9 posts tagged “church”
From Dom Gregory Dix, widely respected Biblical Scholar, in his work The Theology Of Confirmation In Relation To Baptism
We know now, too, that the Apostolic paradosis of practice, like the Apostolic paradosis of doctrine, is something which actually ante-dates the writing of the New Testament documents themselves by some two or three decades. It is presupposed by those documents and referred to more than once as authoritative in them. This paradosis of practice continued to develop in complete freedom from any control by those documents for a century after they were written, before they were collected into a New Testament ‘Canon’ and recognized for the first time as authoritative ‘Scripture’ beside and above the Jewish ‘Scriptures’ of the Old Testament, which alone formed the ‘Bible’ of the Apostolic Church. Now that the history of the Canonization of the New Testament is better understood, we can begin to shake ourselves free from the sixteenth century — or rather the medieval — delusion that primitive Christian Worship and Church Order must have been framed in conscious deference to the precedents of a New Testament which as such did not yet exist. The purely occasional documents now found in it do not contain, and were never intended by their authors to contain, anything like the Old Testament codes of prescriptions for the rites of worship. That was governed by the authoritative ‘Apostolic Tradition’ of practice, to which it is plain that the scattered Gentile Churches adhered pretty rigidly throughout the second century. I am not for a moment seeking to question the authoritative weight of the New Testament Scriptures for us as a written doctrinal standard. I am only trying to point out that there is available another source of information on the original and authentic Apostolic interpretation of Christianity, which the Scriptures presuppose and which must be used in the interpretation of the Scriptures. I do not deny that in time the recognition of this fact will be bound to lead to some considerable readjustment of ideas for more than one set of people. But tonight all I would say is that the liturgical tradition can be shewn to be older in some of its main elements than the New Testament Scriptures, and that down to the end of the second century, at least, it was regarded as having an ‘Apostolic’ authority of its own independently of them. We cannot look, therefore, for any attempt in this period to conform the practice of worship to them artificially. Nevertheless, the two do illustrate one another in a remarkable way.
Some thoughts on this passage:
1. "there is available another source of
information on the original and authentic Apostolic interpretation of
Christianity, which the Scriptures presuppose and which must be used in
the interpretation of the Scriptures"... to discard this other source is to lose the ability to interpret Scripture in a consistent way, hence the extreme splintering amongst post-reform confessions.
2. "The purely occasional documents now found in (the NT) do not contain, and were never intended by their authors to contain, anything like the Old Testament codes of prescriptions for the rites of worship."... hence the wide variety of worship rites practiced amongst the churches spawned from the reformation - a sola scriptura approach leaves one without a coherent instruction in worship
3. "in time the recognition of this fact will be bound to lead to some considerable readjustment of ideas for more than one set of people"... Dix put this out in about 1948. It's not unusual to see a lag on the order of a couple decades between the time scholars begin publishing on a topic and the time the effects are measurable among the general populace. So I think Dix was correct judging from the growing number of converts from protestant circles to Roman Catholic and Orthodox liturgical communions.
Thanks to a guy named Andrew over at Energetic Procession for the Dix quotation.
Psalm 31:8 ...thou hast set my feet in a large room.
Gentle readers, know that this vox blog space has been to us a comfortable little room, cozy, dark, rich hued, safely small, and with comfortable furnishings... yet we share with all humanity a need for wide open spaces, a very large room or the great outdoors, the unknown, unprotected and unpredictable. So we have opened a second blog space, at
Our initial post there is a compilation of the Ostrov post and comment series from here, because I found the responses so insightful. Where else the big-space blog will go, we cannot predict. We may double-post there and here, or we may direct writings to the venue they fit best in.
The banner image over the Wordpress blog comes from the ROCOR Monastery at Jordanville, during a service when the novice Brother Daniel became Fr. Daniel, the monk - thanks to Fr. Daniel for the photograph. Maybe I'll figure out how to get that same banner here, because I like it.
By the way, that same photo and others like it are available here.
One of my favorite passages from The Brother's Karamazov occurs, ironically, during the sad grieving of Alyosha over the death of his beloved master, Elder Zossima. Alyosha is on his knees before the open coffin, while Father Paissy continuously reads the Gospels (usually the psalter is read, but in the case of a very holy man, one reads the Gospels).
As Fr. Paissy reads through the wedding at Cana, Alyosha begins to have a vision, the room widening and the scene from the Gospel playing itself out before him... and guess who's amongst the guests...
"But what's this, what's this? Why is the room growing wider?... Ah,
yes... It's the marriage, the wedding... yes, of course. Here are the
guests, here are the young couple sitting, and the merry crowd and...
Where is the wise governor of the feast? But who is this? Who? Again
the walls are receding.... Who is getting up there from the great
table? What!... He here, too? But he's in the coffin... but he's here,
too. He has stood up, he sees me, he is coming here....
Yes, he came up to him, to him, he, the little, thin old man, with tiny wrinkles on his face, joyful and laughing softly. There was no coffin now, and he was in the same dress as he had worn yesterday sitting with them, when the visitors had gathered about him. His face was uncovered, his eyes were shining. How was this, then? He, too, had been called to the feast. He, too, at the marriage of Cana in Galilee....
"Yes, my dear, I am called, too, called and bidden," he heard a soft voice saying over him. "Why have you hidden yourself here, out of sight? You come and join us too."
It was his voice, the voice of Father Zossima. And it must be he, since he called him!
The elder raised Alyosha by the hand and he rose from his knees.
"We are rejoicing," the little, thin old man went on. "We are drinking the new wine, the wine of new, great gladness; do you see how many guests? Here are the bride and bridegroom, here is the wise governor of the feast, he is tasting the new wine. Why do you wonder at me? I gave an onion to a beggar*, so I, too, am here. And many here have given only an onion each--only one little onion.... What are all our deeds? And you, my gentle one, you, my kind boy, you too have known how to give a famished woman an onion to-day. Begin your work, dear one, begin it, gentle one! Do you see our Sun, do you see Him?"
"I am afraid... I dare not look," whispered Alyosha.
"Do not fear Him. He is terrible in His greatness, awful in His sublimity, but infinitely merciful. He has made Himself like unto us from love and rejoices with us. He is changing the water into wine that the gladness of the guests may not be cut short. He is expecting new guests, He is calling new ones unceasingly for ever and ever...."
Something glowed in Alyosha's heart, something filled it till it ached, tears of rapture rose from his soul.... He stretched out his hands, uttered a cry and waked up."
So, why do I have an emotional reaction to this passage every time I read it?
Notes:
* - gave an onion to a beggar - this refers to another part of the novel, referring to an old Russian proverb wherein the guardian angel of someone in hell searches their life vigorously to find something good that might merit release from hell - and ends up finding no good act except that the person once gave an onion to a beggar... and that was enough to pull the person out (or at least to try). In the vision, the Elder equates his lifetime of holiness to the giving of one onion.
** - the picture is of Elder Ambrose, not the fictional Elder Zossima... though most believe that Dostoevsky patterned Zossima after an elder he'd befriended at the Optina monastery.
If you have not seen this movie yet, YOU MAY NOT WANT TO READ FURTHER, as I want to explore some particulars that you may prefer to draw your own conclusions about without predisposition.
If we believe comments on IMDB, the main character, Father Anatoly, is "played by unique and genius Russian actor/musician/now-hermit- Petr Mamonov. The movie actually reflects the real current life and spirituality of the actor."
As I prepared to return to work tomorrow, I was tempted to see that action as my version of hauling coal, the constant
Stretching things a bit more, it occurs to me that the Nazi's at the beginning of the film, by ridiculing and debasing the young Anatoly, represent satan in the way he works constantly not just to prevent salvation, but to destroy human dignity. The captain, once his hiding place is betrayed, displays dignity in the face of imminent death (unlike Anatoly). I'm not sure what to make yet of his fate, though it's interesting to contrast how his life turns out with that of Fr. Anatoly. The captain develops into one who has all the trappings of success, yet there are hints of fear in his life, having to carefully guard what he says amongst party operatives.
Getting back to Fr. Anatoly and the meaning of the coal and shipwreck... I'm a little confused, having read that one should not dwell on past sins, lest he be pulled back into them (maybe it was St. John of San Francisco?). If my take on the coal is right, then I'll have to figure out how one should balance a remembrance of past shortcomings for purposes of repentance with St. Paul's exhortation to forget what is behind and press on... But I've seen in the Lives of the Saints some hints of doing exactly what Fr. Anatoly is doing in the movie. It just seems significant to me that Fr. Anatoly lives in constant proximity to the shipwreck, and goes back to it everyday, and by the end of his life (while lamenting that his sins still weigh him down), has still not finished removing that pile of coal.
A final coal comment - I noticed that the abbot, Fr. Filaret, attempts to take on the same obedience for a while, but finds himself unable to do it. The film seems to highlight that Fr. Anatoly has to relieve Fr. Filaret of the wheelbarrow load. On the surface it seems that Fr. Anatoly is simply more fit for the work and used to it, but I think they're telling us that each one has to offer up his own failures in constant repentance. I can't do it like another, in part because my sin is unique and, from a centric perspective, greater than that of anyone else (as Fr. Hopko says, we are each the greatest of sinners, because we don't compare ourselves to each other - we just know).
I think the whole movie is full of these symbols, so I may need to watch it again before we start loaning it to friends.
By the way, I don't know how much of the movie is based on real people or real events, but I'm tempted to see Fr. Anatoly as a composite of two characters in Dostoevsky's Brothers Karamazov. He seems part (like one third) Elder Zosima, and part the "deranged" monk Fr. Ferapont who people are afraid of at the monastery. I might be totally off on this, but Fr. Anatoly was criticized for similar things that Elder Zosima was, and exhibited clairvoyance in very similar ways (the woman whose dead husband turned out to really be alive was similar to one who Elder Zosima counseled), and the "demons everywhere in the room" scene is similar to Fr. Ferapont's ravings in Karamazov. I hadn't respected the monk Ferepont, but will have to go back sometime after seeing Ostrov to see if he was in the part of a Holy Fool.
More later, God willing.
Having consumed a number of classics by Dostoevsky, Gogol, Turgenev, and Pushkin over the past year, I should have turned out a lot smarter and insightful by now than I actually did. But maybe I picked up on a thing or two.
Amongst the things these writers have in common seems to be this - they are most aghast at the travesty of a life lived and completed with no impact whatsoever on anything - a creature having existed then perished without anyone having taken notice.
The writers' descriptions of such people usually focus on their mundane existence, their clockwork striving for the next scrap of food or clothing. I think some of the novelists writings are meant to redeem the existence of these poor souls, to give some meaning to their life if only by proxy through fictional archetypes.
It seems to me that the poor and unnoticed characters sometimes represent the lost'ness of the well-to-do as well, sort of a mirror showing the reverse image of the same thing. Those who are endlessly attending balls or counting their rubles may end up with just as meaningless an existence as their unbathed counterpart.
And all of this serves as a mirror for ourselves. Those in the novels whose life is actually rich, worthwhile, and with lasting effect are the ones who live the Gospel - sometimes represented in Dostoevsky for example as the naive one, the one who suffers the scorn of others simply because they care deeply (Alyosha, the idiot, etc.). And so we ask, how does one become like that, assuming they are prepared for ridicule?
I like the Church Father's discussions about developing a "habit of virtue", and St. Seraphim of Sarov's instructions to do all in order to attain the Holy Spirit. Those two together, the practice of virtue and the reason for doing so, seem key to becoming one who's existence is not wasted. Their memory becomes eternal, as they take on the attributes of God Himself. Like this - "eternal life to those who by patient continuance in doing good seek for glory, honor, and immortality" (Romans 2:7). Here's a synopsis of the practice as derived from St. Maximus the Confessor by Dr. Farrell, one in a series of explorations by my dear wife.
While in Salt Lake City last week (for the second time recently), as I walked down a street with my boss and a couplecoworkers, my boss remarked about a Catholic friend who was frustrated after moving to SLC by the lack of a Catholic church there. As we happened to be walking near Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Church at the time, I told him that I had attended a vespers service there during my previous visit, and made a comment that it's not all Mormons in SLC, there is a strong Greek Orthodox presence.
He then mentioned another acquaintance who does financial seminars for churches, and how this person is now doing seminars on how to get men to come to church (like holding automotive repair classes), as most churches have a real problem attracting men.
At this point, we were interrupted by other business, and I didn't get to respond. If I'd been able (and maybe I'll still get the chance) I wanted to mention that attendance at the services is worthwhile and efficacious because of the sacraments, it's not just about the songs and sermons he once was used to.
But any such explanation from me would have fallen woefully short of the way I read about it today, from St. Maximus the Confessor*. He says we should always be in the services...
"...because of the holy angels who remain there, and who take note each time people enter and present themselves to God, and they make supplications for them; likewise because of the Grace of the Holy Spirit which is always invisibly present, but in a special way at the time of the holy synaxis. This Grace transforms and changes each person who is found there, and in fact remolds him in proportion to what is more divine in him and leads him to what is revealed through the mysteries that are celebrated, even if he does not himself feel this because he is still among those who are children in Christ, unable to see either into the depths of the reality or the Grace operating in it, which is revealed through each of the divine symbols of salvation being accomplished..."
*Maximus Confessor, Selected Writings - as quoted in The Orthodox Liturgy, Wybrew
I loved "The Matrix". When I first saw it, I thought the way it dealt with the un-realness of our visible world was insightful, especially since at that time I was becoming familiar with Kabbalah and its' possible connections to early Christian mysticism. Sparks of life from the One, shattered and now trapped in earthen material as the One "contracted" Himself to make such a thing as space, where such a thing as matter could exist where previously only He existed.
I thought the Matrix was a fun way of playing with the idea of a reality different than what we see (particularly since one could be so much more capable in this pseudo world if he understood). Looking past the ugliness of the "real" world in Matrix, the movie could be used to illustrate to me my understanding of the distinct world of matter vs. the distinct world of spirit. Partly because of Jewish mystical thought (or so I thought), I began to view the idea of these two worlds as a false dichotomy, and to see a continuum of real and hyper-real, that I now recognize as a Platonic Idealism.
Today, though I feel more acutely my naivety than I used to, I've come to believe that all we see is is real (not well understood, but real), and all we don't see is real (and even less understood). That neither is "more" real than the other. That if there is a continuum, the gradations are only layers of clothing, as it were, concealing the Uncreated Light of the Divine Energies, the manifestations of God*.
The best illustrations are the Light of Tabor seen by the apostles during the "Transfiguration", and the fire of the burning bush that Moses saw. St. Maximus the Confessor sees in Moses' life the model for us all. Having turned his back on satan, having killed off all ties to his previous lifestyle, he went further - living an ascetic life in the desert, and figuratively shepherding every passion until all were directed toward God, to the point that finally he saw the fire within the bush. Not that it was an unreal or even unnatural phenomenon, but that he actually beheld the Energies of God as uncreated light, as the fire inherent within the bush - which after all is an extension of God. How in fact can there be a material world distinct from the One Who fills the universe, "Who are everywhere and fillest all things" as we say.
Just a thought.
If we are to say we're not gnostic, that God is the creator of matter as well as spirit and therefore the body is good as the spirit is good, then why did so many of the Orthodox Saints mortify their bodies and work so hard to deny physical needs?
I found enlightenment at Dr. David Bradshaw's emerging web site: http://www.uky.edu/~dbradsh/
In a talk Dr. Bradshaw presented at Asbury College, he said,
"I am sure you are all aware of the commandment of St. Paul to "make not provision for the flesh, to fulfill the lusts thereof". You are probably also aware that the flesh is not the body... Perhaps the simplest way to understand flesh is that it is self-love. It is our innate tendency to seek our own comfort and security rather than acting, feeling, and thinking in a way that is permeated with the love of God. It manifests itself through the whole range of sins and passions: hatred, anger, gluttony, lust, sloth, and all the others.
Now the Fathers were well aware that the flesh is not the body. However, they thought that the surest way to conquer the flesh is, in fact, by disciplining the body. The reason is that the flesh manifests itself at the most elemental level as love for one's own body. To meet it on it's own turf, so to speak, one must confront the body and it's power of domination. This does not mean neglecting the body. lt means habitually denying one's bodily urges and replacing them with urges of the spirit.
The desire for food must be met by fasting.
The desire to let the mind coast... must be met by prayer and study of Scripture.
The desire for sleep must be met by vigils.
The desire for physical security must be met by almsgiving.
The desire for distraction and idle chatter must be met by silence and solitude.
And all of this must be done regularly enough that you actually WANT to pray more than you want to plop down in front of the TV.
This is very difficult. It is especially difficult to be done alone. That is why practices such as communal prayer and regular periods of fasting were so important in the early Church. Difficult though it may be, ascetic struggle is necessary if ones most basic habits and inclinations are to be reoriented away from love of self and toward love of God."
This makes sense to me. May God grant me the fortitude to follow in the example of the saints, who mortified the flesh and gained Christ.
From the blog Notes from a Commonplace Book
"Franz Rosenzweig, that most Jewish connoisseur of Christianity, believed that the Church of Peter (Rome) and the Church of Paul (Protestantism) would yield place to the Church of John (Orthodoxy) - that the churches of works and faith would be transcended by the church of love."
I find this observation to be very insightful, even though it's wrong in the following ways:
1. Church of Peter (Rome) - I don't think a correct understanding of Peter leads to "the Church of Rome" as we know it today. Still, it makes sense that a modern commentator would make the connection, since Peter did become Bishop of Rome and the Latin Church claims such strong ties to him.
2. Church of Paul (Protestantism) - I don't think a correct understanding of Paul leads to "Protestantism". Still, it makes sense that a modern commentator would make the connection, since most of Protestantism emphasizes teachings that trace to Paul.
3. Church of John (Orthodoxy) - I don't think one can make this limitation, since Orthodoxy is also the Church of James, of Matthew, of Mark, of Peter, of Paul, of all the Church Fathers and Doctors, because it's the Church of Jesus Christ. Still, it makes sense that a modern commentator would make the connection, since they see in St. John the beauty of mystery and the disciple "Jesus loved".
4. Rome, Protestantism... would yield place to... would be transcended by... - I don't think the term "would", in the sense of a future event, is correct. It already happened. It only remains for people to make that discovery and begin the process of deep purging, cleansing, healing and theosis made possible by Christ's Incarnation and so expertly handed to us through the Apostolic doctrine.
