of Sylvia’s plight and her mother’s inability to secure sustainable help for her daughter. This study primed me for the next chapter of my life.

In 1987, my friend Louise Rosenberg and I assembled a creative studio, which we called “Souls in Motion,” for the adult psychiatric clients attending a day Rehabili-tation Program in Harlem called CSS (Community Support System), just seven blocks north of Emmaus House. Louise and I, with the help of others, tried to respond to the Sylvia Frumpkin dilemma by providing a safe haven that offered folks an opportunity to get back in touch with the creativity that lay buried under childhood traumas that often led them to an adult life of addictions and mental illness. We invented a magical room that was a fulcrum of hospitality for the creative spirit: for painting, gardening, sewing, writing, relationships, acting, meditating, philosophiz-ing, listening, animal caretaking, and any other modality a person could dream up. We were focused on reawakening the creative energy that had lain dormant for years, potential that was just waiting for a wave of fresh air and an open door with permission to go through it.

The umbrella for our studio was CSS, a program that was exemplary of the outpatient facilities set up when patients were being released from mental institutions in the late 70’s. From the beginning, CSS was known for being a program with “soul” and offered a high quality of life to people who usually had to settle on third best, if they even managed to get past their invisible status. CSS was well known in the world of mental health as a family-oriented program. When patients broke the rules, they would be asked to leave, but they were always invited back for a second and third chance. This was the same philosophy of repentance and forgiveness that Fr. David followed at Emmaus House.

Hospitality became a way of life at Souls in Motion, and more and more the studio took on the character of a community, with people expressing their gratitude in a myriad of ways: hugs bookmarked all personal encounters, clients scheduled hospital visits to hospitalized clients, talking out differences often took place in front of the icons in the altar closet, custom drawings were made as gifts for other clients or staff members, epitaphs were written eulogizing the brief lives of our studio animals, client advocates accompanied less articulate clients to their appointments (Fr. David’s “the poor taking care of the poor”), homemade pies were baked and brought in for birthday celebrations, memorial services were held for those who had passed, and gospel singing filled the room during after-hours and for special occasions. When official guests toured our studio without response to it, we suspected they couldn’t be in touch with their own creativity: The space was infectious with spirit!

After twenty-four years, Souls in Motion closed its door last November. We continue to talk of trying to turn it into an independent, non-profit organization. In the meantime, Emmaus House has inherited some of its physical artifacts and is looking at ways each day to embody its spirit, as quality of life for the less fortunate has become such a precarious commodity in these times. Indeed, it is questionable if most people even know what “quality of life” or “sacredness of life” mean in our desensitized war and consumer driven country.

The philosophy driving Souls in Motion runs parallel to how the person is viewed in Orthodoxy. As children of God, we are asked to develop and share our gifts and to learn to love and respect self and neighbor on our road to our Maker. Serving is the work of a lifetime and our teachings come from the actual people and situations that God puts in our path. We articulate our philosophy with the following modest list of priorities as we continue to develop our ministry of service:

To define ourselves as members of community

To break bread together

To work in solidarity with the disenfranchised

To share our wealth with the needy and serve the poor generously

To exchange our life stories

To tolerate and appreciate our differences

To commit to healing our childhood wounds

To resist hoarding things, space, time, or people

To use our gifts freely and creatively

To answer the knock of the stranger at the door

To pray for peace in ourselves, in others and in the world

To create a community center for the poor

May we all be blessed in our efforts to serve unceasingly.  IC

Julia DemareeJulia Demaree is the director of Emmaus House. The “ragpicking” philosophy of Abbe Pierre and Fr. David Kirk still define Emmaus today and has helped shape Julia’s longtime fascination with the things that, by societal standards, fall into the “discarded” category as gold nuggets to be transformed into beauty and meaningfulness. If you wish to contact Julia or to make a donation in support of Emmaus house, write her at: [email protected]

The drawing of Emmaus house facing the opening page of the article was done by Julia’s son, Julius Wood Norman.

After Fr. David Kirk’s passing in 2007, when the future of Emmaus House was much less certain, In Communion carried two articles about his life and ministry at Emmaus House, one in Summer of ‘07 and one in Spring of ‘08 (issues 46 and 49).

 

❖ IN COMMUNION / issue 64 / Spring 2012

The wrong choice

Thursday, September 13th, 2012

by Auke de Leeuw

Käthe Kollwitz Seed for the Planting Shall not be Ground up 1942

 

My name is Auke Siebe Dirk.

I was named after my uncle Dirk Siebe,

A boy who made the wrong choice,

Chose the wrong army

With the wrong ideals,

Escaped poverty,

Hoped for a better life,

No way back.

If a choice is made,

Only a way forward,

Which he cannot avoid,

Fighting against the Russians,

Afraid to die,

Thinking of home,

Where Dirk’s future has yet to begin.

His mother torn apart by war,

Mother of eleven children, with four in the resistance,

And one fighting on the eastern front.

She loved all eleven of them–

Dirk Siebe never came home.

My name is Auke Siebe Dirk–

I am named after Dirk Siebe,

Because neither should Dirk Siebe be forgotten.

(Translated from Dutch)

 

Above Image: Käthe Kollwitz, Seed for the Planting Shall not be Ground up (1942)

❖ IN COMMUNION / issue 64 / Spring 2012

News IC 64

Thursday, September 13th, 2012

Patriarch Bartholomew critical of Greek anathemas

Patriarch Bartholomew of Constantinople has written to Greece’s Archbishop, deploring anti–ecumenical statements from within the Church. In the letter, he said that “Critical voices about ecumenism, long heard in the bosom of the church of Greece, have hitherto been limited in scope—but what has occurred recently has reached unacceptable levels….Such opinions evoke anguish and sorrow by running counter to the Orthodox ethos. They risk unforeseen consequences for church unity in general, and the unity of our holy Orthodox church in particular.”

In the letter to Archbishop Ieronymos of Athens and All-Greece, the Patriarch expressed particular concern about ana-themas read by Metropolitan Seraphim of Piraeus during the liturgy on March 4th, Orthodoxy Sunday, in which he invoked anathemas against the “fallen arch-heretic,” Pope Benedict XVI, “and those in communion with him,” as well as “all heretical offshoots of the Reformation,” “rabbis of Judaism and Islamists,” and “those who preach and teach the panheresy of inter-Christian and inter-religious syncretistic ecumenism.”

“I urge you to reject and act against these unjustified and dangerous state-ments,” said the Patriarch. “They con-tradict the decisions taken jointly by Orthodox churches to participate in bi-lateral and multilateral theological dia-logue with the heterodox.” The letter also affirmed the traditional partnership between the Istanbul-based Ecumenical Patriarchate and the Church of Greece as “ecumenical witnesses to Orthodoxy.”

Ecumenical Patriarch addresses Economic Summit

Ecumenical Patriarch addresses Economic Summit“It is an honor once again to address the Eurasian Economic Summit, which is organized annually by the distinguished Marmara Group and this year is considering various aspects of the relationship between economy and dialogue as well as of development and women’s rights in our world. We have been asked to address how sustainability and economy can be promoted through intercultural and interfaith dialogue.

As a young boy, we recall seeing Ecumenical Patriarch Athenagoras, an extraordinary leader of global vision and ecumenical sensitivity. He was a tall man, with piercing eyes and a very long, white beard. Patriarch Athenagoras was known to resolve conflict by inviting the em-battled parties to meet together, inviting and telling them: “Come, let us look one another in the eyes, and let us then see what we have to say to one another.”

This notion of looking at each other honestly in order to understand and cooperate with one another is surely critical to any concept of intercultural and interfaith dialogue. In recent years, we have all been encouraged as we witness constructive and creative chang-es in contemporary Turkish society with regard to openness and inclusion of other faiths and minority communities.

Likewise, the various gatherings initiated by the Ecumenical Patriarchate serve to bring cultures together in order to establish more meaningful communi-cation with one another. The underlying principle behind such dialogue is that all human beings ultimately face the same problems in life. Therefore, dialogue draws people of diverse religious and cultural backgrounds out of their isolation, preparing them for a process of mutual respect and coexistence.

Of course, some people have strong—we might say fundamentalist—convictions that they would rather sacri-fice their lives than change their views. Others are unfortunately even willing to take the lives of innocent victims to defend these views. This is why we are obliged to listen more carefully, “look at one another” more deeply “in the eyes.” For, in the final analysis, we are always closer to one another in more ways than we are distant or different from one another. We share with and resemble one another far more as members of the same species than we differ in terms of culture, religion, and background.

We hear it said often that our world is in crisis. Yet, never before have human beings had the opportunity to bring so many positive changes to so many people simply through encounter and dialogue. While it may be true that this is a time of crisis, it must likewise be said that there has never before been greater tolerance for diverse traditions, religious prefer-ences, and cultural peculiarities. We are blessed to experience the fruits of this tolerance and dialogue in today’s Turkey.

This does not mean that religious or cultural differences are insignificant or inconsequential. Accordingly, then, we do not approach dialogue in order to impose our arguments on our opponents. We approach dialogue in a spirit of love, sincerity, and honesty. In this respect, dialogue implies equality, which in turn implies humility. Honesty and humility dispel hostility and arrogance. So we must ask ourselves: Are we prepared to respect others in dialogue? How willing are we to learn and to love? If we are not prepared to learn or willing to change, are we truly engaging in dialogue? Or are we in fact conducting a monologue in our society, culture, and religion?

True dialogue is a gift from God. According to St. John Chrysostom, fourth century Archbishop of Constantinople, God is always in dialogue with human beings. God always speaks through people and cultures, and religions, even through creation itself. This is precisely why dialogue is the most fundamental experience of life. Dialogue promotes knowledge and rejects ignorance; it reveals truth and abolishes prejudice; it cultivates bonds and refuses to narrow horizons. Dialogue enriches; whoever refuses dialogue remains impoverished.

In this regard, we must confess that religious leaders bear a special re-sponsibility not to mislead or provoke in the process of dialogue. Their integrity plays a vital role in the promotion of intercultural and interfaith communi-cation. In the fourteenth century, St. Gregory Palamas, Archbishop of Thessalonika, conducted theological dis-cussions with distinguished represent-atives of Islam. In one such conversation, a Muslim leader expressed the wish that the time would come when mutual understanding will characterize the followers of both religions. St. Gregory agreed, emphasizing his hope that this would come sooner rather than later. It is our humble wish that now be that time. Now, more than ever, is the time for intercultural and interfaith dialogue.

We would not be so naïve as to claim that dialogue comes without risk or cost. Approaching another person—whether of another culture or another belief—always comes with uncertainty as to the final result. One is never sure what to expect: Will the other suspect me? Will the other perceive me as imposing my own way of life or ideology? Will I compromise—or even perhaps lose—what belongs uniquely to my tradition? These questions plague us as we approach dialogue. Nonetheless, when one surrenders to the possibility of dialogue, something sacred happens. In the willingness to embrace the other, beyond any fear or prejudice, the reality of something—or Someone—far greater than us takes over. Indeed, then, we recognize how the profit of dialogue far outweighs any peril.

Beloved distinguished friends, we are convinced that, in spite of cultural or religious differences, we are much closer to one another than we ever imagine.”

Dissolving Borders: The Tatars and Russians of Kazan

Dissolving Borders: The Tatars and Russians of KazanIn 2000, while backpacking in Russia from Moscow to Lake Baikal, Alison Shuman took a boat trip on the Volga and stopped briefly at the city of Kazan, 800 km east of Moscow, where the pop-ulation is nearly half Tatar Muslims and half Russian Orthodox. Twelve years later she returned to Kazan to create a photo-documentary that explores religious identity in post-Soviet Russia and the relationship between Muslims and Orthodox in the city.

Kazan is heralded as a place where two very different traditions live together in an atmosphere of mutual under-standing and exchange. Alison’s project will explore the ways in which the Tatar Muslims and Russian Orthodox cultures of Kazan overlap in the public sphere and the daily nuanced exchanges that occur between people that make peaceful coexistence possible.

Alison never forgot how she was struck by the continuity of Kazan’s culture as the city has traveled through time, where Muslim and Orthodox still live peacefully together as neighbors, and religion is practiced undisturbed and in mutual respect. She came back to chronicle a story where people from multiethnic and mixed religious back-grounds have for centuries lived together peacefully to show that the violent alternatives that appear regularly in the media need not be taken as the standard model. Her work will also explore the intricacies of how people negotiate their private, spiritual life with their public, societal life.

In 2006, Alison received a Master’s in Photojournalism, and since then has been working as a freelance photo-grapher in Austin, TX and in New York City, where she is now based. Her travels have so far taken her to 14 countries on four continents.

Alison is currently in Kazan working on her project. Her work is funded by donations from people who believe in the importance of the message she hopes to communicate. A video of her work and more information about the project and how to make a donation can be found at www.alisonshuman.com/dissolvingborders/.

What soldiers do

The video, released in January, of US Marines urinating on dead Taliban depicts just one of several such incidents that have recently seen the light of day and countless others that have not, but it has resulted in the creation of a new training module for troops heading off to war. All NATO soldiers in Afghanistan are now required to learn how to proper-ly handle enemy casualties in a dignified manner and that desecrating dead enemy soldiers is wrong.

While the media show outrage and politicians apologize, military com-manders claim the behavior of these Marines is merely an unprofessional slip from normal standards of conduct and can be corrected with better training.

Lt. Col. Paul Hackett, who teaches the law of war to Marines before they are sent off to Afghanistan, has said that he does not condone the actions of the marines in the video. But he also warned against judging them too harshly, saying: “When you ask young men to go kill people for a living, it takes a whole lot of effort to rein that in.”

Marty Brenner, an anger management specialist who treats combat veterans, said they “have no other way of express-ing their anger at these people…what they’re doing is urinating on them to show, ‘I want the world to see you guys are crap and that’s what you deserve.’ ”

Maynard Sinclair, a Marine veteran of Vietnam, said the outrage shows public naiveté about war. “I did a hell of a lot worse in Vietnam than urinate on dead bodies….We cut left ears off and wore them around our necks to show we were warriors [who] knew how to get revenge.”

“In Vietnam, when you screwed up, no one back home heard about it,” said Gary Solis, a former Marine prosecutor and judge who teaches law of war at Georgetown University. “The Internet has added a dimension that troops in the past did not have to deal with.”

Yet history has recorded both atroci-ties and sanctions in other ways, often as glorious legend. In the Illiad, Achilles kills Hector and refuses a proper burial, yet he relents after Zeus sends word that Achilles “tempts the wrath of heaven too far” with his desire to “vent his mad vengeance on the sacred dead.”

But an overlooked lesson from Homer is the similarity between Achilles’ exper-ience and that of the modern soldier. Achilles went to war to restore honor and achieve glory but was soon driven by grief and then rage at Patroclus’ death and, ultimately, the need for simple revenge and his enemies’ destruction.

While some judge the Marines in the video as simply doing what normal boys do in war, an inevitable feature of all war, others condemn the men as criminal or barbaric.

But, once the war is over and these men return home, some of them will have their broken psyches and demoral-ized spirits treated in clinics, while others are fed one dollar at a time from car windows stopped at traffic lights, and some—too many—will end up in prison after failing to relearn how to behave in civilized society.

Meanwhile, the military will attempt to teach soldiers that killing is okay if they do it nicely and that anger and hating can stop once the enemy is dead.

Tourism as a peacebuilding tool

Tourism as a peacebuilding toolShira Nesher, an Israeli, stands alongside Fakhira Halloun, a Palestinian, as Nesher tells her story about life in a conflict zone to a group of American university stu-dents who are hanging onto her every word. “My family members are Holocaust survivors…as an Israeli, I grew up in an environment of fear and conflict. When I was 18, I enlisted in the Defense Forces, where I eventually became a military tour guide and an educator.”

When she is finished, Fakhira follows with her own story. “I am a Palestinian Christian with Israeli citizenship. I grew up in a Druze village, as a minority among minorities, with stories of the nakba, the Palestinian catastrophe, in a place where identity limits access and mobility. Now, I devote my life to finding freedom in my native land.”

These two speakers are tour guides with the Middle East Justice and Develop-ment Initiative (MEJDI); they are leading a dual-narrative tour for a student group. It is rare to see Israelis and Palestinians telling competing narratives, yet working together. Though they live side-by-side, Israelis and Palestinians seldom meet.

MEJDI is the brainchild of two Jewish Americans—one of whom is an Orthodox rabbi—and one Palestinian who work together at the Center for World Religions, Diplomacy and Conflict Resolu-tion at George Mason University in Arlington, Virginia. They believe that peacebuilding activities must use sustain-able business models.

In the past few years, funding for peacebuilding activities has become scarce, and many organizations have struggled to survive. Combining peace-building with a profit-making enterprise provides a self-sustaining business model.

The emotional and physical journey participants take through the narratives of the Holy Land introduces them to many stakeholders on both sides of the conflict. The groups meet with a rabbi who explains the significance of the Western Wall in Judaism. The exploration continues with meeting an imam at the Al-Asqa Mosque. Another day, they visit Ramallah and meet with a high-ranking Palestinian official; they later connect with an Israeli politician in Jerusalem.

A Jewish congregation taking a MEJDI tour requested to spend two nights at a Palestinian refugee camp. Two days later, ethnicity, religion, and background no longer mattered. The congregation and the Palestinians had forged connections that transcended stereotypes. As they parted, tears streamed down the faces of the Palestinians and Jews alike.

On a different tour, a group of Christians, Jews, and Muslims partici-pated in an interfaith trip. The group did not avoid hard questions, and together they experienced some difficult mo-ments. They discussed justice, oppress-ion, and the role of religion in the con-flict. But there were also moments of simply learning about each other’s heri-tage and religion.

The experience of exploring different sides of this thorny conflict is atypical of most tours to the Holy Land. Every year over three million tourists visit Israel and Palestine. Many of the tourists come to see the Holy Land and the holy sites without taking time to meet the people who live there. Their tour guide typically wields an enormous influence on the way they understand the culture, politics and roots of the conflict.

By contrast, the MEJDI guides rely on their personal stories about the conflict, while connecting them back to the larger story of their people. It is not about rehashing the gritty historical details that led up to the present situation, but rather about creating greater understanding. Participants are given time to reflect on the information they learn and interact with the guides and speakers to reconcile their feelings with what they heard.

MEJDI also operates in Egypt, Turkey, and Jordan, and will soon expand to new countries, using the same principle of helping participants experience places through differing narratives.

Tourism has the power to be a positive or negative force for change, with the potential to either entrench preconceptions or facilitate the sharing of stories across cultures. Just last year, almost one billion people traveled to other countries. Imagine what would happen if all these tourists used their travels as an opportunity to foster greater understanding.

Leaders respond to attack on Presbyterian Church

Nearly 500 people, said to be members of a fundamentalist Islamic group, at-tacked the Evangelical Presbyterian Church Bible School in Khartoum, the Sudanese capital, burning Bibles and destroying property. The attack has raised fear among Christians in the north where they make up approximately 5% of the population. Christian Leaders around the world have issued statements calling for restraint on all sides as violence in-creases between Sudan and South Sudan.

The World Communion of Reformed Churches (WCRC) was about to issue a call to prayer for Sudan when the organ-ization received information detailing the burning and destruction, according to the Rev. Setri Nyomi, general secre-tary. The Rev. James Par Tap, moderator of the Sudan Presbyterian Church,  wrote that before the attacks, Ansaar Alsoona, a fundamentalist Islamic group, had announced “al–jihad” against Christianity.

A number of Muslims apologized to Christians saying the actions did not represent the spirit of Islam. Others joined Christians for prayers in the church compound.

Despite proclamations by Sudanese officials about freedom of religion and protection of minorities by the govern-ment, threats against Christians in and around Khartoum are increasing.

❖ IN COMMUNION / issue 64 / Spring 2012

Recommended Reading Spring 2012

Wednesday, September 12th, 2012

25 Books Every Christian Should Read: A Guide to the Essential Spiritual Classics

Compiled by the Renovare Institute
Harper One, 2011, 390 pp.
Reviewed by Alex Patico

It’s an ambitious project, selecting just a score–plus–five books to represent the entire Christian literary resource. It takes chutzpah. But no one tackled this alone; this compendium was selected by a multi–denominational editorial board, which included Frederica Matthewes–Green (the only Orthodox Christian), Phyllis Tickle, Franciscan Fr. Richard Rohr and others. They were asked to choose from over 400 titles that Renovar had assembled.

Subtitled A Guide to the Essential Spiritual Classics, the book obviously involved subjective judgments in culling through the possible selections. The authors do present their rationale for each selection, but some of those tend to be rather pedestrian or not much more than a regurgitation of the ideas presented in the work being treated. (Unfortunately, attribution of the authorship of these essays is not furnished.)

The works that made the cut include some that are likely well–known to Orthodox readers, such as The Philokalia, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, The Way of a Pilgrim, The Brothers Karamazov, and others. Other titles will likely be less familiar: Blaise Pascal’s Pensees, A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life by William Law, or the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins. The selections range in age from St. Athanasius’ On the Incarnation, 4th C. to J.M. Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son, 1992.

Each section also contains excerpts from the work itself, which serves to give readers a “flavor” of its tone, style, and content. Here are a few examples of those:

St. Augustine (b. 354), Confessions:

Fear shrinks from any sudden, unwonted danger which threatens the things that it loves, for its only care is safety: but to you nothing is strange, nothing unforeseen. No one can part you from the things that you love, and safety is assured nowhere but in you. Grief eats away its heart for the loss of things which it took pleasure in desiring, because it wants to be like you, from whom nothing can be taken away.

Dante Alighieri (b. 1265), The Divine Comedy:

he turned his footsteps toward an untrue path;

he followed counterfeits of goodness, which

will never pay in full what they have promised

Anonymous (ca. 14th cent.), The Cloud of Unknowing:

Every rational creature, every person, and every angel has two main strengths: the power to know and the power to love. God made both of these, but he’s not knowable through the first one. To the power of love, however, he is entirely known, because a loving soul is open to receive God’s abundance.

Thomas A Kempis (b. 1639), Imitation of Christ:

The person who understands all things as they are and not as they are said to be, is truly wise and is taught more by God than by others.… The person whose inner life is well–ordered and set in place is not troubled by the strange and twisted things that people do.

G.K. Chesterton (b.1874), Orthodoxy:

I tried to be some ten minutes in advance of the truth. And I found that I was eighteen hundred years behind it…I [tried] to found a heresy of my own; and when I had put the last touches to it, I discovered that it was orthodoxy.

In addition, a series of personal “best books” lists by various Christian leaders are interspersed with the other content. Interestingly those twenty-five writers, pastors and theologians do not often agree with the volume’s editors—fully 15 of them did not overlap with the book’s selections. One wonders if perhaps they interpreted their charge as being to submit their “favorite five,” rather that to assess each book’s standing in the Christian literary canon, or if they consciously tried to expand the catchment territory with their own picks.

The volume also includes, at the end of the book, a piece on “Best Contem-porary Authors”—writers such as Wendell Berry (b. 1934, author of A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997), Richard J. Foster (who founded Renovare, the organization responsible for the col-lection), progressive evangelical Brian McLaren and writer Anne Lamont.

I submit that the authors’ recom-mendation (in the Introduction) to read the text “in a nonjudgmental fashion” could, in fact, be the project’s downfall. If we treat all the sources as of equal validity, we find ourselves trying to square a number of circles, such as Calvin’s preoccupation with our “vileness, folly and impurity” as against Julian of Norwich’s identification of a “true, joyful and enduring soul-quality” in the human being. I submit that making such judg-ments—in a prayerful and open-minded way—is part of what being a Christian entails. God is the measure and even the “greats” are not all equally in tune with the Divine Will. This book could actually help the careful and watchful reader to divine it. At the very least, it provides a useful insight for the curious into what other Christians think about.

Blood Guilt: Christian Responses to America’s War on Terror

by Philip P. Kapusta

New Covenant Press, 2011, 530 pp.

Reviewed by Pieter Dykhorst

Blood Guilt delivers on its promised Christian responses to America’s War on Terror but in a couple of unexpected ways. The plural promised is seemingly contradicted on the first page of the introduction where the author states that the book is a compilation of his personal essays, which it is; but that would make his own response the sum of the thing, which it isn’t—a few chapters consist almost entirely of others’ words, though mostly included as a setup  of some central belief, idea, or point of either ideology or theology for Kapusta to knock down with his own arguments, always cogently and coherently argued. This results in 37 chapters of polemic aimed primarily at the war in Iraq, less the war in Afghanistan, and at the War on Terror only by application of the conclusions hammered home through-out its 530 pages. However, this stra-tegy exposes the reader broadly to the thinking of many of the most prominent leaders in America’s fundamentalist, Evangelical Christian Right on the subject of war.

Kapusta does his book a needless disservice by declaring early and with-out explanation that the book “uses the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq as the backdrop for his personal essays about Christian separatism”. Notice the lower case “s” in separatism. Christian Separ-atism, on the other hand, is a  nutcase theology akin to those flourishing in the hills of Idaho, where adherents hide with guns pointed in all directions. Kapusta could set readers at ease and pique their interest by explaining that his brand of separatism is something else, more of a worked-out solution to the “in the world but not of the world” struggle of many Christians who seek to keep their loyalties unmixed while still living as responsible citizens who share the burden of community governance. He is clear throughout that he, unlike capital “S” separatists, is not against government or war—that would likely pit him against God—but that he simply does not support them, a compelling idea not fully developed but forcefully argued in the negative by making the hyper-patriotic, Christian nationalism of a significant block of American society so ugly that bagging that path looks like the only sane option. That Kapusta takes his non-violence seriously (again unlike most ideological Separatists) is demonstrated on nearly every page of the book.

Orthodox readers may find his arguments persuasive and thought-provoking, particularly those who, like this reviewer, have come from the uber-right background the author relentlessly exposes or have never really understood that perspective and want to. The reliance on negative persuasion easily crosses theological boundaries—the heretical thinking and stupid arguments in support of the war require little real theological training to knock down—so the lack of an Orthodox theological base should not deter an Orthodox reader.

Additionally, probably unintention-ally, this book may be a real help to those outside the Evangelical Right, not only Orthodox Christians, who want to understand crucial elements of that paradigm, namely the way that church and state can be separate yet conflated, placing America central to God’s plan of salvation for the world even while it holds all government in suspicion. This does help explain, for example, for those who find it nearly inexplicable, how George W. Bush won reelection—with-out this seemingly marginal but actually significant voting block, he would likely have been a one-termer. The shrillest and scariest of all the rhetoric heard from the White House during the war decade was in fact aimed at and an echo of what was weekly proclaimed from thousands of pulpits across America—echoes that resound throughout Blood Guilt.

What might ultimately make the book unsatisfying to the Orthodox reader is the tendency of the author to do what he criticizes others of doing. He relies almost entirely on his own ability to understand the Bible and to build good theological perspectives, and of course it is the failures in that effort of his ideological opponents that he criticizes. Now many Protestants have made an admirable job of such an impossible task, and Kapusta may well be one of them, but without the fullness of the mind of the Church under the leading of the Holy Spirit, the work is not fully compelling. Kapusta does quote from Church Fathers and theologians of various traditions (his own brand is not betrayed anywhere in the book) in numerous places, something better Protestant theologians do, but ultimately it is Kapusta all the way down (his interpretive take on the book of Revelation is interesting). He is not, however, alone out on a limb.

In the end, Blood Guilt is also a history book—using a decade of war as a case study—that chronicles the theo-logy, rhetoric, and spectacle of America’s trudge through the filth of a particularly nasty chapter in its war history and exposes how ready are significant segments of America’s Christian citizenry to blow the bugle. The book is heavily footnoted and gathers in its pages an impressive evidentiary case, taken from multiple sources, against not only the wars but one after another of the leaders of one of the most American of American movements, the Christian Right.

The book presents an occasional but  clear, if not complete, case for the promise of understanding the author’s separatist—small “s”—ideas. It is a niche book, but one well worth reading (one hopes it finds wide audience among conservative Christians in America), if you can bear the exhaustion of the work it takes to get through it and can set aside certain expectations to go after what the book forcefully delivers.

…and Listening

Angelic Light: Music From Eastern Cathedrals

Capella Romana

Reviewd by Kh. Rebecca Alford

The newest offering of the a capella choral group Capella Romana, Angelic Light: Music From Eastern Cathedrals, is a com-pilation of pieces from some of their earlier CDs. Fulfilling one of the group=s stated purposes, much of the music in-cluded on this CD is by 20th and 21st century composers. All the selections are liturgical music written for use in the services of the Orthodox Church.

The famous line from the first Blues Brothers movie: AWe have both kinds of music”—in that case, Country and West-ern—could also apply to Capella Romana. Under the leadership of founder and conductor Alexander Lingas, the singers expertly perform traditional Byzantine chant, skillfully embellishing the sonor-ous timbre of this ancient Eastern music. The example included on this recording is the Kontakion of the Mother of God for a hierarchical service dating around 1450.

Capella Romana is equally well-known for the performance of polyphonic music, which allows the combining and inter-weaving of many different parts to create a full, rich sound. Most of the music on this CD is in this style.

It may be a surprise to some that the question of which is proper for Orthodox worship, monophonic Byzantine chant or many-voiced polyphony and homophony, has been a controversial issue. The chant was the earliest music of the Church and remained the only expression, particularly in the East, for many centuries. When polyphonic settings of the sacred texts appeared at various times, it was usually during periods of greater Western in-fluence or in places where Western and Eastern cultures met. A lovely Paschal hymn by the 16th century Cypriot composer Hieronymos Tragodistes on this recording could easily be mistaken for an Italian Renaissance motet.

The bulk of the recording is made up of music by modern composers of sacred liturgical music who have chosen to follow the example of the creators of icons. When an icon is written, the artist does not attempt to innovate but rather follows the form, patterns, and methods estab–lished in the earliest days of the Church. By doing so, the artist ensures that the subject of the icon is readily apparent to the one venerating it, but his unique abilities and style nevertheless shine through. Most of the music on this CD has as its basis Byzantine chant—but chant which has been adapted, arranged, sometimes simplified, and harmonized by composers who have been educated in Western music composition, and the result is a wonderful cultural expression appropriate for Orthodox worship in the New World.

Six of the sixteen selections on this CD by Greek–American composers Frank Desby, Tikey Zes, and Peter Michaelides are based on the melodies of John Sakellarides (1853-1938), who was one of the most influential Greek composers attempting to move Orthodox liturgical music more in the direction of Western polyphony and away from what was at the time considered ATurkish@ style music. While these new compositions use the musical language of the West, they perfectly express the meeting of heaven and earth which the texts present and which is the purpose of Orthodox worship.

Other composers represented on this CD are Fr. Sergei Glagolev, another leading figure in the effort to create appropriate music for Orthodox America in English; Fr. Ivan Moody, a British-born composer who used polyphony and Byzantine chant alter-nately in his composition included on the CD; and Richard Toensing, whose choral piece in the style of an English carol uses a metrical version of a liturgical text adapted by Fr. Jack Sparks.

Capella Romana does a great service to many. The singers introduce Byzantine chant in its most traditional form to those who have never heard it; they present beautiful polyphonic settings of liturgical texts for those Orthodox worshipers who have never heard this kind of beauty in church; and they provide inspiration for choir singers and choir directors who strive to reach perfection in their more humble circumstances. And for those who merely wish to hear the most angelic sounds that a well–trained choral group can produce, Capella Romana will fit the bill. And they sing both kinds of music!

❖ IN COMMUNION / issue 64 / Spring 2012