Some terrific points are made in this article, making it very worth your time! Enjoy!

Textual Criticism is a discipline that has gained much popularity over the last one hundred years or so, especially as related to the so-called “Bible” of the Christian faith.

While this discipline has arguably been around since at least the late middle ages, there has seemingly been a distinct emphasis (among particular scholars, notably “liberal” Protestants) placed upon the Christian scriptures in recent decades.

I believe this concern and their approach is motivated by a number of factors — none of which are compatible with nor do they find their home within traditional, orthodox and catholic Christianity.

It has been said that

“the business of textual criticism is to produce a text as close as possible to the original.”

Given this raw and simplistic definition, we can make a few observations regarding this discipline within the context of the holy scriptures. And, as a point of emphasis, the existence and usage of the Septuagint (LXX hereafter) by Christ and the apostles (and the Orthodox, catholic Church) sheds both important and transformative light on this entire enterprise. Of the latter, I will make a few brief remarks and notes as well.

With that in mind, I firmly believe that textual criticism assumes and is dependent upon a few key, overarching concepts.

1. The humanist principle of ad fontes. Ad fontes was a philosophical tenet of Renaissance humanism that literally translates from the Latin as “to the fountains,” meaning “to the sources” (or more pointedly, “to the original source”). Inspired by the rediscovery of ancient, classical Greek works of philosophy and literature (due to the emigration of Greeks from the east after the fall of Constantinople to the Muslims in AD 1453), this principle dictated within the context of the Latin (“Western”) Church that Christians should return to their “original source” in order to purify and reform the Church from perceived corruptions over the centuries. In the reformation-era context (thanks to the likes of the rebellious Latin monk, Dr. Martin Luther), this meant holding “the Bible” or the holy scriptures to be the “source” of the Church, rather than the actual and true reality in which the Church arranged and put together the scriptures as part of Her sacred tradition. It was an erroneous move, based on profound ignorance, and one that has cost the West dearly over the last 500 years (and schism upon schism). Going one step further, this principle also inspired the idea among Luther and his followers that the original text of the scriptures are only pure in their original manuscripts. For the old testament, this meant adhering to the Hebrew text. Unfortunately for Luther, this required using a medieval text (the Masoretic) that was over a thousand years more recent than the Greek translation (the LXX) or even the Latin (originally based on the LXX), which were already in use by the Church. Not only was Luther incorrect in assuming that the Bible was the source of the Church, but also in that the Hebrew text available to him was more accurate or “closer to the source” than the Greek or Latin (for the old testament, specifically)
2. A theology or scholarly viewpoint that discounts and places no faith in the Church or Tradition. While catholic and orthodox Christians are faithful to confess weekly “I believe in one holy, catholic and apostolic Church,” such faith is absent among textual critics. This is required, in fact, due to the utter disregard for the preservation of the scriptures within the Church (for example, within liturgical texts and the writings of the Church fathers). While Orthodox Christians, for example, believe that the Church is guided and preserved by the Holy Spirit and the very presence of Christ in the apostles and their successors (Who promised He would never leave us, and that the Gates of Hades would never prevail against said Church), adherents of textual criticism cannot, by principle, believe in such a thing. The essential dogma of textual criticism is that the text has been corrupted (i.e. mistakes have crept in through copying errors or intentional alterations by monks, scribes, etc.). This is the party line that Bart Ehrman and others espouse, but such a viewpoint (criticism) only holds water within a Protestant context.
3. Closely related to the last point, a belief that the Bible is the “Christian Koran.” Again, the “corruption of scripture” dogma of Ehrman and other liberal Protestant scholars only makes sense within a Protestant context, and through having a Protestant understanding of “the Bible.” According to Protestants (mostly regardless of which sect or stripe), the Bible is the only true/special revelation of God to humanity. As such, they are a “people of the book,” just as in Islam. However, orthodox and catholic Christians are not bound by such constraints and therefore many of the “concerns” of textual criticism are irrelevant to us. For example, we do not of necessity claim that the scriptures are “inerrant” — that is, without mistakes or errors of some kind (this is distinct from “infallibility,” by the way, which we hold to). Given that concession, the fact that a monk or copyist might have replaced the pronoun “they” with the more descriptive “the Gentiles” (in order to make the chanted word more clear in the liturgical setting it was always found) does not reveal a “corruption” of the text or some conspiracy regarding the “original autographs,” but rather the Spirit-guided common sense of a monk. Variant readings do not de-rail the faith of the Church, as might be cautiously hinted at within conservative, fundamentalist Protestant circles, nor do mistakes with regards to dates, names, places or other such things, to be perfectly honest. The scriptures are a great source of revelation, but they are not the only source of revelation (nor are they the “Word of God,” as such).
4. And this leads to the final concept, and that is the fact that textual criticism relies upon a Nestorian Christology (and by deduction, Iconoclasm). Textual criticism precludes the possibility of accurate and/or faithful translation of a text, due to the fact that it is believed this “corrupts” and “changes” the text in an irreversible and irreparable manner. Because of this (and related to the “inerrancy” remarks above), conservative Protestants will only claim that the “original autographs” in their “original languages” are truly “inspired” by God. This means that the English version of the Bible that everyone in their groups carry around are not actually the inspired “Word of God” (as they would put it), but rather a “best effort” translation of the actual Word of God. Word studies (in the “original” languages) become imminently important for Protestants, as a result, since a translation couldn’t hope to give us the same, exact meaning (or at least, an “inspired” meaning) of the text. While there’s certainly nothing wrong with learning and studying the original languages of these ancient texts, it is not absolutely required in order to read and understand the text of scripture, as inspired by God. Rather, the interpretation of the Church is what’s missing. That said, this is Nestorian in the sense that it divides the translated words from their original, Divine source (rather than seeing the translation as Iconic or symbolic — in the classical, Greek sense — of the original words). To preclude the authenticity of translation is to preclude the authenticity of the Incarnation (and in fact, many Protestants will claim that Christ took on a human nature that was slightly different than ours, which is through-and-through Nestorian). Just as Icons are true symbols of the Saints they represent (and truly connect us with these Saints in eternity), words and translations are true symbols of the original words, ideas and people found in the ancient text. The scriptures are not the ”Word of God,” but rather an Icon of the Logos of God — Jesus Christ.

And so, building upon that last point, we can consider briefly the LXX — the Greek translation of the old testament scriptures done between the third and first centuries BC in Egypt.

The Orthodox Church considers the LXX to be the inspired scriptures of the Old Testament, even in light of the fact that they are translations. This is, no doubt, primarily due to their authority and usage among Second Temple Jews, Jesus Christ (during his Advent ministry, as recorded in the Gospels), the original apostles and their immediate successors (the “early” Church fathers). When the new testament scriptures are considered, for example, there are 320 direct quotations from the Old Testament within the new. Of these, only five verses appear to be sourced from a text that is at odds with or different from the LXX (in those verses). At the very least, we could say the NT writers showed a strong preference for the LXX translation of the OT; that only seems fair. Beyond this point, however, there is much debate.

While there is little fanfare over the reality of the NT writers’ usage (and preference of) the LXX, they also many times show a “looseness” with the text of the OT that would make most present day Protestant exegetes cringe. There are many times where verses are quoted in part, “out of context,” dissected and combined with other verses (in different texts altogether) as well as paraphrased.

There are instances where the NT writer was using a version of the OT that closely resembles the medieval Masoretic Text (perhaps four such instances, exclusively speaking, in the entire NT), but this almost seems random and isolated. In those instances, it seems the MT was chosen in order to best make (or support) the point at hand. What we don’t find, however, is a definitive belief in a single, original, authentic text. The behavior of the apostles — and the NT writers specifically — shows a more “fluid” approach to both the idea of “canon” and “original text.”

When the Dead Sea Scrolls (the manuscripts found near Qumran in the 1940?s and beyond, hereafter DSS) are considered alongside the LXX, things become even more interesting (and problematic for proponents of textual criticism). There are numerous instances, for example, where the LXX and DSS align exactly in reading (throughout the OT scriptures), while also disagreeing with the medieval MT. For example, Genesis 1.9 reads

“And the water which was under the heaven was collected into its gatherings, and the dry land appeared”

in both the DSS (4QGenk) and LXX, but this passage is entirely missing from the MT. On the other hand, there are many verses or readings that make the DSS and MT to be in total agreement, while showing the LXX reading to be at odds with both (often with minor results, such as a change in exact grammar or phrasing, but not “meaning”).

So what does this mean? What this means is that there was not a single, authoritative, “original” text of the old testament scriptures, even in the first century AD (and perhaps even in the late centuries BC, when the LXX was translated and compiled). As such, the “ad fontes” and reductionistic approach of textual criticism is found entirely wanting and useless in light of such realities. The LXX does not show us that the Greek translation was based upon the only version of the Hebrew scriptures, but that it was based upon a very popular one. Furthermore, it shows that it is not necessary for the preservation, existence or propagation of the Faith to have a single, authoritative text of the scriptures.

Finally, there is somewhat of an unspoken belief among Protestant scholars that “Hebrew” was a “sacred language” to the Judeans during the time of Christ and before. In other words, the scriptures (especially the “original autographs”) would have only been written in the Hebrew language, due to its so-to-speak “Divine” quality. What we find with the DSS, however, is that even the most strict and “hardcore” of Jewish sects (the Essenes, presumably) was perfectly content with recording and transmitting sacred texts (including the scriptures) in multiple language, as the DSS were found in Greek, Aramaic and “modern” (for their time) Hebrew renditions.

At the end of the day, textual criticism is an enterprise devoid of the Holy Spirit. The one holy, catholic and apostolic Church — and the sacred tradition of the Church — are both guided and preserved by “the Helper” and “Spirit of Truth.” We are not bound and required to have a single, authentic, original manuscript of the scriptures in order to constitute and make sense of our Faith, for our Faith is Personal and our Truth is found in Christ Himself, Who is Truth.

The irony of all of this is that neither Protestants nor textual critics have been able to produce or demonstrate a single example of this all-important “original autograph” of “the Bible” at any point in the history of either textual criticism or Protestantism (and no, “Q” doesn’t count). For one’s entire Faith to hinge upon something that is — at this point in time, a myth — seems a bit much for me. I will rather seek to hold fast to the traditions that have been delivered to us once for all in the apostolic Church that Christ established nearly 2,000 years ago.

© 2012, Fr. John A. Peck. All rights reserved.

Though the Orthodox Church does not follow the teachings of the Protestant Reformers, their views regarding the Theotokos’s ever-virginity are a point of commonality with Orthodoxy. Many of the major figures amongst the Protestant fathers in the faith believed in the Theotokos’s ever-virginity.

John Calvin:

He says that she [Mary of Cleophas] was the sister of the mother of Jesus, and, in saying so, he adopts the phraseology of the Hebrew language, which includes cousins, and other relatives, under the term ‘brothers.’ – John Calvin, Commentary of the Gospel According to John, on John 19:25

The word ‘brothers’, we have formerly mentioned, is employed, agreeably to the Hebrew idiom, to denote any relative whatever; and, accordingly, Helvidius displayed excessive ignorance in concluding that Mary must have had many sons because Christ’s ‘brother’ are sometimes mentioned. – John Calvin, Commentary on a Harmony of the Evangelists, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, vol. II, p. 215 (on Matthew 13:55)

[Note: Helvidius was a 5th-century Christian who denied the perpetual virginity of Mary and was rebuked and refuted by Jerome in his treatise, "On the Perpetual Virginity of Blessed Mary Against Helvidius"]

Huldrych Zwingli:

I give an example: taught by the light of faith the Christ was born of a virgin, we know that it is so, that we have no doubt that those who have been unambiguously in error have tried to make a figure of speech of a real virgin, and we pronounce absurd the things that Helvidius and others have invented about perpetual virginity. – Huldrych Zwingli. “Friendly Exegesis, that is, Exposition of the Matter of the Eucharist to Martin Luther, February 1527,” in Selected Writings of Huldrych Zwingli, Volume Two, trans. and ed. by H. Wayne Pipkin, Pickwick Publications, 1984 p.275.

Then the pious mind finds wonderful delights in searching for the reasons why the lamb chose to be born of a perpetual virgin, but in this other case it finds nothing but a hopeless horror. [The other case that Zwingli here refers to is the Real Presence] – Huldrych Zwingli. “Subsidiary Essay on the Eucharist, August 1525,” in Selected Writings of Huldrych Zwingli, Volume Two, trans. and ed. by H. Wayne Pipkin, Pickwick Publications, 1984 p.217.

Martin Luther:

A new lie about me is being circulated. I am supposed to have preached and written that Mary, the mother of God, was not a virgin either before or after the birth of Christ, but that she conceived Christ through Joseph and had more children after that. – Martin Luther, “That Jesus Christ Was Born a Jew,” in Luther’s Works, vol. 45, ed. Walther I. Brand, 1962, Muhlenberg Press, p. 199.

The form of expression used by Matthew is the common idiom, as if I were to say, ‘Pharaoh believed not Moses, until he was drowned in the Red Sea.’ Here it does not follow that Pharaoh believed later, after he had drowned; on the contrary, it means that he never did believe. Similarly when Matthew says that Joseph did not know Mary carnally until she had brought forth her son, it does not follow that he knew her subsequently; on the contrary, it means that he never did know her. Again, the Red Sea overwhelmed Pharaoh before he got across. Here too, it does not follow that Pharaoh got across later, after the Red Sea had overwhelmed him, but rather that he did not get across at all. In like manner, when Matthew says, ‘She was found to be with child before they came together,’ it does not follow that Mary subsequently lay with Joseph, but rather that she did not lie with him. – Martin Luther, “That Jesus Christ Was Born a Jew,” in Luther’s Works, vol. 45, ed. Walther I. Brand, 1962, Muhlenberg Press, p. 212.

John Wesley:

I believe that he was made man, joining the human nature with the divine in one person; being conceived by the singular operation of the Holy Ghost, and born of the blessed Virgin Mary, who, as well after as before she brought him forth, continued a pure and unspotted virgin. – John Wesley “Letter to a Roman Catholic”

Protestants who deny the ever-virginity of the Theotokos are breaking even with their own fathers in faith.

© 2012, Fr. John A. Peck. All rights reserved.

Among the imperatives of the Christian moral life, I wonder if any is the occasion of more bewilderment than the call to be humble. This impression arises not only from my own experience of the problem but also from the many times other Christians have asked me,

“How can I learn humility?”

If humility were simply one of the moral virtues—as it is often treated—its acquisition would be rather simple, I think.  A person would first define humility, as an ideal, and then bring his conduct, as far as possible, into conformity with that ideal. This is, after all, the way someone attains other moral virtues, such as justice and prudence. We have always known, from the time of Aristotle, that a person attains justice and prudence by acting justly and prudently.

Little reflection is needed, I think, to detect a problem in this approach. That is: Although the person who acts justly and prudently will likely become just and prudent, it is not so obvious that the one who acts humbly will become humble. Humility is more subtle; indeed, the acquisition of humility can easily become the occasion of a special sort of pride.

The Christian ascetical tradition, in which the acquisition of humility is a matter of serious concern, has always recognized the problem. According to this tradition, Christian humility sits atop an ascending ladder, marked with certain discernable steps, some of which may not appear-to the uninformed observer-to be directly concerned with humility. 

Let us consider the first step, which involves the sustained and conscious effort to cultivate a sense of God’s presence to the conscience. According to St. Benedict,

“The first degree of humility _is that a person keep the fear of God before his eyes_ and beware of ever forgetting it.” Just as “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Psalms 11:19; Job 28:28; Proverbs 1:7; 9:10; Sirach 1:16),

so it is, also, the beginning of humility.

In other words, the man who seeks humility must start on the ladder’s first rung, which is a great moral effort, explicitly set under the divine gaze. St. Gregory the Dialoguist, in his account of St. Benedict, wrote of this experience. Benedict, he said,

“dwelt alone with himself, in the sight of his Creator, who beholds the hearts of all men” (Dialogues 2.3).

Centuries later, Richard of St. Victor summarized this fear of God:

“to know God and be known by God; to see God through the intuition of fear; to be seen by God through the regard of kindness” (Benjamin Minor 8).

Benedict himself describes this effort:

“Let [the monk] be ever mindful of all that God has commanded; let his thoughts constantly recur to the hell-fire which will burn for their sins those who despise God, and to the life everlasting which is prepared for those who fear Him.”

We observe that the climber, on this first step, is not thinking about humility. He is taken up, rather, with the presence of God, who searches the human heart:

“Let a man consider that God is always looking at him from heaven, that his actions are everywhere visible to the divine eyes and are constantly being reported to God by the Angels” (The Holy Rule 7).

As ladders are sometimes broader at the bottom, so in his treatment of humility, St. Benedict dedicates the greater space to that first step. The following steps are all arranged on the basis of it: abnegation of will, obedience, the cultivation of patience in trials, submission to spiritual direction, and contentment with one’s resources and opportunities.

Only at the seventh step does Benedict mention the actual struggle to act humbly; by this time, the essential foundation for acting humbly has been constructed. Still, the eighth step warns against assuming ascetical efforts outside the common monastic rule. Step nine exhorts the climber to greater silence, and the next two steps caution him against frivolity.

As for step twelve, it places the climber once again under the gaze of God, where

“he should consider himself already present at the dread Judgment.”

Most striking, I think, in St. Benedict’s description of the final step is that the climber does not seem to think of himself as humble. Indeed, he does not think of himself at all. He is taken up, rather, with the love of Christ,

“as though naturally and by habit.”

© 2012, Fr. John A. Peck. All rights reserved.

Ever since opening the first volume of Tanquerey’s Dogmatics more than a half-century ago, I have sensed an ironic problem in the apologetics of modern Christians: An uncertainty about the meaning of certainty.

The root of the problem, I believe, is modern philosophy’s implicit acceptance of rigid scientific and mathematical standards in the pursuit of truth. Because of the close historical connection between philosophy and apologetics, it is hardly surprising that a development in the one would find a parallel expression in the other.

With respect to modern philosophy, it is not clear (to me, at least) when it first adopted scientific and mathematical standards of certainty, but this development started even before the invention of differential and integral calculus.

Already Descartes, a figure earlier than Newton and Leibniz, coveted for philosophy a kind of certainty comparable to that afforded by mathematics. When he looked at the history of philosophy, everything was in an ongoing state of confusion; the most significant and astute philosophers seemed unable to agree among themselves on even the most basic questions. When Descartes turned to the history of mathematics, however, there were no disagreements at all. No mathematician ever contradicted another mathematician. Philosophy was in confusion, whereas clarity reigned in mathematics. Descartes asked himself,

“Why can’t philosophy be more like mathematics?”

This was not a speculative question; Descartes systematically endeavored to shift philosophy in a direction that mimicked mathematical processes. In order to maintain scientific certainty throughout the philosophical quest, he began with what he considered a self-evident principle (Cogito,ergo sum—“I think; therefore, I am”) and then, step by step, “proved” derivative inferences—such as the existence of God—as though he were demonstrating geometric theorems.

Now, leaving aside the particular criticisms to which this philosophical approach is open—and which, in fact, it received almost at once—I propose here simply to comment that Descartes’ effort rested on an unwarranted assumption: a bias favoring logical precision as the correct path in the pursuit of truth.

I call this a bias, because it appears to me that the processes establishing precision should be ranked among the lower ventures of human reason. Let me state my suppositions on this point:

First, an ennobling feature of the human intellect is its close relationship to the freedom of the human will. The highest truths are known because they are chosen in the freedom of love. According to Gregory the Dialoguist, veritas non cognoscitur nisi amatur—

“the truth is not known unless it is loved.”

Mathematical understanding, on the other hand, allows no room for freedom. Mathematics is distinctively coercive, in the sense that its assertions always bear an imperative quality. Two and two are invariably four because two and two have nothing to say about it. No triangle is consulted about the sum total of its angles; it will have exactly half the degrees of a quadrangle, no discussion. Understanding these things, likewise, lies outside any experience of freedom.

Second, to the extent that rationality adopts a mathematical format as its standard, there is a distinct peril that human reason may simply grind to a halt. I can testify to this: When I taught symbolic logic to college students some years ago, I observed that many of them soon became adept in the process, moving symbols around according to all the established rules. They could do it unerringly. They could not, however, actually think.

Give them a hypothetical proposition, for instance—an English sentence written in real words—and many of them had trouble identifying which component of the proposition was the premise and which the inference. Give them an entire paragraph, in which the logical connection of the sentences could be discerned only through the laws of grammar, and they were quickly lost at sea. Even at the time, I wondered whether I was doing those students any real service. Mastering the (alleged) skills of symbolic logic, some of them simply forgot how to think as human beings. Indeed, symbolic logic, based on mathematical processes, is almost not human at all; a computer can do it just as well.

Third, mathematical thought has a reflexive, quasi-instinctual, quality. By reason of its consistency, precision, and predictability, mathematics serves human beings in a fashion analogous to the function of pure instinct in non-rational creatures. Indeed, Kant’s contemporary, Johann Georg Hamann, made this very point to the author of the Critique of Pure Reason. Hamann wrote,

“if mathematics is able to claim the privilege of nobility because of its universal and necessary reliability, then even human reason itself would not be the match for the infallible and unerring instincts of insects” (Metacritique on the Purism of Reason).

However, my real concern here is not for modern philosophers but for those modern Christian apologists who set a premium on scientific certainty and endeavor to establish the credibility of the Gospel by making the Gospel claims as scientific as possible, with the intent of attaining a culminating state of certainty.

The certainty they seek, however, has a compulsive quality. It is presented to the mind as an imperative—Tanquerey’s credendum est. That is to say, the implicit model in this kind of apologetics is mathematical; it works through a progression of demonstrated theorems, in which inferences are recognized as true, because they must be inferred.

The knowledge of God in Christ, however, to which we hope to bring the unbeliever, has nothing to do with this type of certainty. Christ our Lord spoke of certainty as a liberating knowledge:

“You will know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32).

The knowledge of God in Christ is personal knowledge, freely given and freely received. Still, to embrace it is to attain what the Apostle Paul calls plerophoria polle,

“complete certainty” (1 Thessalonians 1:5).  

If this is the case, let me suggest that a proper apologetic procedure for Christians—in the hope of arriving at the truth in Christ—will endeavor, as far as possible, to beckon the mind, to lure the heart, by the sustained presentation of a vision, a vision of goodness and glory.

Since Holy Scripture describes the knowledge of God in Christ as an experience of liberty and a beholding of glory, we should suppose that the path to it will also involve both freedom and the perception of beauty.

© 2012, Fr. John A. Peck. All rights reserved.

Pleasure and Pain According to St. Maximus the Confessor

In his Centuries on Theology St. Maximus the Confessor refers to the nexus of the dualism of pleasure and pain, which, by any standard, is an important subject. This means that we cannot discuss Orthodox Theology if we fail to face this crucial point, because the transcendence of pleasure and pain is, precisely, a prerequisite for correct Orthodox Theology. As St. Maximus the Confessor says, the transcendence of pleasure and pain proves that man has cleansed his heart from the passions.

As we pointed out above, the whole of modern life is governed by pleasure and pain, since, in our age, enjoyment and the gratification of the senses dominate, while at the same time deep grief, an inner pain, prevails. In reality, modern man tries to escape pain through the satisfaction of sensual pleasure. All contemporary problems, such as AIDS and drugs, are to be found in this connection. This is why I believe it is extremely important to see this link between pleasure and pain, as elaborated by St. Maximus the Confessor.

a) The origin of pleasure and pain

The world was created by God in Trinity. The most perfect creature is man, for he is the apex of creation, the microcosm in the macrocosm. Analyzing the issue of the creation of man and its relation to the birth and the origin of pleasure and pain, St. Maximus says that God the Word who created man’s nature, made it without pleasure and pain.

“He did not make the senses susceptible to either pleasure or pain.”

He insists on this point by saying:

“Pleasure and pain were not created simultaneously with the flesh.”

While there was no pleasure and pain in man before the fall, there was a noetic faculty towards pleasure, through which man could enjoy God ineffably. But he misused this natural faculty. Man oriented the

“the natural longing of the nous for God”

to sensible things and thus “by the initial movement towards sensible things, the first man transferred this longing to his senses, and through them began to experience this pleasure in a way contrary to nature”. The words “according to nature” and “contrary to nature” show the complete ontological change that took place in man and depict his fallen state clearly.

Of course, man did not invent this mode of operation of the faculties of the soul on his own, but with the advice of the devil. The devil was motivated by jealously against man, for whom God had shown special care and attention. It is interesting that the devil envied not only man but God Himself:

“Since the devil is jealous of both us and god, he persuaded man by guile that God was jealous of him, and so made him break the commandment”.

After the unnatural movement of the noetic capacity of the soul to sensible things and the birth of pleasure, God, being interested in man’s salvation

“implanted pain, as a kind of chastising force”.

Pain, which God, in His love for man, tied to sensual pleasure, is the whole complex of the mortal and passible body, that is the law of death, which has, ever since then, been very closely connected to human nature. In this way, the “manic longing of the nous” which incites the unnatural inclination of the soul to sensible things, is restrained.

This whole analysis by St. Maximus the Confessor in no way reminds us of Platonic teaching about the movement of the immortal soul from the unborn realm of the ideas, and its confinement to a mortal body which is the prison of the soul.

This is simply because St. Maximus the Confessor, being an integral member of the entire Orthodox tradition, makes no distinction between a naturally immortal soul and a naturally mortal body, he does not believe in an immortal and unborn realm of ideas, and, obviously, does not adopt a dualistic view of man, according to which salvation consists in his liberation from the prison of the soul, which is the body. In St. Maximus’ teaching there is a clear reference to the unnatural movement of the faculties of the soul and to the

“manic longing of the nous”,

which draws the body into situations and acts which are against nature.

It is clear, then, that ancestral sin consists of the

“initial movement of the soul”

toward sensible things and in the “law of death” granted by God’s love for man. Therefore, pleasure and pain constitute so-called original sin. Pleasure is the soul’s initial movement toward sensible things, while pain is the whole law of death which took roots in man’s existence and constitutes the law of the mortal flesh.

St. Maximus makes some marvellous observations. He states that the transgression (of the commandment) devised pleasure

“in order to corrupt the will”, i.e. man’s freedom, and also imposed pain (death) “to cause the dissolution of man’s nature”.

This means that pleasure causes sin, which is a voluntary death of the soul, while pain, through the separation of soul and body, causes the disintegration of the flesh. This was, actually, the work and objective of the devil, but God allowed the link between pleasure and pain. That is, He allowed death to come into man’s existence on grounds of love and philanthropy, for pain is the refutation of pleasure. Thus,

“God has providentially given man pain he has not chosen, together with death that follows from it, in order to chasten him for the pleasure he has chosen.”

On several occasions, St. Maximus refers to “voluntary pleasure” and “irrational pleasure”, as well as to “involuntary” and “sensible” pain. Pain balances the results of pleasure, that is, it subtracts pain, but does not completely revoke it.

Therefore, pleasure precedes pain, since all pain is caused by pleasure, and this is why it is called natural pain. For Adam and Eve, pleasure was without cause, that is, it was not preceded by pain, while pain, which is a natural consequence of pleasure, is an obligation, a debt, paid by all men who have the same human nature. This is what happened to Adam and Eve. For their descendants, things are a little different; the experience of pain leads them to the enjoyment of pleasure.

After the Fall and the entry of the law of sin and death into his existence, man is in a tragic state, because, even though pain reverses pleasure and annuls its active movement, man cannot reverse and eliminate the law of death which is found within his being, and this law brings a new experience of pleasure.

“Philosophy towards virtue”,

namely man’s whole ascetic struggle brings dispassion not in his will but in his nature, because asceticism cannot defeat death, which is found as a powerful law within man’s being. Herein lies the tragedy of man, who may cure pleasure and obtain inner balance through voluntary pain (asceticism) and involuntary events (external grief, death) but is unable to liberate himself from pain, which is determined by the law of death.

b) The purpose of Christ’s incarnation

So far we have described how the link between pleasure and pain was established after the Fall. Pleasure was a result of the irrational movement of the faculty of the soul , with its natural consequence the coming of pain, along with the entire law of death. This combination of pleasure and pain became a law of human nature. Obviously, while living a life contrary to nature, man could not be delivered from this state which had become natural. Christ’s incarnation contributed to man’s liberation from this connection between pleasure and pain. St. Maximus the Confessor also makes some marvellous observations on this point too.

It was absolutely impossible for human nature which had fallen to voluntary pleasure and involuntary pain to return to the former state

“had the Creator not become man”.

The mystery of incarnation lies in the fact that Christ was born human, but the beginning and cause of His birth was not sensual pleasure, for He was born of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, outside the human way of generation, and He embraced pain and death by His own free choice. For man, pain came as a result of sin, it was involuntary. While for Christ, who was born without sensual pleasure, pain was received by choice.

All humans born after the transgression, are born with sensual pleasure, which precedes their birth, because man is an offspring of his parents’ pleasure and, of course, no one is free, by nature, from impassioned generation provoked by pleasure. Thus man had the origin of his birth

“in the corruption that comes from pleasure”

and would finish his life

“in the corruption that comes through death”.

Therefore, he was a complete slave to pleasure and pain “and he could not find the way to freedom”. Humans are tortured by unjust pleasure and just pain and, of course, by their outcome which is death.

For man to return to his previous state and to be deified, an unjust pain and death without cause had to be invented. Death had to be without cause, not to be caused by pleasure, and unjust, not following an impassioned life. In this way, most unjust death would cure unjust pleasure which had caused just death and just pain. In this way mankind would enjoy freedom again, delivered from pleasure and pain. Christ became perfect man, having a noetic soul and a passible body, like ours, but without sin.

He was born as a man by an immaculate conception and, thus, did not have any sensual pleasure whatsoever, but voluntarily accepted pain and death and suffered unjustly, out of love for man, in order to revoke the principle of human generation from unjust pleasure, which dominates human nature, and in order to eliminate nature’s just termination by death. Thus, Christ’s immaculate conception as man and His voluntary assumption of the passibility of human nature, as well as His unjust death, liberated mankind from sensual pleasure, pain and death.

Christ’s birth as man took place in a way contrary to that of humans. After the Fall, human nature has its principle of generation in

“pleasure-provoked conception by sperm”

from the father. A direct consequence of this sensual birth is the end, namely

“painful death through corruption.”

But Christ could not possibly be ruled over by death, because He was not born in this pleasure-provoked way. With His incarnation, Christ offered a different principle of generation to man, the pleasure of the life to come, by means of pain. Adam, with his transgression, introduced a different way of generation, a generation originating in sensual pleasure and ending in pain, grief and death. Thus, everyone who descends from Adam according to the flesh, justly and painfully suffers the end from death. Christ offered a different way of generation, because, through His seedless generation (birth) and His voluntary and unjust death, He eliminated the principle of generation according to Adam (sensual pleasure) and the end which Adam came to (pain-death). In this way “he liberated from all those reborn spiritually in him”.

The way by which Christ became incarnate and cured human nature reveals indisputably that He is wise, just and powerful. He is wise because He became a true man according to nature without being subjected to any change. He is just, because He voluntarily assumed passible human flesh, out of great condescension and love for man. This is also why He did not make man’s salvation tortuous. He is also powerful, because He created eternal life and unchangeable dispassion in nature, through suffering and death, and in this way He did not show Himself to be at all incapable of achieving the cure of human nature.

HT: Mystagogy

© 2011, admin. All rights reserved.

by Fr. Patrick Henry Reardon

One of the major ideas—and perhaps the culminating idea—in the second chapter of Ephesians is the unity of gentiles with Jews to form a single people for God. These two, formerly estranged, have been united, Paul says, through the blood of Christ:

“He himself is our peace, who has made both one, and has broken down the middle wall of separation . . . that He might reconcile them both to God in one body through the cross, thereby putting to death the enmity. And he came and preached peace to you who were afar off and to those who were near” (2:14-17).

When Paul describes when Paul speaks of Jews and non-Jews outside outside of Christ, however, he concedes little advantage to the Jew over the non-Jew. The opening verses of Ephesians may serve as an example. First, Paul tells the gentiles,

“And you [He brought to life], who were dead in trespasses and sins, in which you once walked . . .”

Next, using the first person plural, he speaks of the Jews:

“and we all once conducted ourselves in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of thoughts, and were by nature children of wrath, just as the others” (2:1-3).

Here, the emphasis on “and you” and “and we” is not mine; it is dictated in the word order of the Greek text. Both you and we, says Paul, are in very bad shape, apart from what God has wrought for both of us in Christ.

Although the Jews enjoyed the blessings of the Torah, the covenant, and the divine oracles, the Apostle argues, their moral failures are just as serious as those of the gentiles. They both live

“according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience.”

We recognize here a thesis Paul already argued in the Epistle to the Romans: Because both are descendents of fallen Adam, neither Jew nor gentile may boast, inasmuch as

“all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23).

Paul’s evidence of the moral failure of the gentiles is enumerated in his distressing catalogue of social evils in Romans 1:18-32. It is noteworthy, however, that he provides no equivalent list of sins on the part of the Jews. For the latter he appeals only to the testimony of his own conscience. Paul, himself, is the sinful Jews. This idea is found in both Romans and Ephesians.

So what, exactly, were Paul’s moral failures? In what consisted those fleshly passions operative in his life prior to his encounter with the risen Jesus?

Luke, his fellow missionary, portrays them vividly:

“Then Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked letters from him to the synagogues of Damascus, so that if he found any who were of the Way, whether men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem” (Acts 9:1-2).

What Luke calls

“breathing threats and murder”

corresponds very closely to what Paul describes as

“fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of thoughts.”

Prior to meeting Jesus on the way to Damascus, the future Apostle, who imagined himself a righteous man, was very much in the grip of

“the prince of the power of the air, the spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience.”

That is to say, if the moral life of the Jews was no better than that of the gentiles, it was because Paul knew himself to represent what was worst in the Jews.

In his own life, Paul knew it was the Torah that had aggravated his corrupt spiritual condition. His zeal had led him to offend God. His passion on behalf of the Torah was a carnal passion, as his own biography bore witness:

“I am indeed a Jew . . . taught according to the strictness of our fathers’ law, and was zealous toward God as you all are today. I persecuted this Way to the death, binding and delivering into prisons both men and women” (Acts 22:3-4).

Of the Torah Paul asks,

“Did that which is good, then, become death to me?”

And he answers,

“Certainly not! But sin, that it might be shown to be sin, was producing death in me through what is good, so that sin through the commandment might become exceedingly sinful” (Romans 7:13-14).

The Torah, which is most certainly good, became for Paul the occasion of his worst sins. Not only had the observance of the Torah been unable to justify Paul; it also became the instrument of his greater fall.

“Sin, taking occasion by the commandment, deceived and thereby killed me” (7:11).

In particular, Paul’s very pursuit of the Torah led him, in his sinfulness, to participate in the conspiracy to murder Stephan. Praying in the Temple, in a sate of trance, he told the Lord,

“‘Lord, they know that in every synagogue I imprisoned and beat those who believe on You. And when the blood of Your martyr Stephen was shed, I also was standing by, consenting, and guarding the clothes of those who killed him” (Acts 22:19-20).

The Torah’s inability to confer justification was not a theory Paul dreamed up. He knew it from experience- from the testimony of conscience. A bitter memory was to salt that conscience for the rest of Paul’s life:

“I was formerly a blasphemer, a persecutor, and an insolent man”

(1 Timothy 1:13; cf. Acts 26:9-11; 1 Corinthians 15:9).

© 2011, Fr. John A. Peck. All rights reserved.

From an article which appeared in the Dallas Morning News.

Because of recent discussions about the Catholic Church’s considering defining a new dogma concerning the Virgin Mary it might be of interest to Christians of other Churches to have some explanation of the Orthodox Church’s position concerning her.

The Orthodox Church honors and venerates the Virgin Mary as

“more honourable than the Cherubim and more glorious without compare than the Seraphim…”

Her name is mentioned in every service, and her intercession before the throne of God is asked. She is given the title of “Theotokos” (Greek for “Birth-giver-of-God), as well as “Mother of God”. She has a definite role in Orthodox Christianity, and can in no way be considered an instrument which, once used, was laid aside and forgotten.

Objections to the veneration of the Theotokos are based primarily on what is called

“a lack of scriptural evidence to support such a practice.”

While it is true that the Church depends heavily on her Tradition other than Holy Scripture (Ecumenical Councils, liturgical books, and the writings of the Fathers) for details and the precise definition of the nature of the veneration of the Virgin Mary, there are several passages of the New Testament that really form the basis for our practice.

The angel Gabriel was sent by God to announce to the Virgin the birth of the Saviour:

“Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women.” (Luke 1:28)

This angelic salutation forms a part of the hymn of the Church most frequently sung in her honor. Could we be wrong in repeating the words of the very messenger of God? Elizabeth, the Virgin’s cousin, considered it an honor for the Mother of her Lord to visit her.

“And whence is this to me that the Mother of my Lord should come to me?” (Luke 1:43)

Is there any real difference between saying “Mother of God” and “Mother of the Lord”? Surely, God is the Lord! (Psalm 118:27) In the course of her visit to Elizabeth, the Blessed Virgin spoke the words that form the principal hymn sung in her honor at the Matins service.

“My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. For He hath regarded the low estate of His handmaiden, for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.”

(Luke 1: 47-48)

Elizabeth had already been “filled with the Holy Spirit”, precisely that she might cry out:

“Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb.” (Luke 1:41, 42)

This honor given the Theotokos by her cousin is exactly what all generations of the Church do when they call her blessed. Finally, when Jesus saw His mother and the disciple John standing by the cross, He entrusted him with her care, but He also established a new spiritual relationship between them in saying to the disciple:

“Behold thy Mother!” (John 19:27)

What possible significance could this declaration of our Lord have except to make His Mother the Mother of all Christians? If she really had other children would she be in need of an outsider’s home?

The Incarnation of God was foretold in the Old Testament. A race was chosen for a specific purpose: to produce a holy humanity from which God could take flesh. Mary is the one who, in the Lord’s words,

“heard the word of God and kept it.” (Luke 11:28)

Through her personal sinlessness she fulfilled all the hopes and prophecies of Israel. She figured greatly in the very prophecies, the most important of which is that of Isaiah:

“Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Emmanuel.” (Isaiah 7:14)

The Church has always considered the following as prefigures or symbols of the role of the Theotokos in the Divine plan, and appoints them to be read on the eves of three of the feasts dedicated to her memory. The first is the story of Jacob’s ladder, which refers to her being the means by which God chose to enter into the world physically.

“He saw in his sleep a ladder standing upon the earth, and the top thereof touching heaven, the angels also of God ascending and descending by it”. (Genesis 28:12)

Then from the Prophecy of Ezekiel are the words concerning her perpetual virginity:

“And the Lord said unto me: This gate shall be shut, it shall not be opened, and no man shall pass through it; because the Lord God of Israel hath entered in by it, and it shall be shut.”

(Ezekiel 44:2)

The same is true of the burning bush seen by Moses: Mary contained in her womb the God-man, Jesus Christ, the God who is a consuming fire, and was not consumed.

The consequences of denying the Theotokos a part in the life of Christians are more serious than one may think in view of all its implications. Orthodox theology insists upon the two perfect natures of our Lord Jesus Christ; He was perfect God and perfect Man. The Virgin Mary communicated the humanity of the Incarnate God. The redemption of the human race was possible through the union of God and man in Christ. De-emphasis of the sinlessness of Christ’s Mother, insistence upon her having other children by Joseph (which cannot be demonstrated by the New Testament), and failure to remember her part in the history of the salvation of mankind have contributed to a general misunderstanding in some churches of the Incarnation in all its fullness and power.

Very closely related to the above-mentioned things is the denial of the virgin birth of Christ, a rather popular feature of present-day liberal theology. After the virgin birth, the next basic teaching under attack is the divinity of Christ, and His resurrection, and with that, the Holy Trinity Itself.

The Virgin Mary in the Orthodox view is not regarded as a mediatrix or co-redemptress. She is an intercessor for us, and the content of prayer addressed to her is a request for her intercession. The Orthodox concept of the Church is the basic reason for the invocation of the Theotokos and all the saints. The Militant Church on earth and the Victorious Church in heaven are intimately bound together in love.

If it is proper for one sinner to ask another sinner to pray for him, how much more fitting it must be to ask the saints already glorified and near the throne of God to pray for us. Surely, they know something of what goes on here, for else how could there be rejoicing in heaven over the conversion of one sinner? (Luke 15:10) The saints in heaven are equals of the angels (Luke 20:36), who are used by God in the accomplishment of His purpose (Acts 12:7)

There is scriptural evidence to support the traditional Orthodox attitude toward the Virgin Mary and the saints. The other equally valid parts of Tradition also afford abundant evidence of its soundness and importance.

With love in Christ,

+DMITRI

© 2011, Fr. John A. Peck. All rights reserved.

By George Mantzarides

Are you aware that counting 40 days from today, on the 40th day we celebrate the Exaltation of the Holy Cross? It’s not a mistake.

The Transfiguration of Our Savior has a central place in the Orthodox Church and in Orthodox theology.

It is the event that reveals the glory of the Church and of the faithful. It is a witness to the new reality introduced by the coming of Christ in history.

During His Transfiguration, Christ revealed the Uncreated Glory of His Divinity within His human nature. At the same time, He took up those surrounding Him into His Uncreated Divine Glory. Moses and Elias participated in the same radiance as Christ. The only difference is that Christ is the Source of Divine radiance, whereas the others are recipients thereof.

The reason why Christ was transfigured before His Disciples was that the day of His Crucifixion was approaching:

“That when they should see Thee crucified, they might know Thy Passion to be voluntary….”1

By His Transfiguration, Christ, on the one hand, bears witness to His Divinity, which His Disciples had confessed shortly before through the mouth of the Apostle Peter; and, on the other hand, He offers an initial experience of the coming of His Kingdom.

The fact that we celebrate the Transfiguration on August 6 perhaps does not help us to remember its direct relationship with the Cross of Christ. Only when we consider that a few weeks later, on September 14, we celebrate the Universal Exaltation of the Precious Cross — which is reminiscent of Great Friday — do we find its historical connection with the Feast.

In other words, as an historical event, the Transfiguration took place a few weeks before the Passion. From an historical standpoint, we would place it in the ecclesiastical Calendar a few weeks before Pascha — perhaps as many weeks as now separate it from the Exaltation of the Precious Cross.

And we should not reckon it fortuitous that the Church has instituted another Feast in this place: the Feast of the Theologian of the Light of Mt. Tabor, St. Gregory Palamas. Thus, the Second Sunday of Great Lent, five weeks before Pascha, is dedicated to St. Gregory Palamas.

Moreover, it is significant that in all three Synoptic Gospels the event of the Transfiguration is related immediately after Christ’s declaration that

“there be some of them that stand here, which shall not taste of death, till they have seen the Kingdom of God come with power.”2

Hence, as Patristic Tradition also emphasizes, the Transfiguration of Christ comes as a revelation of the Kingdom of God “with power.”

By His Transfiguration, Christ confirms and strengthens faith in His Divinity, which His Disciples had already confessed.

During His Transfiguration, Christ did not assume something that He did not previously possess; rather, He reveals — once again, according to the measure that His Disciples could receive it — the Glory that He always possessed as God-Man. In other words, the Glory that His Disciples saw on Mt. Tabor was not some transitory phenomenon, but rather the eternal Light of the Divine Nature of Christ. One of the hymnographers of our Church declares this when he says:

“Thou wast transfigured on the mountain, O Christ our God, showing to Thy Disciples Thy Glory as each one could bear it.”3

The Light of the Transfiguration is the Uncreated Light of the Kingdom of God, which came into the world with the coming of Christ. Of course, the Kingdom of God, being without beginning or end, is not limited by time; rather, it transcends and transforms time. It does not begin at the end of history, but rather already exists within and above it, and it will continue to exist beyond history.

In reality, that is, the coming of the Kingdom of God “with power” is nothing other than its revelation “with power.” This is not the arrival of something that did not previously exist; instead, that which existed and will always exist is revealed.

Just as the Uncreated Light, which was revealed during the Transfiguration to the Disciples, existed from before the ages and abides eternally in the Theanthropic Hypostasis of Christ, so also the Kingdom of God, which came into the world with Christ, is sometimes revealed to the faithful as a precursor of the Age to Come.

The Christian Faith is not based on some moral principle or ideology; rather, it is founded on the revelation of the Kingdom of God in Christ within history. The testimony of the Apostle Peter, in which he makes precise reference to his experience of the Transfiguration in order to proclaim the truth of the Christian message, is striking:

“For we have not followed cunningly devised fables, when we made known unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eyewitnesses of His majesty.”4

Without experience of the Heavenly, man is not freed from earthly temptations. The Apostles of Christ, Martyrs, Saints, and ascetics of the Church would not have been able to gain victory over the world and to offer everything to Christ had they not had some taste of Heavenly bliss.

One obtains adoption in Christ in the present life.

“Now are we the children of God,” writes the Apostle John the Evangelist, “and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him; for we shall see Him as He is.”5

Man acquires a sense of adoption in Christ in his life by keeping the Divine commandments. By self-abnegation and offering oneself to God and to the Will of God — which constitutes a form of death — the believer becomes a participant of the Divine Life and Kingdom.

The taste of eternity does not begin after the Cross, but rather with the Cross. Obedience to the Will of God “unto death” already constitutes participation in the resurrection. Just as the Glory of Christ begins with the Cross, which crushes the powers of the Evil One, so also the glory of Christians begins with voluntary acceptance of death for Christ, Who crushes the old man and reveals the new.

The Transfiguration of Christ is preparation for the Cross. And the Cross of Christ is the commencement of His Glory as man. By His Transfiguration, Christ does not acquire anything new; rather, He strengthens His Disciples in view of His Crucifixion. His Disciples are in need of this strengthening, in order to face the Cross of their Teacher, as well as their own cross, later, for the Name of their Teacher.

The gate of the Kingdom of God is the Cross, and the Glory of God in the world begins with the Cross. Every revelation of the Glory of God within history, whether before or after the coming of Christ, constitutes a model or an extension of the Cross of Christ. Every experience of the Glory of God during this present life presages or accompanies an experience of the Mystery of the Cross.

___________

1. Kontakion for the Feast.
2. St. Mark 9:1; cf. St. Matthew 16:28, St. Luke 9:27.
3. Apolytikion for the Feast.
4. II St. Peter 1:16.
5. I St. John 3:2.

HT: Mystagogy

: Orthodoxe Martyria, (Cyprus) No. 49 (Spring-Summer 1996), pp. 8-10.

© 2011, Fr. John A. Peck. All rights reserved.

Dormition is one of the Twelve Great Feasts of the Christian faith. Of course, this is a great preaching opportunity, so we here at Preachers Institute, are offering an article on Dormition and a few things which we hope you will find valuable as you prepare this festal sermon.

1. Preach the Gospel

Don’t forget to preach the Gospel – tell your listeners the Good News! The only reason we are celebrating Dormition at all is because of the incarnation, suffering, death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. In fact, the feast of the Dormition is, indeed, a feast of resurrection! Be sure to make this connection to every listener with clarity. You may wish to treat this feast as a real opportunity to preach the Resurrection to those who may never get another chance to hear it!

This is a resurrectional feast!

2. About the Feast Itself

The word ‘Dormition’ simply means ‘falling asleep’ – the biblical idiom for a believer’s death.

The Dormition (Falling Asleep) of the Theotokos is one of the Great Feasts of the Orthodox Church, celebrated on August 15. This feast is called the Assumption in the western churches, and commemorates the death, resurrection and glorification of the Virgin Mary, Christ’s mother. It proclaims that Mary has been “assumed” by God into the heavenly kingdom of Christ in the fullness of her spiritual and bodily existence.

The Tradition of the Church is that Mary died as all people die, not “voluntarily” as her Son, but by the necessity of her mortal human nature which is indivisibly bound up with the corruption of this world.

The Orthodox Church teaches that Mary is without personal sins. In the Gospel of the feast, however, in the liturgical services and in the Dormition icon, the Church proclaims as well that Mary truly needed to be saved by Christ as all human persons are saved from the trials, sufferings and death of this world; and that having truly died, she was raised up by her Son as the Mother of Life and participates already in the eternal life of paradise which is prepared and promised to all who

“hear the word of God and keep it.” (Luke 11:27-28)

The services of the feast repeat the main theme, that the Mother of Life has

“passed over into the heavenly joy, into the divine gladness and unending delight” of the Kingdom of her Son. (Vesper verse)

The Old Testament readings, as well as the gospel readings for the Vigil and the Divine Liturgy, are exactly the same as those for the feast of the Virgin’s nativity and her entrance into the Temple. Thus, at the Vigil we again hear Mary say:

“My soul magnifies the Lord and my Spirit rejoices in God my Saviour.” (Luke 1:47)

At the Divine Liturgy we hear the letter to the Philippians where St. Paul speaks of the self-emptying of Christ who condescends to human servitude and ignoble death in order to be

“highly exalted” by God his Father. (Philippians 2:5-11)

And once again we hear in the Gospel that Mary’s blessedness belongs to all who

“hear the word of God and keep it.” (Luke 11:27-28)

Thus, the feast of the Dormition of the Theotokos is the celebration of the fact that all men are “highly exalted” in the blessedness of the victorious Christ, and that this high exaltation has already been accomplished in Mary the Theotokos. The feast of the Dormition is the sign, the guarantee, and the celebration that Mary’s fate is, the destiny of all those of “low estate” whose souls magnify the Lord, whose spirits rejoice in God the Saviour, whose lives are totally dedicated to hearing and keeping the Word of God which is given to men in Mary’s child, the Saviour and Redeemer of the world.

Finally it must be stressed that, in all of the feasts of the Virgin Mother of God in the Church, the Orthodox Christians celebrate facts of their own lives in Christ and the Holy Spirit.

What happens to Mary happens to all who imitate her holy life of humility, obedience, and love.

With her all people will be “blessed” to be “more honorable than the cherubim and beyond compare more glorious than the seraphim” if they follow her example. All will have Christ born in them by the Holy Spirit. All will become temples of the living God. All will share in the eternal life of His Kingdom who live the life that Mary lived.

In this sense everything that is praised and glorified in Mary is a sign of what is offered to all persons in the life of the Church. It is for this reason that Mary, with the divine child Jesus within her, is call in the Orthodox Tradition the Image of the Church. For the assembly of the saved is those in whom Christ dwells.

3. About The Dormition Fast

For the first fourteen days of August during each year, the Holy Orthodox Church enters into a strict fast period in honor of the Mother of God, the Virgin Mary.

Every Orthodox Christian is aware and generally knows the reason behind the fasts for Pascha and Christmas. But while they may know of the Dormition Fast, few follow it, and more than a few question why it is there, neither knowing its purpose.

First, given the pervasive misunderstanding of the purpose of fasting itself, a refresher on its purpose is always a good idea. There is a perception that we should fast when we want something, as though the act of fasting somehow appeases God, and seeing us “suffer” gets Him to grant our request. Nothing can be further from the truth. It is not our fasting that pleases God, it is the fruits of our fast (provided we fast in the proper mind set, and do not merely diet) that please Him.

We fast, not to get what we want, but to prepare ourselves to receive what God wants to give us. The purpose of fasting is to bring us more in line with another Mary, the sister of Lazarus, and away from their sister Martha, who in the famous passage was

“anxious and troubled about many things.”

Fasting is intended to bring us to the realization of

“the one thing needful.”

It is to help us put God first and our own desires second, if not last. As such it serves to prepare us to be instruments of God’s will, as with Moses in his flight from Egypt and on Mt. Sinai, as well as our Lord’s fast in the wilderness. Fasting turns us away from ourselves and toward God. In essence it helps us become like the Theotokos, an obedient servant of God, who heard His word and kept it better than anyone else has or could.

So why do we fast before Dormition?

In a close-knit family, word that its matriarch is on her deathbed brings normal life to a halt. Otherwise important things (parties, TV, luxuries, personal desires) become unimportant; life comes to revolve around the dying matriarch. It is the same with the Orthodox family; word that our matriarch is on her deathbed, could not (or at least should not) have any different effect than the one just mentioned.

The Church, through the Paraklesis Service, gives us the opportunity to come to that deathbed and eulogize and entreat the woman who bore God, the vessel of our salvation and our chief advocate at His divine throne. And as, in the earthly family, daily routines and the indulgence in personal wants should come to a halt. Fasting, in its full sense (abstaining from food and desires) accomplishes this. Less time in leisure or other pursuits leaves more time for prayer and reflection on she who gave us Christ, and became the first and greatest Christian.

In reflecting on her and her incomparable life, we see a model Christian life, embodying Christ’s retort to the woman who stated that Mary was blessed because she bore Him: blessed rather are those who hear His word and keep it. Mary did this better than anyone. She heard the word of God and kept it so well, that she of all women in history was chosen not only to hear His Word but give birth to it (Him). So while we fast in contemplation of her life, we are simultaneously preparing ourselves to live a life in imitation of her.

That is the purpose of the Dormition Fast. (source)

4. Why Is Dormition So Important?

The eminent Orthodox theologian, Fr. Sergei Bulgakov, beautifully expresses the high regard which the Orthodox Christians have for the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of God, for her special role in the salvation of mankind, when he affirms,

“The warm veneration of the Theotokos is the soul of Orthodox Piety.”

St. John of Damascus, one of the great Orthodox fathers, pointed out that when the Blessed Virgin Mary became the Mother of God and gave birth to Christ, the Redeemer of Mankind, she became the mother of mankind. We call the Virgin Mary “Theotokos”, from the Greek, which means “The Birth-Giver or the Bearer of God.”

Why not refer to her simply as the Blessed Virgin Mary? Because, there are many holy Marys who were virgins, but there is only one Theotokos.

This is the highest title that can be bestowed upon any member of the human race.

The Theotokos, the Virgin Mary, was

“blessed amongst women,”

and she was chosen

“to bear the Savior of our souls.”

We, therefore, as Orthodox Christians, consider her to be the Queen of all the saints and the angels.

Knowing that she holds such a high place in the Kingdom of Heaven and that she is eternally present at the throne of God interceding for mankind, we, as good Orthodox Christians, must pray for her love, guidance, and protection. We must never forget to ask for her intercessions in times of sickness and danger, and we must constantly thank her for her care and her prayers in our behalf.

The word “paraclesis” has two different meanings: the first is “consolation,” from which the Holy Spirit is called the “Paraclete,” or “Consoler”; the second is “supplication” or “petition”. The Service of the Paraclesis to the Theotokos consists of hymns of supplication to obtain consolation and courage. It should be recited in times of temptation, discouragement or sickness. It is used more particularly during the two weeks before the Dormition, or Assumption, of the Theotokos, from August 1 to August 14.

The theme of these Paraclesis Services centers around the petition…

“Most Holy Theotokos, save us.”

Since these Paraclesis Services to the Theotokos are primarily petition for the welfare of the living, let the whole Church pray for you during the first fifteen days of August and especially on the Great Feast of the Dormition of the Theotokos on August 15th.

5. Special Blessings on Dormition

It is the custom in some churches to bless flowers and herbs on the feast of the Dormition.

It is the final Great Feast on the Christian Calendar. Thus, as a symbol of all believers, the liturgical year begins with the Nativity (birth) of the Theotokos, and ends with her Dormition (falling asleep).

© 2011, Fr. John A. Peck. All rights reserved.

Docetism, one of the earliest Christological heresies, derived its name from the Greek verb dokein—to “seem.” This name was descriptive: It indicated the teaching that God’s Son only “seemed” to be a human being. His presence on the earth, though real in itself, was conveyed by way of a revelatory appearance, not connected with His being. His humanity was a kindly illusion. According to this opinion, the Son of God wore a semblance of humanity, like a costume, as it were, a kind of actor’s mask. Donning this mask, He “played a part” in the human drama, rather like the various gods of the Iliad—or, for that matter, the biblical angels, who “appeared” on earth.

Although this heresy stayed around for a long time—and maintained its voice even as late as the Qur’an (Sura 4:157-158)—the Christian Church was not slow to spot a significant problem with it. Namely, if the humanity of Jesus was only apparent—as distinct from real—then whatever He did in that apparent humanity was likewise only apparent. He only “appeared” to die for our sins, for example, and only “seemed” to rise for our justification.

One can detect vestiges of Docetism even today, I believe. Is there not a taint of it, for example, in the rather common suggestion that Jesus feigned ignorance from time to time? Thus, some folks tell us, when Jesus inquired whose hand in the crowd had touched him (Luke 8:45-46), He really knew whose it was; He was only pretending not to know. But isn’t pretense the very essence of Docetism?

Chalcedon’s declaration—in 451—that Jesus is “of one being [homoousios] with us with respect to His humanity” means the full assumption of the human condition, sin excepted. God’s Son, becoming flesh and dwelling among us, took on a truly human life, circumscribed in space, limited to a particular time and concrete set of circumstances. Against the Docetists, the holy orthodox and catholic faith affirms a complete Incarnation, not the pretense of one. It asserts a redemption of the human race “from within.” A single subject (hypostasis) is at once both divine and human, neither confused nor divided.

Thus, when Jesus slept—during a storm, for instance (Mark 4:38)—He was really asleep. When He sat down to rest, He was truly weary, and, when He asked for a drink, He was not pretending to be thirsty (John 4:6-7). Likewise, when Jesus professed not to know the time of the final judgment (Matthew 24:36 in the older manuscripts), we should not imagine Him juggling various preferences of mental reservation. However thin, façade and disguise are the very contrary of the Incarnation.

The one thing Jesus never did was deceive us.

The Incarnation was total and forever. When our humanity was seized, it was—save sin—without reservation; no holds were barred, nothing held back. This means that God’s Son flung Himself completely into our humanity, including the processes of thought and resolve. The “single subject” Christology of Chalcedon necessarily affirms the unity of Jesus’ self-awareness.

Consequently, there was not the scantest part of internal disguise or pretense in Christ. He did not peep, slyly but approvingly, over His own shoulder. He was not inwardly divided into actor and spectator, the one putting on a show and the other watching it. If we believe that the embrace of the Incarnation—a concrete humanity—was complete and without reserve, there could not have been a trace of the “docetic” in the inner life of Jesus.

When, as a man, Jesus committed His life and destiny to the Father, the obedience was utterly pure and unalloyed with self-regard. There was no “self-fulfillment” here. The only “fulfillment” was that of prophecy. His was a holocaust, in the original sense that God received the entire victim; the priest was left nothing on which to feed. Love for the Father and for us was His sole motive, and it was selfless in a way unparalleled in the history of mankind. Jesus suffered and endured all things, guided by no narrative except the demands of biblical prophecy. He told Himself no story separate from His own existence.

Everything was exactly as it seemed.

Rudolf Kassner expressed, perhaps, the most eloquent conviction on this point:

“I remain convinced that the God-man never, at any time, not even for a moment, however brief, saw or attempted to see his own face in a mirror.”

© 2011, Fr. John A. Peck. All rights reserved.