The Catalog of Good Deeds

In the seven weeks approaching Pascha, the Orthodox fast and pray during a season that we call, “Lent.” Lent is a practice that has been part of the Orthodox tradition for thousands of years. Let’s discover what Lent is, and learn a little more about its long historical development.

Great Lent

We can divide Eastern Orthodox Lent into three basic periods:

The Pre-Lenten Period, the three preparatory Sundays (the Publican and the Pharisee, the Prodigal Son, and the Last Judgment), followed by a preliminary week of partial fasting, and ending with the Sunday of Forgiveness;

The Forty Days of the Great Fast, beginning on Monday in the first week (or, more exactly, at Sunday Vespers on the evening before), and ending with the Ninth Hour (3pm) on Friday in the sixth week; and

Holy and Great Week, preceded by the Saturday of Lazarus and Palm Sunday.

The third of these three periods, the Paschal fast of Holy Week, is the most ancient, for it was already in existence during the second and third centuries. The fast of forty days is mentioned in sources from the first half of the fourth century onwards. The pre-Lenten period developed latest of all: the earliest references to a preliminary week of partial fasting are in the sixth or seventh century, but the observance of the other three preparatory Sundays did not become universal in the East until the tenth or eleventh century.

The Development of the Lenten Fast

The Paschal Fast in the second and third centuries

In the second century it was the custom for Christians in both East and West to observe, immediately before Easter Sunday, a short fast of one or two days, either on Saturday only or on Friday and Saturday together. This was specifically a Paschal fast in preparation for the service of Easter night. It was a fast of sorrow at the absence of the Bridegroom, in fulfilment of Christ's own words: “But the days will come, when the Bridegroom shall be taken away from them, and then shall they fast in those days” (Mark 2: 20). The fast, whether of one or two days, was in principle a total one, without any food or drink being taken at all. (Today Fasting during Lent indicates abstinence from animal and dairy products, a total fast is sometimes undertaken on Great Friday if health permits)

By the middle of the third century, this Paschal fast had in many places been extended to embrace the entire week from Monday to Saturday. There was, however, no uniformity of practice, and some Christians fasted for less than the full six days. Only a few can have managed to keep a total fast throughout the whole period. In some places it was the practice to eat bread and salt, with water, at the ninth hour (3 p.m.) on the four days from Monday until Thursday, and then to keep, if possible, a total fast on Friday and Saturday; but not all the faithful were as strict as this. In this six-day Paschal fast may be seen the distant origins of Holy Week; but the developed ritual to which we are accustomed, with special commemorations on each day of the week, is not found until the late fourth century. During the pre-Nicene period, there seems to have been a unitary celebration of Christ's death and rising, considered as a single mystery, at the Paschal vigil lasting from Saturday evening until Easter Sunday morning. Friday was kept as a fast in preparation for this vigil, but it had not as yet become a distinct and specific commemoration of the Crucifixion; the Cross and the Resurrection were celebrated together during Easter night.

The Fast of Forty Days

There is no evidence of a forty-day fast in the pre-Nicene period. The first explicit reference to such a fast is in Canon 5 of the Council of Nicaea (325), where it is treated as something familiar and established, not as an innovation on the part of the Council. By the end of the fourth century the observance of a forty-day fast seems to have been the standard practice in most parts of Christendom, but in some places – possibly including Rome – a shorter fast may have been kept.

This forty-day fast, found in evidence from the fourth century onwards, differs somewhat in scope and character from the one-week fast of the pre-Nicene period, and the precise relationship between the two is not easy to determine. It is, however, clear that whereas the pre-Nicene fast was specifically a Paschal observance in preparation for Easter, the forty-day fast was connected more particularly with the final preparation of the catechumens for the sacrament of Baptism or “illumination”. In the weeks before their baptismal initiation, the candidates underwent a period of intensive training, with daily instruction, special services and fasting. The existing members of the church community were encouraged to share with the catechumens in this prayer and abstinence, thus renewing year by year their baptismal dedication to Christ. So the forty-day fast came to involve the whole body of the faithful, and not just those preparing for Baptism.

Lent, as we know it, is thus the result of a convergence between these two elements—between the six-day pre-Nicene fast, which was directly in preparation for Easter, and the forty-day post-Nicene fast, which originally formed part of the training of candidates for Baptism. It was natural that these two elements should become fused into a single observance, for they both have the same endpoint—the night of Holy Saturday. The Paschal vigil on this night, in celebration of the death, burial and rising of Christ, was for obvious reasons chosen as the occasion for administering Baptism; for this sacrament is precisely an initiation into the Lord's Cross and His Resurrection (see Romans 6:3-4).

The choice of the number forty for the days of Lent has obvious Biblical precedents. The people of Israel spent forty years in the wilderness (Exod. 16: 35); Moses remained fasting for forty days on Mount Sinai (Exod. 34: 28); Elijah abstained from all food for forty days as he journeyed to Mount Horeb (1 Kings 19:8). Most important of all, Christ fasted for forty days and forty nights in the wilderness, tempted by the devil (Matt. 4:1).

The Completion of the Pattern

During the sixth to eleventh centuries, the season of pre-Lenten preparation was gradually expanded to include three other preliminary Sundays: the “Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee”, ten weeks before Easter; following it, the “Sunday of the Prodigal Son”; and then the “Sunday of the Last Judgment” immediately before the beginning of “Cheese Week” (a week of partial fasting when meat is no longer eaten but dairy products are still eaten). Together with the “Sunday of Forgiveness” (also known as “Cheesefare”; this enables us to enter Lent having forgiven others their offences towards us) at the end of “Cheese Week”, this makes four preliminary Sundays in all. In this way the full pattern of the Lenten season was completed.

Lent Today

Today in most parts of the Church there is no organised catechumenate, and it is customary to administer Baptism on many other occasions besides the night of Holy Saturday; yet the baptismal significance of Lent has still a living importance. For every member of the Christian community, Lent is a time of spiritual training and renewed illumination. It is a time to realise afresh that, by virtue of our baptismal initiation, we are crucified, buried and risen with Christ; it is a time to reapply to ourselves the words of St. Paul, “I live, yet not I, but Christ lives in me” (Gal. 2: 20). It is a time for the Orthodox to listen more closely to the voice of the Spirit in whom we were sealed at our Chrismation (Confirmation), immediately after our “burial” in the baptismal waters.

Differences between the West and the East in their observation of Lent

At Rome Holy Week was included as part of the forty days. However, in calculating the number forty all Sundays were excluded from the reckoning, Sundays being considered feast days. This produced a six-week fast of six days in each week, constituting a total of thirty-six days. To make up the full measure of forty days, four further days of fasting were then added at the beginning, with the result that Lent in the West commences on a Wednesday (Ash Wednesday). Shrove Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday, was a day when Christians made a special point of self-examination consulting with their spiritual Father on matters requiring repentance and amendment. The word “shrove” means to hear a person’s acknowledgement of sin and assure of forgiveness. The term survives in ordinary usage in the expression “short shrift” by which we mean: paying little attention to a person’s excuses or problems. The day was also for thrifty housewives to use up fat and dairy produce by making pancakes so preparing for the Lenten fast.

At Constantinople, on the other hand, Holy Week - together with the Saturday of Lazarus and Palm Sunday - was not regarded as part of the forty-day fast in the strict sense. At Vespers on Friday evening in the sixth week, immediately preceding the Saturday of Lazarus, the distinction between the forty days and Holy Week is very clearly marked in the existing text of the Triodion: Fasting did of course continue during Holy Week!

“Having completed the forty days that bring profit to our soul, we beseech Thee in Thy love for man: grant us also to behold the Holy Week of Thy Passion...”

(Sticheron from Great Lent season)

Thus the forty days began on the first Monday in Lent and ended on Friday in the sixth week; then came Lazarus Saturday, Palm Sunday and Holy Week, which, while distinct from the forty days, were treated as part of the Lenten Fast in the broader sense. In this way the forty days and Holy Week together constituted a fast of seven weeks. So it is that Lent begins on Ash Wednesday in Western Christendom, while commencing in the East two days earlier on Monday.

“Fasting, neither above nor below your ability, will help you in your vigil. One should not ponder divine matters on a full stomach, say the ascetics. For the well-fed, even the most superficial secrets of the Trinity lie hidden. Christ Himself set the example with His long fast; when He drove out the devil He had fasted for forty days. Are we better than He? Behold angels came and ministered to Him (Matthew 4:11) they are waiting to minister to you too.”

(Tito Colliander, Way of the Ascetics)

Source: https://www.thegoodshepherd.org.au/history-of-lent

In an absorbing interview, Dr. James Skedros, Cantonis Professor of Byzantine Studies and Professor of Early Christianity at Holy Cross Greek Orthodox School of Theology in Brookline, Massachusetts, leads us into the tumultuous world of Byzantine warfare to examine Orthodox views on war and peace, the veneration of military saints in the Christian Roman Empire, and what the Byzantine experience can teach our own turbulent times.

RTE: Dr. Skedros, before we discuss the veneration of Byzantine military saints, would you begin by describing how military activity was viewed in the Christian Roman Empire?

DR. SKEDROS: Military activity was a dominant and constant aspect of the East Roman Empire. Not that Byzantine society was militaristic in the way that ancient Spartan culture was, but rather, as an imperial power with enemies on all of its borders, the Byzantines were constantly at war. The Byzantine State was very large—at its height it covered nearly as much territory as that of the imperial Roman Empire. Its borders were vulnerable and the Byzantines always seemed to be prosecuting some sort of war—whether for defensive purposes, for retaliation, trying to regain land, or all of the above. War was a recurring event. Byzantium emerged from the late Roman world where an organized professional military was part and parcel of society. Further, like their ancient predecessors and medieval contemporaries, the Byzantines took advantage of any means possible to defend themselves—not only direct military action, but also through political and economic means, the creation of alliances, hiring of mercenaries, the paying of tribute to keep enemies at bay, and arranging of inter-dynastic marriages. Then there was this incredible secret weapon—so secret that we still don’t know exactly what it was made of—Greek fire.

The Byzantines also had great tactical minds. They produced treatises and handbooks on warfare and military tactics and they had an incredible foundation of Roman soldiery that stays with them throughout all of their eleven-hundred-year history. They also have a well-organized bureaucracy of negotiation: sending diplomats here, marrying a member of the imperial family off to create an alliance, paying 30,000 gold coins a year, for example, to enemies such as the Bulgarians to obtain a thirty-year truce, particularly when they are defending multiple borders at the same time. They are always thinking, planning, dealing with, and guarding their borders. The question is, to what extent does war trickle down into the provinces or the hinterland? If you are living in Asia Minor, in Cappadocia for example, it may very well be that from the third century to the Arab raids of the seventh century, you have three or four hundred years of relative peace. Do people in the center of such peaceful areas have a kind of Pax Romana period? I don’t have a sense that the experience of war is trickling down to everyone, but as a state apparatus, Byzantines are always, if not actively at war, certainly aware that war is on the horizon. The borders, however, were always vulnerable.

RTE: I wonder if this period of Cappadocian peace is similar to our situation in North America, where over the past century we have participated in distant wars, but not at home on our own soil. For them, like us, there were probably intermittent drafts, and certainly taxes for defense.

DR. SKEDROS: Yes, particularly during the Macedonian Dynasty, roughly the 9th, 10th, and early 11th centuries, it is estimated that nearly three quarters of the budget was spent on military activity. This is a rebirth, the attempt of Byzantium to regain territory, and a period where you have a succession of military rulers who themselves went out and fought in battle.

RTE: To modern ears, paying invaders such as the Bulgarians a yearly retainer to maintain a thirty-year truce seems almost dishonorable, but in context it was extremely shrewd because they saved both lives and money and could concentrate their military endeavors on other borders, such as during the Persian or Arab invasions. Geographically, they were extremely vulnerable.

DR. SKEDROS: It also speaks to the wealth of an empire that has the resources to fight on one front while paying off the other.

RTE: As a Christian empire, how would the Byzantines have looked at war? We hear of pacifist writings in early centuries. Did that change after the Roman Empire became Christian?

DR. SKEDROS: Already in early Christianity there seems to be a tension between those who support war and those who reject it wholesale. When you look outside of the New Testament texts, you hear pacifist voices at the end of the second century. By the beginning or middle of the third century, you find statements like, “Christians shouldn’t be involved in the military,” which suggests that they were in the military. It seems that the biggest challenge for Christians who served in the Roman army before Constantine, as seen also in the lives of military saints, is not so much the concern over killing in battle, but the question of whether or not a Christian can or should participate in the various pagan rituals associated with being a member of the military. Having said that, I think you can find post-New Testament Christian authors who, if not 100% pacifist, are pacifistic voices. By the fourth century you have a Christian emperor, and a slow shift towards a Christian empire that still needs to be defended. The New Testament reads very much as if Christ and the early Church are against violence, so why haven’t Christians become out-and-out pacifists? Is it because they are realists and see that evil in the world needs to be confronted, or have they somehow sold out?

Read full interview here:

http://www.roadtoemmaus.net/back_issue_articles/RTE_52/WAR_BYZANTIUM_AND_MILITARY_SAINTS.pdf

Presbytera Mari Mars offers a few tips on helping your child grow in their relationship with Christ in order to become a faithful Orthodox Adult.

In my former position as youth coordinator of the Greek Orthodox Metropolis of Atlanta, there was one thing that I learned early on which motivated me for the duration of my tenure in the position, and still motivates me today. It sent chills up my spine. It was the indicator that we have to turn the tide, change the direction of how we are raising our children. It was that scary picture that made everyone gasp when you’d tell them. As told to us by our Archdiocese, two recent studies (one by the Pew forum and one by the Patriarch Athenagoras Institute) indicated that 60% OF OUR ORTHODOX CHILDREN ARE LEAVING THE CHURCH and never returning to the Orthodox Faith. Scary, right?

Every time I would mention this to someone, I would get the question, “so how do I prevent it?” There are certainly no magic pills that will ensure your child grows up with a strong, devout faith in Christ through His Orthodox Church. But that doesn’t mean we can abdicate our responsibility to GOYA or the priest, either, to ensure that our Orthodox Children become Orthodox adults. It is our job to raise them in the faith. In which case…

There are a few specific things that you can include in the raising of your children which would help them build a strong foundation of faith and a lasting relationship with God.

MOST IMPORTANT (take notes here): PRAY FOR YOUR CHILDREN! Every day, all the time. Open an ongoing dialogue with God about your child, what they are facing, what they are going through. Give your child back to God (after all, they do belong to Him!). Ask the Theotokos, or Saints Joachim and Anna to help you as a parent. Ask God that He help you to raise your children to His glory. Ask Him to fill their hearts with His love… You get the idea.

Speaking of prayer… You know the old saying: the family that prays together stays together! It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Praying at meals, and spending a few minutes in the morning and before bedtime saying the Lord’s Prayer, thanking God for the people in your life and the good things (and don’t forget to thank him for the challenges, too!), and asking for what your family needs are good places to start.

Also imperative, of course, is to take your children to Church. And when I say this, I don’t mean walk in the door before right before communion, walk up, receive communion, and walk out, as though it’s a drive thru. This is an unfortunate practice of some parents who are afraid to come for the entire service for fear the kids will misbehave. Go for the whole bit! Arrive at the Doxology! Leave after coffee hour! If you need help with how to manage and engage your kids (because engaging is part of your responsibility, otherwise what’s the point of coming to Church? They can color and play with dolls at home), see our article about tips for engaging kids in Church.

Talk to your kids about God. Many parents think that this is not their place, that the Church should do the talking. But one priest in a parish of 200 or 500 or 1000 families can’t possibly talk to your children as much as you can. And the example that they need to learn from is yours. If they ask a question you don’t know the answer to, don’t worry. Find the answer together by using the resources the Church offers (like your priest or Church websites). Either way, just engage them in discussion about their experiences in Church, about what they prayed for today, about how God helped them today… Anything having to do with their faith and God. Talking to your kids about God will raise their perception so that they are able to see God in all things.

Emphasize the right set of priorities and stick to your guns. There are so many extracurricular activities and distractions that take us away from the life of the Church. For instance, soccer leagues that travel on Sundays for games… Which is the priority, soccer or Church? Now, understand that my Dad was a semi-pro soccer player, coached soccer, and I played soccer growing up. I’m not hating on soccer. But, when facing this choice, ask yourself this question: When my child is 35 and struggling with the challenges that life inevitably brings with it (like marital problems), which is going to help them- their relationship with God, or soccer?

We often forget to think long term or to see the big picture. We see the benefits of soccer as an extracurricular activity that looks good on a college transcript or might even provide a college scholarship. But we neglect to look BEYOND that and realize that the most important investment in our child is the long term investment we make in their journey through life to salvation. Remember that your child will learn by modeling from your decision. Will they learn to prioritize their relationship with God or with soccer?

If we all, as Orthodox Christians, did these simple things: pray for our children, pray with our children, talk about God more, and go to Church more, then the world would be a very different place. We would see that 60% dwindle to nothing. May our Lord God and Savior Jesus Christ give us all the wisdom and discernment to guide our children to a life in Him!

Source: http://www.familylifeministry.atlanta.goarch.org/raising-orthodox-children-to-orthodox-adulthood/

In the pre-dawn darkness of mid-February, our car from Saint Elisabeth Convent slid over the snow through the gate of the Women’s Farmstead, and pulled up to the house in which Fr. Andrew would celebrate Divine Liturgy. It was my second week staying at the convent, and I, along with another guest and one of the nuns who had herself never yet seen the Women’s Farmstead, were being given the opportunity to visit this unique place. It quickly became apparent that the farm is quite rustic: liturgy was celebrated in one of the farmhouse rooms, and the choir and guests crowded around a few tables for the meal after the service--but tight quarters and winter weather in no way dampened the joy of worship and fellowship. As the resident nun, Mother Barbara, told us about the farm’s history and gave us a tour (through the snow) of part of the property, we realized that this is a place of great possibilities, both for the property and for the women who live here--because with God, anything is possible.

The Women's Farmstead was founded seven years ago on a piece of land that was once a military base, about a half-hour drive outside of Minsk, well into the countryside. When the property went on the market the buildings were mostly in ruins, but among those buildings stood an abandoned church. There were quite a few bidders for the property, and apparently in an attempt to undermine the monastery's bid, an arsonist set fire to the church and burned it down. But miraculously, the next thing the monastery knew, its bid had been accepted and the government gifted them half the land! Having secured the property, the monastery attempted first to renovate all the living quarters, but these efforts didn't go well. Then Fr. Andrew blessed the reconstruction of the church, and as soon as work on the church began, the farm received money to complete a major renovation of the largest residential building! So today, the various residential buildings are in various states of repair, and the church is nearing completion (and it's stunning!).

When Mother Barbara, the nun in charge, moved to the farmstead, there was no concrete plan, other than to make a home for whatever women came to them. And a variety of women rapidly arrived: recovering addicts, women having served time in prison, and women who were homeless, or had bad family situations. Many have come and gone, but a few have stayed long-term. There seems to be no time limit set for one's stay at the farm: if you can follow the rules, it can be your home forever. If you can't follow the rules, you have to leave.

These rules emerged early on in the farm’s life: Mother Barbara realized she had to set house standards, schedules, and mandatory chores. I asked if attending liturgy (every Tuesday at the farm) is obligatory, and she said yes: the women don't understand "voluntary" activities -- they need concrete guidelines. But no one is obliged to commune, and Mother Barbara was surprised to see how quickly the women themselves appreciated the liturgical experience and the need for the sacraments. They attend a catechism class on Sunday afternoons.

The property is a little over 22 acres, and the facilities include various houses, huts, and small apartment buildings. This allows for many different kinds of living arrangements, both for nuns and laypeople -- some of the inhabitants now include families that want to cook for themselves, so there are apartments that allow this, while there are also more "dormitory"-style dwellings, where the women go to the common refectory for meals.

At first, there was no definite plan for what would be on the farm. From what Mother Barbara said (via a translator), it sounds as though the kitchen garden was the first thing to be planted, and then someone gave goats to the farmstead, and then someone else gave chickens. Now there are also rabbits (for eating!), and various workshops: sewing, simple ceramic decorating, and a cosmetics workshop (to make creams, soaps, etc.) is being planned. One of the farmstead’s major endeavors is growing pussy willows, and making the Palm Sunday bouquets that are sold all over Minsk at the end of Lent. The women on the farm have already started preparing for this year's harvest and bouquet construction. And whatever is sold from the farmstead supports the farm: even when their products are sold at the monastery's "main campus" or outlying shops, the revenue comes back to the farmstead.

One can imagine how easily conflicts must arise among women with very checkered backgrounds, and I was amazed by how calmly Mother Barbara spoke of the history of the community: she said there has only ever been one "serious" fight. I didn't dare ask what constituted "serious"! In the beginning, the local police tried to dissuade the sisters from opening the farm, and the local government was also very suspicious, believing that such an operation would only bring trouble to the area. But Mother Barbara and Father Andrew have worked hard to be transparent with the local authorities, inviting inspections and developing relationships, so that the farmstead now has the support of the local community, and rarely encounters problems with their neighbors. Really, when one considers the possibilities for disaster in such a risky undertaking, the grace of God becomes so much more apparent. It doesn't seem like any of this should have worked -- Mother Barbara was not trained in conflict management and working with recovering addicts! But the nuns and lay-sisters have such love for the people, and this love, and their love of God, and God's great mercy and love, are the pillars of the Saint Elisabeth community and its missions, including the Women's Farmstead.

It is hard to choose a highlight of the day we spent at the farm: celebrating the liturgy; enjoying the fellowship of the meal afterwards; seeing the magnificent but still-under-construction church in its blanket of snow; meeting the goats (one of whom was very friendly!), chickens, rabbits, and dogs; or warming up with a cup of tea in one of the residential houses. The farm needs prayers and support, but it also offers a great deal, and not just to its residents, but to anyone granted the blessing of making a visit. It is a place of prayer, inspiration, struggle, beauty, hard work, and transformation. May God continue to bless the farm and all the women there.

By Sister Margarete Roeber

Women’s Farmstead and Rehabilitation Center

St. Elisabeth Convent

February 13th, 2018

by Archpriest Valery Lukianov

If we were to make a survey of the non-eucharistic services performed in an active parish over a period of, say, one year, we would see that the breakdown of such services might appear as follows: 15 baptisms, 5 weddings, 25 funerals, and almost 1000 confessions! From this breakdown one can easily arrive at the conclusion that the sacrament of confession occupies the place of greatest honor in the spiritual activity of each pastor. Hence, it would not be out of place for us to share with you some thoughts on the mystery of confession, particularly on confessorship in our very difficult times.

The subject of our talk will be directed primarily toward the contemporary conditions of confession and the disposition of modern-day penitents. However, to effectively evaluate the present-day conditions of confession, we must first turn to the history of the Church of Christ and in comparison say a few words about the struggle of repentance in the first centuries of Christianity.

Confession as an indispensable preliminary to the taking of Communion was unknown among the early Christians. Theirs was a time when every faithful Christian had to be prepared, on whatever day, at whatever hour, to confess his Faith and Jay down his life for Christ in martyrdom. Such circumstances had a powerful effect in raising the spirit of Christians and promoted moral purity in their hearts, making them, even without confession, prepared to approach the great Mystery of the Body and Blood of Christ. And if anyone committed a sin, he would repent publicly in church.

When the era of persecutions came to an end and Christians were able to plunge freely into the pagan life which surrounded them, the moral disposition of their spirit declined. It became essential to prepare for the great Mystery of Holy Communion. During the same time-period—the age of the Ecumenical Councils—the order which we preserve to this day took shape, namely: the recitation of prayers of preparation, intensified prayer, fasting, confession of one's sins, and, only then, approach to the holy chalice (Protopresbyter V. Boshchanovsky, Lessons in Pastoral Theology, p. 69).

In general, in Christian antiquity sacramental confession was not viewed as the sole and unavoidable means for the forgiveness of sins committed by a person after baptism. Confession and repentance were only one of many means of cleansing from sin. St. John Chrysostom, for example, points out five such methods, namely: 1) public confession; 21 weeping over one's sins; 3) humility; 4) almsgiving—the queen of the virtures; and 5) prayer (Smirnov, "Ancient Spirituality and Its Origins," Theological Herald, Vol II [1916], p. 377).

As regards ordinary repentance and confession of sins in antiquity, it could be done either secretly in the presence of a priest, or openly. Moreover, there was a whole range of sinners who confessed serious sins which affected the entire Christian community. The first level consisted of those who wept, standing outside the door of the church, shedding tears as they besought the faithful who entered to forgive them and to accept them back into their company; the second level consisted of those who listened, who, with the catechumens, stood in the vestibule and listened to the prayers and readings from there; and the third level consisted of those who knelt continually behind the faithful, though in the church proper. Those of both the second and third levels were required, at a certain moment, to leave the church. Finally, a fourth level consisted of those who stood with the faithful, yet were not admitted to the Eucharist (E. Smirnov, History of the Christian Church, pp. 97,98).

When speaking of the ancient practice of confession, we must also touch upon the question of eldership. In the context of ancient monasticism, there were elders who were bearers of charismata, special gifts of the Holy Spirit imparted directly from God on the basis of personal merit. Spiritual healing was viewed as the gift of the grace to "discern spirits." It was not bound up with the hierarchical ranks of bishop or priest, but was acquired by tonsure into the schema. The spiritual father took the souls of his disciples upon his own soul, guided them on every step of their spiritual life, and finally, hearing the confession of their thoughts and works, gave them encouragement and admonishment.

The moral and everyday relations between elder and disciple, spiritual father and spiritual child, very early developed externally into a stable and harmonious system. The ancient elder, like the later confessor, heard confession and regulated penance. The elder usually heard the confession of all the monk's sins. Confession to an elder and penance took the place of confession in church.

The spread of the influence of eldership among the laity began quite early, probably not long after monasticism became established. Laymen then began to patronize the elders, forsaking their own pastors.

The monastic form became the form used by the Church, and in this guise continued in the East, almost without change, for many centuries. In Russia this discipline, introduced with the rise of Christianity, survived to the beginning of the 18th century. With the acquisition of an immense expanse of territory, the separate class of spiritual fathers ceased to exist, and the right to hear confessions began to devolve upon each parish priest at his ordination.

Another peculiarity of the Church of Russia was that the position of confessor began to be limited exclusively to those in the rank of priest (I. M. Kontzevitch, Optina Hermitage and Its Epoch, pp. 15-19).

Thus, from of old, confession has taken the form, firmly established by our times, of a threefold spiritual exercise: preparation, confession, and Communion. As in antiquity, so also now confession must be met by essential external conditions without which the beneficial effect of the sacrament itself upon the soul of the penitent is limited.

The first condition, as has already been noted, is preparation. Without preparation there can be no confession! The old Russian verb "govet" (to prepare) means, in one sense, "to live" (see the dictionary of V. Dal'), "to be reborn." Through intense prayer, fasting, virtues, and spiritual reading, the path to this rebirth became accessible.

How may a believer, who with good conscience maintains a morning and evening rule of prayer, intensify his prayer? Firstly, through a more conscious and more deeply-felt prayer—one achieved, as it were, through suffering. Prayer is intensified by adding canons and akathist hymns, of which there are a great multitude. Finally, preparation may serve as the beginning of a continual remembrance of God through the recitation of the "Jesus Prayer."

Traditionally, preparation coincided with the four periods of fasting established by the Holy Church. At other times, it was felt to be desirable for preparation to be accompanied by no fewer than three days of fasting.

As regards virtue, possibilities for doing good deeds always surround us at every step. With regard to spiritual reading (apart from the Gospel, which should be read every day through the entire year), it is a good thing to read the lives of the saints. In our times, there is no lack of spiritually-edifying books and magazines.

To the unalterable external conditions for an effective confession one ought to add the time at which it takes place. Confession should take place during the evening prior to the day on which Communion is to be taken. An evening confession spiritually binds the disposition of the penitent for the whole night. This influence is felt especially during evening prayer and during morning prayer on the day of Communion, when the soul is tranquil and the heart is pure after confession. Confession in the evening makes it possible to open one's soul to the spiritual father without haste, to converse soul to soul. In parishes, particularly where there is only one priest, this rule ought to be strictly observed. In the morning, the priest is occupied with the proskomedia, and if he is forced to delay the beginning of the service because of those who come to confession at the last minute, is this fair to the whole assembly of the Church, which has to wait because of a few negligent parishioners? if there be exceptions to these two basic conditions, they can be found in extraordinary, mitigating circumstances, such as, for example, illness.

Let us now turn to the inner content of the confession of modern day Orthodox Christians.

An understanding of Christian piety has, to a significant degree, been lost through the influence of the world. We observe a complete lack of understanding of the importance and necessity of confession as the struggle for repentance in man's life. The majority of contemporary Christians now regard confession in an altogether superficial manner. Confession is undertaken as a formality which it is necessary to undergo in order to obtain access to the holy chalice. Against the background of such a soulless regard for the sacrament of confession, one may, in general outlines, draw a "picture" of the "attitude" of those who approach for confession.

The majority of those who would confess maintain silence and, in general, do not wish to speak of their sins in specific terms. If one of them does speak up, he speaks of his sins with such indulgence, with such reservations, that the spiritual father feels that sin itself is regarded by such people as a mere violation of the social order.

Of God, of God's justice, of the inner purity of the heart, of the conscience, there is no hint. To the question of the spiritual father concerning this inner state of the soul, the following dictum is often heard: "I have nothing in particular on my heart, Father. I am as sinful as other people. I haven't killed anybody; I haven't stolen anything; I am not involved in adultery; I don't get drunk. Perhaps I have judged someone; maybe I envy somebody...." Of what the penitent has done in God's name, for his neighbor, for his moral improvement, one hears not a word. There is no talk of the inner disposition of one's heart, of those multitudinous passions which rage in one's soul: malice, hatred, jealousy, judgement, falsehood, pride, vainglory, greed .... Such a person considers all of this a completely natural thing: "How can a living man exist without this?" Even more astonishing is that this entire silent majority, as though by agreement, describe their inner spiritual state in an identically lenient manner!

In order to bring about a spiritual healing, the confessor, like a medical doctor, must diagnose the affliction and disease of the penitent's soul. How can one treat those who maintain silence, who have the most false and superficial understanding of sin? More will be said of this later on.

The next category of people who come to confession are not those who keep silence, but those who speak on totally abstract themes. What do these mean-spirited confessors talk about? Usually such persons dwell on their experiences in their lost homeland of Russia, of the disorders and shortcomings of the diaspora. What transpires is a sort of quasi-political diatribe! Then, such persons will often complain about their bodily illnesses, and many even describe these ailments in the most painstaking detail. In taking leave of their audience, they unfailingly ask for health of body and length of days. And finally, these people quite openly speak about their relations with their loved ones and acquaintances, plunging into the vanity and pettiness of life, and even providing the names of those who have offended them.

It seems to us that conversations of a social nature at confession may be tolerated only in those cases when such experiences have a direct influence on the soul, or on the person's relationship with the Church. One may speak of one's illnesses in the case when, for example, the observance of the fasts would have a deleterious effect on one's health; the penitent might seek a dispensation from the rigor of fasting on the basis of his physical difficulties, which do influence the spiritual state of man. But to drag in the names of offenders is in no way laudable. Such people sow in the heart of their pastor the seeds of involuntary prejudice against others who are equally his spiritual children. The principal thing that such a person must come to understand when coming to confession is that a gift can be offered to the Lord God only after asking forgiveness of those whom one has offended and have forgiven offenses wholeheartedly.

In general, one often forms the impression that many Christians come to confession not to confess, but to urge their pastor to free them from what the Church has established as the goals of the spiritual and moral development of Her children. They justify their demand by their ailments. It is a strange thing to express such demands to a pastor. He can loose and bind, in accordance with the Saviour's command, but he must be more than careful in setting aside what the Church has ordained. Of course, a spiritual father must show leniency if it is clear to him that the penitent's reason for his inability to fulfill the law is not based on some personal caprice, but on real infirmity. Yet the penitents also must think twice before burdening their spiritual father with compromising considerations. In any event, they must fear willfulness in the weakening of the precepts of the Church, and must not dare, in any case, to set foot upon such a path without the blessing of their spiritual father.

From silence, secular garrulousness, and self-justification, some Christians, sinking even deeper into the morass of secularism and worldliness, permit themselves to attack the Church Herself. They not only do not acknowledge their own sins, but absolutely refuse to accept the precepts of the Church. For them, fasting is not obligatory (it is, according to them, fit only for monks and priests); they hold that civil marriage is enough for them, that an ecclesiastical marriage is not essential; and so forth. Put yourself in the place of a spiritual father: how can you permit such a person to approach the holy chalice? The person has no sense of his sin; on the contrary, he holds firmly to his own supposed correctness and expects the pastor to permit him to commune! To his great regret, the spiritual father has no other recourse than to withhold his permission. Before such a person comes to confession, he ought to speak with the spiritual father alone about his spiritual state.

In this latter category one may also place the many, especially of the young, who have fallen victim to the grievous apostasies and abnormalities of our times. Such are homosexuals, followers of Hindu mystics, drug addicts, and, in general, those who have fallen into the mire of today's amoral, pornographic, and abnormal allurements. In order to help such unfortunates it is essential that the spiritual fathers themselves be well-read and acquainted with the essence of these pernicious phenomena. There is an abundance of spiritual and moral literature on these questions at the present time, primarily in English.

This, in outline, is the lamentable composition of the penitents with whom today's pastors and spiritual fathers must deal. It is quite far from the spirit and ardor of the early Christians, is it not? One might ask: "is everything really so gloomy?" Let us hasten to give reassurance. In our benighted times there are many radiant spirits who approach the sacrament of confession with a sincere cry of heartfelt contrition. How many times a confessor sheds tears at a confession, seeing some kind soul offering good fruits at the table of the Lord—the Lord alone knows! But what about the majority: those who keep silence, or puff themselves up with vanity, who justify themselves, who are hard-hearted? What about them? Does one spurn them? God forbid! How can one help these sinners, how can one enkindle their hearts?

The answer to this difficult question must be twofold and comprehensive: on the one hand, the sinner must be re-educated, and on the other, the activity of the pastor himself must be successful.

Speaking of lukewarm and even hardened souls, we can only endure the gloomy reality of today's spiritual environment. There is no argument; there is no need to expound on the spiritual bankruptcy of the world. However, where is it that we encounter these deeply secular personalities, if not in church? Even if they arrive only when the bell is rung at "It is meet and right . . .," even if they leave during the sermon, nevertheless we encounter them in church. Something still draws them toward that which is holy. In a word, a spark is still alive! It is up to the spiritual father to fan that spark into flame.

In re-educating a lukewarm soul, attention must first be directed towards bringing sinners to an understanding of sin as the death of the soul. So long as man does not fear sin, he will never understand why confession has been established. When man senses that there is such a thing as a pure conscience, a pure heart, he will confess his sins with greater care and will approach the holy chalice more worthily, having made the effort to prepare himself for it. It is the task of the spiritual father to make clear, as has already been mentioned, that the penitent must pray earnestly, with his whole heart, and beseech the Lord with tears for mercy, in no wise trying to justify himself, for man can sin involuntarily, or, in any event, be a cause of temptation for others.

The second approach to the lukewarm soul must be to make him understand the mystery of Holy Communion. Everybody knows how the Lord Jesus Christ Himself instituted this sacrament, even the unchurchly, who know it from the days of their childhood when they studied catechism. Yet of the essence and action of the Eucharist many have only a superficial knowledge. What does Christ Himself say of Holy Communion? "I am the living Bread Which came down from heaven: if any man eat of this Bread, he shall live for ever" (Jn. 6:51). And even more precisely: "Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except ye eat of the Flesh of the Son of man, and drink His Blood, ye have no life in you. Whoso eateth My Flesh, and drinketh My Blood, hath eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day. For My Flesh is meat indeed, and My Blood is drink indeed. He that eateth My Flesh, and drinketh My Blood, abideth in Me and I in him" (Jn. 6:53-56).

Interpreting these sacred words of the Saviour, the spiritual father must with all care impress upon the consciousness of the faithful the essence of the activity of the Sacrament of the Eucharist. These are the saving fruits of Holy Communion:

1. Holy Communion unites us with the Lord in the closest possible manner.

2. Holy Communion nourishes our soul and body and makes possible our strengthening, progress, and growth in the spiritual life.

3. Holy Communion is for us a surety of the coming resurrection and everlastingly-blessed life.

Alas, many, many do not understand this basic truth! Hence the neglect of confession. A deepening of the knowledge of the nature of sin and the saving nature of repentance is also an object of spiritual care. Every student must have a teacher. For the healing of the flock there must be an experienced spiritual father. And where should the priest's labor be directed in order to gain what is most important in his life: the experience of spiritual healing? The answer to this question we find in His Beatitude Metropolitan Anthony's book on confession: "To acquire experience the confessor must work first of all on himself .... He must love the people, love man especially in those moments when he gives himself over to you, when he surrenders to God. You will hardly find him better than at these moments, and if you do not try to love him then, you will never love under the conditions of ordinary life."

How can one nurture the spirit of being a confessor within oneself?

We refer you to the remarkable writings of Protopresbyter V. Boshchanovsky on pastoral theology, in which the author urges the pastor to know himself: who he is and what gifts of grace he has been given by God. There is present within the priest the charisma of prophecy, imparted to him with the imposition of hands at his ordination. But the priest himself must not be passive; he is called to activity, to a continual, intelligent, and highly sacrificial labor in life. The spiritual father must promote within himself certain traits without which he would be no more than an ecclesiastical functionary; and he himself can feel this in the cool attitude toward him shown by the truly spiritual sympathetic souls who are seeking genuine pastorship, real guidance. These are the traits:

A holy life. The priest must, first of all, cleanse himself before he seeks to cleanse others, St. Gregory the Theologian teaches. The priest who himself turns away from the commandments of God can expect to hear the reproof of the Gospel: "Physician, heal thyself!" Sanctity of life is not a consciousness of an attained righteousness, but a striving for it which is full of an awareness of one's own unworthiness.

Knowledge—not of the world, which is arrogant and vain, but one which is mystical and filled with grace. The pastor must know the Gospel, the word of God, the teaching of the Church and Her rules—especially as interpreted and revealed by the Holy Fathers and Teachers of the Church. The lives of the saints are a precious fountain of instruction for the penitent.

Prudence—not secular and carnal, but one that is true, spiritual, which may merge with a higher virtue, discernment.

Ardent prayer, not for oneself alone, but also for all one's spiritual children. How can a pastor, who is surrounded on all sides by temptations, get by without prayer to God? And his children always sense this.

Zeal for the salvation of souls. This is the real flame of confessorship. If it is not present, the soul of the confessor is barren and fruitless. Spiritual zeal must encompass love, patience, and meekness, but firmness as well.

Thought of God must be habitual and commonplace for the pastor; for how else can the pastor move from the vanity of life to the grace-filled mystery of confession? The priest must live in a constant awareness of the closeness of God. This is the true quality of a spiritual father.

And really, who would entrust his soul to a priest who leads a secular life? Can one imagine a spiritual father who loves the cinema and the theater, who has a reputation in society as a successful recounter of not always modest anecdotes, whose reading is exclusively newspapers and secular literature, who can hold his liquor, but at confession shows himself to be a dread judge and a strict upholder of the law? Such a spiritual father doesn't so much arouse the sleeping conscience of the one confessing as cast the tormented soul into the abyss of despair and disillusionment!

Indeed, how worthy of his calling must the pastor-confessor live, to win the trust and love of the faithful who seek his spiritual help! Of all the problems of the pastoral ministry, that of being a father confessor is the most difficult, the most responsible. Truly the path of reconciling man with God is one strewn with thorns!

How does one gain the trust of the believer who comes to confession? How does one touch his soul? Firstly, as we have already stressed, one must develop the good qualities of a true confessor, must deepen one's Spiritual character.

The second condition of successful confessorship is amicable collaboration, mutual consent to the treatment between confessor and penitent. This flows from true Christian love of one for another and leads to mutual trust. The penitent must understand that the confessor is his friend, as well as his personal physician. The discipline governing the relationship must be strict. Obedience to the spiritual father must be complete—a total rejection of one's own will. A harmony of a sort must be established between confessor and the one confessing. The true pastor is ready to rejoice with one who is happy and to shed tears with one who is weeping. Therefore, the penitent must come to his spiritual father with complete trust and openly relate to him his experiences, doubts, and spiritual ailments. Under ideal circumstances, the one who confesses and the spiritual father pray for one another, and the Lord aids them. But the reward is inexpressibly great—peace of soul, joy in the Lord, and reinforced hope of everlasting life.

This is the immense task which lies before pastors and laymen alike. Can all the difficulties, all the impediments outlined above be resolved and overcome? Is this not a fantasy divorced from the reality of life? One wishes to believe that this is not the case! How can one nurture the noble impulse of the heart, how can one advance spiritual healing?

St. Tikhon of Zadonsk points us in the right direction: "One has to work. God helps those who labor, not those who lie down." Let us work for the Lord with fear, that we might gain the good fruits of true confessorship!

From Orthodox Life, Vol. 38, No. 2, pp. 41-49.

Source: http://orthodoxinfo.com/praxis/spiritual_father.aspx

Subscribe to: Posts ( Atom )

Search This Blog

featured Slider

The History and Development of Great Lent

Interview: War, Byzantium, and Military Saints

A few tips on helping your children grow to become faithful Orthodox Adults.

Joy and Growth Under the Snow at the Women's Farmstead

On Being a Spiritual Father in Modern Times

Partners