The Catalog of Good Deeds

Preaching in Jewish cities and villages and addressing crowds, the Lord speaks in the language intelligible for these crowds, that is, in the language of people around him. At the same time, we see in the Gospel, especially in the Gospel of St. John, the following affirmations: These words you hear are not my own; they belong to the Father who sent me (Jn. 14:24); I do nothing on my own but speak just what the Father has taught me (Jn. 8:28); My teaching is not my own. It comes from him who sent me (Jn. 7:16), or The words I have spoken to you are spirit and they are life (Jn. 6:63). The Lord proclaims absolutely new and strange things which exceed by far not only human customs and habits but also human reason. His words often provoke anger as they are hard to grasp. He addresses Jews, saying, you have no room for my word, and they are divided again (Jn. 10:19) and many of them would say: He was raving mad. Not only the Pharisees but also many of his disciples, on hearing it (the sermon at Capernaum) said, "This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?" (Jn. 6:60). And as John reports, from this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him (Jn. 6:66). His words amazed the crowd as he taught not as their teachers of the law (Mt. 7:29). No one ever spoke the way this man does (Jn. 7:46). And even the closest twelve disciples are bewildered. Let us remember the parable about a camel for whom it is easier to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and asked, "Who then can be saved?" (Mt. 19:25).

So, the Lord preaches in the language of people around him but often remains unintelligible. Explaining the reason for it, he says to the Jews: You are from below; I am from above (Jn. 8:23).

The gospel’s word inspired from above is a call to utter perfection which exceeds any measure and rule, going beyond the law. If forgiveness is to be given, it should be given not three times as the Pharisees taught (Yoma 86 Bar) nor seven times as St. Peter believes (whose measure apparently exceeds that of the Pharisees) but seventy-seven times, that is, endless times (Mt. 18:21-22). One should donate not one fifth of the value of a ram (cf. Lev. 5:15-16) nor half of one’s possessions, as Zacchaeus, who found Christ, offers (Lk. 19:8) but sell everything and distribute the money to the poor. One should love not only one’s close relatives and friends but extend one’s love to all people including one’s enemies. (But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous (Mt. 5:44-45)). Love in the Saviour’s preaching becomes an authoritarian directive: your neighbour is any one whom you approach with love and care (see the Parable of the Good Samaritan). In the Gospel we hear a call to utter perfection: Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect (Mt. 5:48) but this perfection is unattainable for the man in his fallen state since it demands a spiritual renewal through communion with God and strengthening through the power of the Holy Spirit, for with man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible (Mt. 19:26). This is the answer that the Lord gives to his bewildered disciples.

There is another very important aspect of the gospel’s word: the gospel’s teaching is not an abstract sum of knowledge but the way of finding a new life in the Kingdom of Heaven. This Kingdom is already revealed in power through the knowledge of God in communion with the Son. (If you really knew me, you would know my Father as well (Jn. 14:7); anyone who has seen me has seen the Father (Jn. 14:9)). Any parable or instruction of the Saviour has an element of not only theological revelation but also guidance for action. In other words, they are inseparable from moral, ascetic and volitional decisions and pose a person before the problem of choice. Very often the Lord concludes his instructions with words: He who has ears let him hear. His call points out that he does not set forth his teaching in a ready and completed form but rather urges his listeners to think, to seek and to come to self-determination. But the way to the comprehension of the divine word which comes from the above, from the Father, lies through the understanding of the commonly accepted human words, images and idioms in which it is embodied, that is, through the understanding of the language of the gospel’s preaching.

What is this language then? The gospel’s preaching is not set forth in a language of fixed terms. It does not have a strict system and precise definitions which are found in later theology. The language of the gospel’s theology is different in that it is figurative and its instructions are given in the form of vivid comparisons, metaphors and parables often striking in their paradoxality, for instance, Whoever tries to keep his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it (Lk. 17:33). Many images are borrowed directly from the everyday life of Palestinian peasants, fishermen and craftsmen, which makes the Saviour’s preaching more open and intelligible for listeners. The language of the gospel’s theology is based on the Holy Scriptures of the Old Testament. The good knowledge of these texts characteristic of the people whom the Saviour addresses enables him not only to cite them but also to borrow from them certain images and expressions and to build more complex allusions and connotations, developing these images even further. (see for instance the parable about ‘evil workers in a vineyard’ in Mt. 21:22-24 and Is. 5). Therefore, an adequate understanding of the gospel’s theology is impossible without a good knowledge of the Old Testament.

Besides, a study of inter-testament literature, which was very popular in its time, as the existence of a great number of its translations into other languages show, as well as the Middle East folklore, non-biblical idiomatics, sayings by various authoritative teachers, aphorisms, etc. has shown that the Lord, in creating the image-bearing harmony of this instructions and parables, often addressed this living manifold linguistic material as well.

I would like to speak in detail about it. There are examples pointing to a striking coincidence between the Gospel’s words and expressions we find in rabbinical sources.

Mt. 6:34

Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Bracho 9б

There is enough trouble of its own for every hour

Мt. 7:5

You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye.

Baba Bathra 15б

He says to him: take out a chip stuck in our teath. And he answers to this: first take out the log that sticks out of your eye.

Mk. 2:27

The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.

Yoma 856

The Sabbath is given to you, not you to the Sabbath

Mt. 9:17

Neither do men pour new wine into old wineskins

Abot 4, 20

It happens that a new vessel can be full of an old wine, but it also happens that even young cannot be found in an old.

For the proponents of the historical development of Christianity, such examples serve as a pretext for denying uniqueness to the gospel’s teaching. Identifying the figurative and ideological aspects of an expression, they overlook that the Lord, using popular comparisons, idioms, clichés, etc., often puts into them a new meaning consonant with the spirit of his preaching.

In the Bikkurim tractate, there is a story about a dispute between Rabbi Joshua ben Hananiah and Athenian sages. It is of a pronounced folkloric nature. The Athenian sages, for instance, break a jug before Joshua and ask him to sew it together. To this Joshua responds by spilling a handful of sand and asking them to spin it into yarn. The Athenian sages then ask him to build a castle in the air, and he tells them to bring bricks. Among other things, the Athenian sages asked Joshua: What is to be used to salt the salt that has lost its saltiness? The answer offered by Joshua is this: the afterbirth (placenta) of a she-mule. The meaning is that a she-mule as a cross between a mare and an ass is barren. The sages ask: Can’t a she-mule have afterbirth? The rabbi answers: Can’t salt lose its saltness? This story makes us recall the words of the Saviour:

Mt. 5:13

You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men.

Bikkurim 8

How can the salt that has lost its saltiness be made salty again? We say to them: by the afterbirth of a she-mule. Hasn’t a she-mule an afterbirth? And is not salt salty?

Clearly, one and the same phrase: If salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty? serves completely different purposes and, coming from the Saviour, turns from a witty folk puzzle into an assertion of the lofty mission and responsibility with which the Lord entrusts his disciples.

Another example in which the Saviour in his edification refers to an already known sayings is found in the Gospel of Matthews 7:12. This passage makes us recall a story about one of the most prominent religious teachers of the turn of the era, Rabbi Hillel. There are several surviving stories about a heathen who wished to convert to Judaism. He came first to Rabbi Shammai but, dissatisfied with his visit, decided to approach Rabbi Hillel as a more flexible and less rigoristic man. One of these stories is as follows:

Shabbat 30а

Another man came to Shammai and said, I will become a Jew if you can teach me the entire Torah in the time that you can stand on one foot. Again, Shammai, drove him off in anger. Going to Hillel, he made the same offer. What is hateful to you, do not do to others, said Hillel. That is the whole Torah.

It is not difficult to see that the Gospel’s words: So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets, on one hand, presuppose a knowledge of Hillel’s saying and appear to be a direct reference to it but they develop it and give them a different, gospel’s, measure, on the other. While Hillel’s instruction is called only to keep one from evil and to prevent one from showing disrespect for others, the Saviour’s words express something much greater – a call to love and care of one’s neighbours.

The most interesting examples however are those in which the Lord, alluding to expressions well known to his listeners, does not merely reconstruct them or give them a new meaning but inverts them in a very unexpected and paradoxical way, thus revealing new relations going beyond habitual human wisdom.

I will try to illustrate this idea using the following three examples.

Among the Qumran discoveries are fragments of the original Hebrew (Testament of Naphtali) and Aramaic (Testament of Levi) text of the Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs dating back to the 2nd century B.C. The full text of this apocryphal writing has survived in Greek but it is also known in its Syrian, Latin, Ethiopian and Slavonic version. This excellent literary work was certainly known to the Saviour’s contemporaries, which accounts for a whole number of its lexical coincidences with the New Testament literature.

Here is a vivid example:

Testament of Joseph 11, 1, 5-6

I was tormented by hunger but the Lord himself fed me up. I was lonely, and God comforted me, I was sick, and the Lord visited me, I was in prison, and God had mercy on me.

Mt. 25:35-37

I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me

This example has been repeatedly cited as a testimony to the literary dependence and ‘close relations which existed between Jewish pre-Christian apocryphal and the New Testament literature’ (И.Д. Амусин Кумранская община. М., 1983). But we will go beyond a mere statement of apparent verbal coincidences. Joseph’s words in the apocrypha, so moving and full of gratitude to his Lord, belong to a quite understandable and ‘natural’ plane: a righteous man is suffering and the Lord does not abandon him but supports and helps him. On the other hand, people’s reaction to the Gospel’s words is amazement. For all the outward similarity of the expressions, there is a glaring contrast as in the Gospel’s parable it is not God but a man who visits his Lord and gives him food, water and clothes. But can a man really take care of God: Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? – This is a puzzle not only for gospel’s sinners but also righteous men: whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.

This is how a simple ‘old’ theme gives rise to an unexpected and paradoxical ‘new’ gospel’s instruction – an instruction so important that the response to it determines ultimately one’s way either to eternal punishment or to eternal life (Mt. 25:46), as will see below.

Let us take another example from the tractate Pirkei Avot’s (The Saying of the Fathers). This tractate is of special interest for us since it contains brief sayings which characterize the worldview of the oldest Rabbinic authorities beginning from Simeon the Righteous (3d century B.C) to the beginning of compiling Mishnah (c. 200 A.D.). The first four chapters contain the authors’ instructions given by 60 teachers. Before they were committed to paper, they were discussed and handed down by word of mouth, and in this sense they represent a very rich material picturing the ideological atmosphere at the turn of the era. Most of the sayings in the next, fifth, chapter are anonymous. Some of them can be viewed as a sort of school folklore or a set of popular aphorisms born in the walls of a beth misrash. But these are also worldly truths and axioms expressing the original insights of rabbinic ethical and didactical wisdom.

Among them is this lecture (5:10): all people are divided into four types. The first type would say: mine is mine, yours is yours – these, according to the Pirkei Avot tractate are מידה בינונית, neutral people. The second type says: mine is yours and yours is yours. They are צדיק, pious people. The third ones say: mine is mine and yours is mine. These are רשע , wicked people. And finally, the fourth ones will say: mine is years and yours is mine. These are עם הארץ, people of the land.

The expression ‘people of the land’, am ha-aretz, was originally used by the Pharisees to denote those who did not belong to their party but later acquired a negative connotation meaning ‘unlearned and stupid people ignorant of Torah’.

In this connection we can recall the Gospel of John 17:10 in which the Lord, addressing his Father, says literally this: All I have is yours, and all you have is mine. It reflects utter mutual openness and endless commitment to each other – relations of perfect love between Father and Son, which do not fit the Pharisaic ethical and legal wisdom, as for the Pharisees ‘mine is yours and yours is mine’ is a commoner’s stupidity while for the Son of God it is an expression of the utmost wisdom and love.

Another example. We find the following affirmation in the Sotah tractate (8b):

Sotah 8b

In the measure with which a man measures it is meted out to him.

This affirmation needs the following explanatory comment: Samson followed his eyes’ inclination and had his eyes put out… Absalom took pride in this hair and was hanged by his hair; etc. In other words, the punishment and retribution are unavoidable according to the principle ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’. But coming from the Saviour, the same expression acquires a directly opposite meaning, expressing a call to mercy and refusal to judge:

Mt. 7:2

For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

Here is the final example in which only one word is changed. In the rabbinical literature, a crowd is always denoted by the world רבים translated as ‘many’. But it also means ‘great’. Probably, in combining these two meanings, ‘many’ as denoting a certain group of people and ‘great’ as denoting one’s special righteousness and learning, the Qumranites used the word רבים as one of the ways to name themselves. In this connection, it is very characteristic that in the Gospel the Lord, addressing the crown around him, used not the Greek πολλοι for the Hebrew רבים – ‘many’ and ‘big ones’ but its opposite μικροι meaning ‘little ones’, which is הקטנים האלה in Hebrew. As far as I know, this usage is not found in the Mishnah literature and may express an exclusive peculiarity of the Saviour’s language.

Mt. 18:6

But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea

Tos. Sanhedrin 13, 5

Whoever committed a sin and tempted many into sin shall have the gates of Gehenna closed after him and shall be committed to it for ages of ages.

Pirkei Avot 5:18

Whoever tempted many into sin shall not be permitted to repent..

For all the common topic expressed in the affirmation that whoever causes others to sin deserves death, it is impossible to overlook that in one case it is an abstract affirmation about many and addressed to many but in the other it is personal concern for each of ‘the little ones who believe in me’, that is, who put their trust in the Lord.

If we have to deal with ‘the little ones’, it means that each of them needs special care, like a child. One of many is not worthy of abandoning the ninety-nine. But it is only one of the little ones, namely, the one whose angel in heaven always sees the face of my Father in heaven (Mt. 18:10), can be likened to a lost sheep for whose sake the shepherd leaves the whole flock, And if he finds it, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off (Mt. 18:13).

Among the Mishnah parables we will also find one in which a shepherd will take more care of a stray goatling which joins the flock than his lost sheep.

A goatling grew in the desert and he went astray and joined a flock. The shepherd began giving him food and drink and came to love him most of all his flock. He is asked: Do you really love this goatling more than your flock? He says to them: I worked so much to take my flock out in the morning and to take them in in the evening until they grew up, but this one who grew in deserts himself came to join my flock. How can I not love him?

I have simplified this parable, of course. Clearly, the point here is not a proselyte newcomer. Still it is impossible to overlook the contrast: the parable about a lost sheep is an image of selfless, searching and saving love, while in the parable about a goatling who just joined the flock without any efforts on the shepherd’s part, love does not go beyond ordinary relations motivated by profit.

By Archpriest Leonid Grilikhes

Source: http://www.bogoslov.ru/en/text/1246430.html

In a recent podcast titled “Introducing Eastern Orthodoxy” at the Just & Sinner blog, Lutheran author Jordan Cooper laid some groundwork to help not only explain why many conservative Lutherans are ‘heading East,’ but also provide an introduction to Orthodox belief and practice for his largely Lutheran audience.

Since I have a lot of respect for both Lutherans and their theology—especially that of Martin Luther as compared to other, later Reformers—I thought it might be helpful to take some notes and provide a brief response.

Given that I am responding to my own notes on his talk, it’s possible I have misunderstood Jordan on points, and so I apologize ahead of time if that’s the case. I’d also like to say that the purpose of this article is not to engage in any hostile battle, but to provide balance for what I consider to be a largely accurate representation of Orthodox Christianity.

Why Are People Converting?

From the onset, Jordan discusses the conversion phenomenon of the past few decades, where a number of high-profile evangelicals and even whole church movements—such as the Evangelical Orthodox Church, led by Peter E. Gillquist (of blessed memory)—are being received into the Orthodox Church. For him, and other conservatives in the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod, this begs the question: ‘Why?’

Unfortunately, I feel that Jordan makes a mistake that many of us make when faced with this sort of thing, especially if it involves either friends or loved ones. I have been guilty myself.

While the temptation to explain individual or even mass conversions of people from one religious persuasion to another is strong, it should be resisted. People are individuals and everyone is on their own path. Attempting to categorize and ultimately explain away these conversions (and individuals) is neither honest nor helpful. Jordan wants to categorize these conversions as being mostly done by under-educated evangelicals or those attracted to the external beauty of eastern Christianity, but neither is really the primary, motivating factor (even if they are a supplementary factor for some). I have written before on the wrong reasons for converting.

Instead, it is far more helpful to ask these people directly what led to their conversion, and to dialogue with them (if at all) on the grounds of doctrinal convictions. Better yet, simply pray for them, love them, and seek to understand how this step is but one of many on their own salvation journey. Discerning motives is always best left to God alone.

A Love for Church History and the Early Church Fathers

Jordan believes that for the under-educated—those not exposed to either Church history or the early Church fathers—their conversion is done perhaps in ignorance. Had they realized that a love for both early Church history and the fathers was also present in confessional Lutheranism (as with Martin Chemnitz, for example, in his Examination of the Council of Trent), then a conversion to Orthodoxy or Roman Catholicism would not be necessary. Jordan also feels that one finds in Orthodoxy a romanticized version of early Church history, with a mythical ‘consensus of the fathers’ for most beliefs, as well as a naïve understanding of both Christian history and the struggle for doctrinal orthodoxy.

No doubt, for many converts to Orthodoxy from other forms of Christianity, a robust exposure to the early Church and her beliefs is a key motivation behind conversion. There is a profound, existential experience to be had when one can read descriptions of the liturgy for catechumens in the third century writings of a Saint, and then experience that same service—word-for-word and action-for-action—in the here and now. I was struck by this experience myself, even as a semi-educated, well-read Protestant of over twenty-six years (at the time of our conversion).

But rather than this being a problem of skipping ‘patristic Lutheranism’ (or Anglicanism, or Presbyterianism) altogether, many take a direct route from historical study to incarnate reality. In other words, rather than reading about the Church of the past, in Orthodoxy one finds that same Church in the present. This is an ontological conversion, not an exercise in academic curiosity. Rather than attempting to recreate the best elements of our Christian past in the present, converts to Orthodoxy are deeply convicted—more often than not—that the Church into which they are being grafted is truly one-and-the-same with that Church of the third century (or indeed, of any century). Jordan and others are certainly free to disagree on this point, but this is where we are.

When it comes to a romanticized view of history or the Church fathers, I feel this critique is almost an inescapable one for those not involved with the life and ministry of the Orthodox Church—in other words, for those on the outside-looking-in. This is partly due to a lack of resources in the English language that are both accessible and relevant for those interested in learning more about the Orthodox Church (but this is slowly changing). Instead, speculation and oft-repeated half-truths reign supreme (especially on the Internet).

In reality, Orthodox Christians and scholars are acutely aware of the struggles for orthodoxy, beginning as early as Irenaeus’ writings against the Gnostics and continuing all the way down until the present, where any number of struggles can be easily numbered (Lord, have mercy). There was no ‘golden age’ of the Church, nor will there ever be one this side of the resurrection. Some of our greatest heroes of faith died either in exile (St. John Chrysostom, St. Athanasius of Alexandria) or with their limbs or tongues having been severed (St. Maximos the Confessor). Even ‘jolly’ Saint Nicholas died with a broken nose and having slapped Arius in the face. Christian history is indeed a complicated, messy thing. The theanthropic Body of Christ is never without the ‘anthropos’ and a struggle for both doctrinal and moral purity.

On the issue of a ‘consensus of the Fathers,’ it is somewhat inaccurate to attribute this perspective to the Orthodox Church as the sole or even primary litmus test of orthodoxy. In fact, this perspective has more heritage with the Reformers than with the Orthodox Church. For Orthodoxy, ‘dogma’ is defined by conciliar consensus as laid out in the Ecumenical Councils. Orthodox dogma, then, is actually restricted to a rather limited number of doctrinal ‘boundaries’ (Greek ‘Horos’), within which all dialogue, debate, and pious opinion takes place. Even doctrines such as deification have not been ‘dogmatized’ in the eastern tradition, but represent instead a prevailing consensus of theological expression. The same could be said for any number of Orthodox doctrines that are often wrongly characterized by the non-Orthodox as ‘the Orthodox position’ on a topic (more on this later).

As an aside, the so-called canon of St. Vincent of Lérins (often cited as an example of requiring patristic consensus) does not describe the manner in which dogma is determined, but rather how discerning Christians throughout history are to engage in a proper discussion of matters that are not dogmatic—that is, that are not a matter of Ecumenical dogma—and only one of these three options (they are not to be simultaneously applied, but rather successively) involves a ‘consensus’ of the fathers.

From the Orthodox perspective, Church fathers are alive today just as they were in the fourth century. There was no charismatic cessation of fathers at the close of the Seventh Ecumenical Council, and our services often conclude by invoking the prayers of “our holy fathers” who are among us. Christian writers in the Church today are themselves a part of our living, breathing, holy tradition. While some popular-level works might be misleading in characterizing Orthodoxy as a faith always looking backwards, we are very much a living, present, and dynamic faith. What we hold to be true is not true because it is old, but rather because it is orthodox.

Greek East and Latin West

Jordan rightly notes a growing distinction between the theological development of the Latin-speaking West and the Greek-speaking East, as early as even the third century. For example, the third century teacher Tertullian of Carthage (A.D. 160–225)—later in his life a member of the heretical Montanist sect—is often termed the ‘Father of Latin Theology.’ He mentions key figures among the Greeks, including both Ss. Maximos the Confessor and Gregory Palamas, whose theology was no doubt influential on late-medieval and even present-day, Orthodox theology.

One of the specific distinctions he notes is the addition of the Filioque (Latin “and the Son”) to the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed of 381—an addition first made by Spanish Christians in the sixth century, and later officially sanctioned by Rome in the early-eleventh century. I appreciated most of what Jordan had to say on this issue, admitting that the Latin Christians were not exactly charitable in their unilateral decision to amend the creed. However, like many Orthodox Christians, I do not necessarily think that an amendment to the creed is impossible (I would say it is unnecessary). Instead, the issue is the orthodoxy (or non-orthodoxy) behind this statement and its implications.

While I likely disagree with him on the underlying theology, I respect Jordan’s confessional convictions that—as a faithful Lutheran abiding by the Book of Concord—he cannot rightly advocate a removal of the Filioque from their usage of the creed.

Jordan also mentions the notion of doctrinal development in the Roman church today, in distinction from the East. For example, he mentions the number of additional ‘Ecumenical Councils’ assembled by the Roman church since the Seventh Ecumenical Council (A.D. 787), all of which are less-than-grand in both scale and emphasis when compared with the first seven.

But here I think Jordan commits another common error when it comes to understanding the Orthodox Church, saying we believe ‘all heresy’ was stopped at the Seventh Ecumenical Council, with no need for a similar ‘development of doctrine.’ (He also attributes the celebration of the Triumph of Orthodoxy with the seventh council, a celebration that actually first commemorated the Synod of Constantinople in 843 under the Empress Theodora—but this is a common confusion.)

For example, it should be noted that there are a number of Orthodox Christians and theologians today who would term the fourth ecumenical synod in Constantinople (A.D. 879–880) as the Eighth Ecumenical Council. This synod is referred to as such in both the fifteenth century writings of St. Mark of Ephesus and the Encyclical of the Eastern Patriarchs (1848), written in response to Pope Pius IX’s Epistle to the Easterns. In the Greek church today, there are synodal discussions for affirming this synod as well as the synods dealing with the Palamite controversy of 1341–1351 as the Eighth and Ninth Ecumenical Councils, respectively. A pan-Orthodox council could someday rule this to be official Church teaching.

Beyond this, there have been a number of formative, ecumenical statements or doctrinal formulations on the part of the eastern churches since the eighth century. Metropolitan Kallistos Ware, in fact, outlines these events and statements in The Orthodox Church, which Jordan references several times in his discussion. But we have to keep in mind what I stated already: our dogmatic boundaries are set, with a great deal of freedom allowed within. The necessity for continual dogmatic development is not granted on the part of Orthodox Christians, especially given our predilection towards apophaticism.

And finally, on this point, one cannot neglect the historical circumstances surrounding the Orthodox Church since the fall of Constantinople (1453). For centuries, the Church was—at best—operating in a state of persecuted ‘survival mode,’ praying only that she would survive for another generation. This has continued all the way until the fall of the Iron Curtain, and persists even today. Thankfully, in many places where Orthodoxy is represented, this is no longer the case. But one cannot ignore even the present sufferings of our brothers and sisters in Egypt, Syria, Turkey, and now Ukraine—where the prospect of ‘dogmatic development’ is the furthest thing from anyone’s mind.

I would contend that the presence of dogmatic development is a symptom of stagnancy, not the solution against it.

The Legacy of Saint Augustine of Hippo

His talk then shifts to both the theology and influence of St. Augustine on both Western Christianity as a whole, and Martin Luther in particular.

Mentioning Augustine’s perspectives on human depravity, original sin, and double predestination, Jordan states that Augustine has not been nearly as influential in the East, and that we don’t consider him to be ‘fully’ a Saint, preferring to refer to him only as ‘Blessed.’

Throughout his podcast, Jordan mentions a few different source books for his exposure to Orthodox doctrine. It has to be noted here that some of the works he’s relying upon—especially that of Lossky, great as it is—represent a particular perspective of Orthodox theological expression, motivated by various historical circumstances. Again, not everything written by an Orthodox Christian—clergy or otherwise—is representative of the dogmatic beliefs of the Church (of which there are precious few). He is taking the opinions of a few as normative for the entire Church. There are certainly some Orthodox people over the past century or so who have over-reacted to a Western ‘captivity’ of their generation in Orthodox thought, focusing this divergence on the figure and writings of St. Augustine—but this does not represent any official Church teaching.

In fact, the Fifth Ecumenical Council (A.D. 553, held in the East) numbers Augustine among a select group of fathers to be highly revered for both their piety and theological writings. This does not mean they are infallible—and some of their writings are more important than others—but it certainly, and with conciliar, dogmatic authority, leaves no room whatsoever to deny that Augustine is a Saint. On this point we must state that those who would deem him otherwise are simply wrong. (Also, Orthodox Christians do not have ‘levels’ of distinction for venerated figures, so ‘Blessed’ is not a designation ‘less than’ that of ‘Saint,’ for example–any more than calling the Theotokos ‘Blessed’ makes her less than a Saint.)

While Orthodox Christians might disagree with much of Augustine-via-Aquinas or the later Reformers, we venerate and appreciate Augustine for the areas in which he was most influential on the continuing life of the Church: e.g. his anti-Donatist writings, his position on the canon and text of scripture, his work on baptism and the other Christian mysteries, and so on. Augustine-via-Maximos the Confessor and other work being done in our own day is far more interesting to eastern scholars, of course, but we revere him nonetheless. Many Orthodox Christians take Augustine as their baptismal name and even more venerate his holy icon—we love St. Augustine.

Monergism, Original Sin, and Semi-Pelagianism

The figure of Augustine and his influence on the West (and supposed disdain in the East) leads Jordan to a brief discussion of the differences between monergism and synergism.

Essentially, monergism is the belief that all of a person’s salvation—from beginning to end—is a work entirely of God and his Grace, while synergism teaches that God begins the work of salvation by Grace, but a person must then cooperate with God’s Grace for the remainder of their life. Jordan mentions the figure of John Cassian as a champion of the doctrine of synergism, revered by the East and rejected by the West (or at least, not venerated as a Saint). He also briefly mentions the doctrinal position of Semi-Pelagianism, supposedly held by both John Cassian and even present-day Orthodox Christians. Jordan notes that the Orthodox are not full-blown Pelagians, but that we don’t see original sin as a total or complete ‘corruption’ of human nature. For the East, says Jordan, the emphasis is not on the sin or guilt of Adam, but on the consequence of death.

There is almost a limitless amount that could be written on these few points, so I will do my best to be brief.

First, it must be stated emphatically that St. Augustine did not hold to monergism (a Reformation doctrine), but is in fact a synergist along with practically every other father and early Christian authority. As just one example, Augustine shares a concise analogy of a tree, illustrating the cooperation between both God and man in salvation (On the Grace of Christ 1.19.20). The grace of God first makes an evil tree good (at baptism), and then “God co-operates in the production of fruit in good trees.”

This is the position taken by the Second Synod of Orange (A.D. 529), a council curiously appealed to by Calvinists as ‘patristic evidence’ of both monergism and the Doctrines of Grace:

According to the catholic faith we also believe that after grace has been received through baptism, all baptized persons have the ability and responsibility, if they desire to labor faithfully, to perform with the aid and cooperation of Christ what is of essential importance in regard to the salvation of their soul.

And regarding double-predestination (whether taught by Augustine or not), this council concludes:

We not only do not believe that any are foreordained to evil by the power of God, but even state with utter abhorrence that if there are those who want to believe so evil a thing, they are anathema.

Semi-Pelagianism itself is also an invention of the sixteenth century, and does not exist in any discussions of the fifth or sixth (the term is coined in 1577). While Saints such as John Cassian and Vincent of Lérins are often wrongly associated with this fabricated heterodoxy, they are actually in agreement with—contra-monergism—the Second Synod of Orange. This council was an orthodox compromise between the isolated speculations of St. Augustine and that of the heretical Pelagians. St. Vincent himself mentions this debate in his Commonitory around the time of Chalcedon (A.D. 451), where he decries the doctrine of double-predestination. For those like Cassian, salvation is of Grace from beginning to end, while not ignoring both the reality and necessity of man’s cooperation with that Grace from baptism to last breath.

It is sometimes claimed that John Cassian is not venerated as a Saint by Rome, but this is not really true. In the present Catechism of the Catholic Church, he is cited twice (as “St. John Cassian,” cf. CCC 1866, 2785). Denzinger refers to him a number of times in the Fundamentals of Catholic Dogma as “St. John Cassian.” His feast day—while admittedly out of prominence in the latest Vatican reforms of the Martyrologium Romanum—is July 23 (Feb. 29 for the Orthodox and Anglicans). Cassian was also incredibly influential on the foundations of Western, Benedictine monasticism, along with the likes of Pachomius and the Egyptian or ‘desert fathers’ of the east. He is not widely beloved as he once was in the Christian West, but he is certainly not rejected or seen as less than a Saint and father of the Church.

On the topic of original vs. ancestral sin, this is another example of taking certain, even popular, Orthodox writings on a doctrinal perspective, and assuming them as normative, exclusive, and dogmatic.

It is certainly the case that the majority of Greek and even Slavic theology on original sin over the past century has focused on the inheritance of death and corruption from Adam. This is also what often gets emphasized in introductory or popular-level discourse. In part, this has to do with the fact that this is a narrative elevated in the vast majority of our liturgical services (hymns and prayers) related to the subject. For example, the great Paschal (Easter) hymn refrains:

Christ is risen from the dead,

Trampling down death by death,

And upon those in the tombs bestowing life.

While the overwhelming emphasis of eastern works on the topic of original sin focuses on the consequence of both death and corruption (and their reversal in Christ’s death and resurrection), this does not mean we reject a susceptibility and even strong inclination towards sin as a result of the Fall. As Jordan would likely agree, these viewpoints are not mutually exclusive—it is simply a matter of emphasis. And that emphasis has changed over time, with confessions or catechisms of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries dealing more with the psychical or moral effects of original sin than simply death and corruption alone.

For more on the other angle of Orthodox belief on original sin, I would recommend two essays: Original Sin and Orthodoxy: Reflections on Carthage and Original Sin and Ephesus: Carthage’s Influence on the East. As one can discern, the focus is on conciliar, Ecumenical decrees, not a perceived ‘consensus of the fathers’ or the viewpoints of a few, even key, writers.

East vs. West?

Jordan feels that many Orthodox Christians are engaged in an over-reaction to what we term ‘Western’ theology. He sees this in Lossky, and finds that for such, bad theology is associated with being ‘Western,’ while orthodox theology is always ‘Eastern.’

On the one hand, I think a lot of this is our own fault. As mentioned earlier, there is definitely a part of Orthodoxy over the past century or so that has drawn sharp distinctions between the theology of the East and the theology of the West (and for good, historical reasons, at times). All of the world’s problems are neatly packaged as Western thinking, with Augustine chiefly to blame. However, I must stress that the extremes of this attitude do not express normative, dogmatic Orthodoxy.

I’ve already noted our affinity for St. Augustine, but when it comes to an East and West divide, the Orthodox Church is not only for ‘Eastern’ or oriental people, but is believed to be both a catholic and universal faith—encompassing perspectives both Greek and Latin, Jewish and Gentile. ‘Eastern’ is more of a description for the sake of clarity than it is anything deeply meaningful or theological—and far less is it to be taken as the inverse of an insult. If the Orthodox Church is termed ‘Eastern,’ this is almost always said today to distinguish between Rome and the remaining Patriarchates and autocephalous churches that are not in communion with the Pope of the city of Rome. So while there’s definitely some who would use these terms as a further cause of distinction or even division, we must remember that it is more a term of clarification than discrimination.

Jordan also feels that Orthodox Christians (such as Lossky) are led to false dichotomies when it comes to doctrinal discussion, as a result of this anti-Western bigotry. Eastern theology is delivered as the absolute antithesis to Western theology, with Eastern ideas completely overriding and eliminating Western ones. For example, Jordan believes that Orthodox Christians accept one—and only one—viewpoint when it comes to a number of doctrinal distinctives (such as the atonement), to the exclusion of other, equally valid positions.

Again, I think this misunderstanding stems from three different factors: 1) An unfamiliarity with the life and liturgy of the Orthodox Church as one of her members, 2) An exposure to only certain types of Orthodox literature or perspectives, and 3) An assumption that particular perspectives among Orthodox authors—popular as they are—is both a normative and dogmatic expression of the ‘official teachings’ of the Orthodox Church.

And while this is not entirely Jordan’s fault (even as I term it a ‘misunderstanding’), from someone living as part of the Orthodox Church for several years now, I can’t think of anything said about Orthodoxy that is more obviously false. In truth, Orthodoxy is often called a church of both paradox and mystery. Our light-hearted response to deeper questions from our non-Orthodox friends is “It’s a mystery.” Whenever someone begins to ask me, “What’s the official Orthodox position on—”, I always stop them and say “We don’t have one.” (Half-joking, of course.)

So while many Orthodox authors today will speak of Christus victor, ancestral sin, theosis, and non-juridicial concepts of salvation, this is not the final, Orthodox word on these issues. Within our ecumenical boundaries of dogma, anything is open for discussion, dialogue, and healthy debate. While one might find a dominant perspective in Orthodoxy on certain topics, this does not mean we reject all other perspectives on the same. An affinity for theosis is not a rejection of the forgiveness of sins in Christ’s death on the Cross, nor is it a rejection of concepts like justification or even ‘legal’ metaphors for salvation.

One must also keep in mind that the theological discussions and debates of the Orthodox Church are not necessarily going to neatly ‘line up’ with that of the West (using the term as a descriptor, not an insult). In fairness, Protestant theology is largely a reaction against Rome, with much of modern Roman theology a counter-reaction against Protestantism (and with a great deal of synthesis, in some cases). With Orthodoxy on the outside-looking-in, we do not always have a common ground. This contextualization and historical reality should not be mistaken as a lack of concern on the part of Orthodox Christians for ideas and concepts that are more central to Protestant or Roman Catholic belief.

To contend that Orthodox Christians misunderstand Sola fide or that we care more about theosis than justification is to beg the question that the Orthodox Church be Lutheran or Reformed in order to be correct. This is, at best, an abstraction—conflating epistemology with ontology—and only muddies the waters of meaningful dialogue.

Concluding Thoughts

While it might seem at this point that I have a number of substantial disagreements with Jordan on his introduction to Orthodoxy, I haven’t outlined all of the areas in which we agree (and where he gets things correct). As I listened, I was impressed by many of the clarifying statements he made, even seeking to understand Orthodox Christians on their own terms, and not force everything into categories or perspectives not necessarily shared between Lutheranism and Orthodoxy. On more than one occasion while listening to his presentation, I was about to write down another point for response, but he would then provide the correct and balancing statements in order to more accurately represent the Orthodox faith.

If there is any prevailing weakness to his presentation, it’s that he’s looking at things from the outside-in, and relying on only a few, select sources in order to do so. I feel that Orthodox Christians are at fault for much of the popular-level apologetics and other, inaccurate material one might find either in print or online, but things are always improving. English-language Orthodox resources on a large and quality scale are very much still in their infancy.

In the end, I would encourage those interested in learning more about Orthodoxy to not necessarily start with any one book, but with a simple visit to a nearby parish. Grab coffee with the priest or deacon, and pick his brain with your questions or concerns. More often than not, they will be happy to do so, and without any pressure or presumption that you’re interested in converting. Attending some services during the week, when it doesn’t conflict with your own religious attendance on Sunday, is another helpful option (especially during Great Lent). It’s one thing to read about Orthodoxy, and another thing altogether to experience it and be exposed to the incarnate reality of the Church on a regular basis.

I hope someone finds this ‘conversation’ helpful, and that it clears up any confusion Lutherans (or other Protestant Christians) might have regarding the Orthodox Church and faith. I’d also like to wish Jordan the best in his ministry and efforts, and ask his forgiveness for any areas where I’ve misunderstood or misrepresented what he had to say.

Source: https://blogs.ancientfaith.com/onbehalfofall/why-are-lutherans-converting-to-eastern-orthodoxy/

Icons are painted as windows into Heaven, and therefore to show the Heavenly, rather than earthly, reality. Nevertheless, Icons are made of the people we love: of the heroes of the faith who are remembered and whose earthly lives are considered instructive and worthy of imitation. Therefore it is natural that, as well as depicting them in a stylized “spiritual” way, the Saints are also depicted as recognizable people, with distinct features. This guide is just a brief description of how the Holy Apostles are depicted in Icons, so that they can be more easily recognized when encountered in churches, monasteries, or wherever else an icon is found.

St. Peter

The fiery and impulsive Leader of the Twelve, Peter is easily recognizable by his white, short, curly hair and beard. He is often shown holding a scroll, which may have words taken from one of his Epistles written upon it. In some icons he may also be shown with keys hanging from his belt, a reference to the words Jesus said to him: “And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” He is often found in Icons with St. Paul, who were both martyred in Rome, holding together the Church, and showing their shared pre-eminence among the Apostles.

St. Paul

Though not one of the original Twelve, St. Paul has always been known as an Apostle (literally meaning “one who is sent out”), and moreover a leader of the Apostles. As such, he is often shown in Icons of the Apostles, including the one at the top of the page. Paul is always depicted with brown hair and beard tapering to one or two points. He is balding with a high forehead (signifying great wisdom and learning) but with a tuft of brown hair in the centre. He is often shown carrying a large Gospel book, an affirmation of the number of epistles he contributed to what became the New Testament. In addition, the Evangelist Luke was a physician who followed St. Paul on his missionary trips, so it is fair to say that Paul would also have had an influence upon the Gospel of Luke and the Book of Acts.

St. John

There are two common depictions of the Apostle John: as the “Beloved Disciple” and as “the Theologian”. The former Icon is of the young Apostle John – the John who rested upon the breast of Christ during the Last Supper. In any icon showing scenes from the life of Christ (e.g. the Transfiguration, the Crucifixion) or those depicted in the Acts of the Apostles (e.g. the Ascension or Pentecost) then St. John is shown as the beardless brown-haired youth, little more than sixteen years of age.

When John is painted in a “portrait”, rather than as part of a Biblical scene, then he is usually shown as the elderly John “the Theologian”. This is the John who, sixty years or so after the Resurrection of Christ, is exiled upon Patmos and writing both the Gospel of John and the Book of Revelation. He is shown with long white beard and high forehead, holding the Gospel book which led to his title “the Theologian”, often shown open to reveal some verses from the book. He may also be shown with an Eagle, the symbol of both John and his Gospel.

St. Matthew

Like John, St. Matthew also authored a Gospel account, and so likewise is usually depicted holding a large Book. Whether in portrait or in Icons depicting Biblical scenes, Matthew has long, wavy, white beard and closer-cropped hair. As a deliberate anachronism to aid identification, he may also be shown holding the Gospel Book in Icons with Christ depicting Biblical scenes. Matthew may sometimes be shown with a winged man, the symbol associated with his Gospel.

St. Andrew

Andrew, the brother of the Apostle Peter, was formerly a disciple of St. John the Baptist. Because of this, Andrew is depicted with long unkempt hair, in the manner of the prophet he followed. This makes him one of the most recognizable of Apostles when depicted in scenes showing Jesus’ earthly ministry. Andrew holds a small scroll not to indicate he authored any famous works, but to identify him as a preacher of the Gospel, “one who is sent out”, i.e. an Apostle.

St. Bartholomew

Bartholomew, also known as Nathaniel, is shown as a middle-aged man, with short beard and hair. He is also shown holding the scroll of an Apostle. After his martyrdom, St. Bartholomew has appeared to a number of people in vision and dream, so his appearance can be deduced. He has appeared to St. Joseph the Hymnographer, blessing him that he might be able to sing spiritual hymns, saying, “Let heavenly water of wisdom flow from your tongue!” He also appeared to Emperor Anastasius I (491-518) and told him that he would protect the new town of Dara.

St. Simon

Not to be confused with St. Peter, who was previously named Simon bar-Jonah, the Apostle Simon was from Cana, and is the bridegroom of the famous Wedding at Cana. He is always shown with grey curly hair and beard, though with a higher forehead than St. Peter.

St. Thomas

The Apostle Thomas is most famously known as “Doubting Thomas”, on account of his refusal to believe the accounts of the other disciples that Christ had risen. Often maligned for this, in Orthodox teaching it is recognized that through his initial doubts, Thomas came to confess Jesus Christ as “Lord and God” – a greater confession of faith than any of the Apostles had previously uttered. Sometimes this confession of faith is held in Thomas’ hands in icons depicting him, though more commonly it is the scroll denoting his rank of Apostle that is shown. The most striking thing about the Icons of Thomas is that he is shown as a beardless youth, a teenager as John was. This is a consistent feature of how Thomas is shown in icons, as in this Icon of Thomas touching the wounds of Christ. The youthfulness of the Apostle Thomas is something worthy of consideration when thinking about his “doubts”.

St. James, Son of Zebedee

There are two Apostles named James. The son of Zebedee is the James often nicknamed “the Greater” in the West. This is largely because among the Twelve he was part of the “inner-circle” which also contained St. Peter and St. John. The Apostle John is also the brother of James and together they were known as the “Sons of Thunder”. James is shown with medium length brown hair and beard. Though often difficult to identify by sight alone in Icons of the Twelve, he is recognizable in the bottom-right of this Icon of the Transfiguration, which along with the young John and curly-haired Peter, James was privileged to witness. He is depicted as a young man (short beard, not white) in all icons, as he never got to live to an old age, being martyred a little over 10 years after the Resurrection.

St. Jude

Jude is also sometimes called Levi or Thaddeus, and “Jude” is sometimes rendered Judas. Nevertheless, he is not to be confused with the Apostle Matthew (also called “Levi”), St. Thaddeus one of Jesus’ seventy disciples, or especially Judas Iscariot. The author of the Biblical Epistle which carries his name, the “Apostles’ Scroll” in his hand may sometimes show a quote from his own writing. Otherwise, St. Jude is identified as a mature man with curly brown (sometimes grey) beard and hair. As he was related to Jesus Christ through Joseph, husband of Mary, the appelation “brother of the Lord” (or “adelphos” in Greek) may be found on Icons.

St. James Alphaeus

The son of Alphaeus and the brother of the Apostle Matthew, James is shown with brown wavy or curly hair and a pointed beard. He is not to be confused with St. James “Adelphos”, which means “brother of the Lord”. In iconography, the two Jameses are easily distinguished, as “the brother of the Lord” is always shown in the robes of a bishop, being the first bishop of Jerusalem. Here is an Icon of James Adelphos.

St. Phillip

Holy Tradition and Scriptures maintain that the Apostle Philip was well versed in the Old Testament prophecies, and eagerly awaited the coming of the Saviour. He immediately responded to the call of Jesus, and recognized him as the Messiah (John 1:43); and subsequently led Nathaniel (the Apostle Bartholomew) to become a follower of Jesus too. Therefore it is remarkable to come into contact with icons of the Apostle Philip – who is always shown as beardless youth. Like the youthfulness of Thomas, it is something worthy of consideration.

St. Matthias

Matthias is the disciple of Christ who replaced Judas Iscariot as one of the Twelve Apostles after the latter’s betrayal and suicide. His appearance in icons is entirely in keeping with what is known about him. Schooled in the Law by the Prophet Simeon, who received the infant Christ in the temple, Matthias was already a man of maturity before becoming a disciple of the adult Christ. By the time of his martyrdom in 63A.D., Matthias would be the elderly man depicted in Icons of him.

Judas Iscariot

Whilst Judas is obviously not a saint, and isn’t shown in icons of “the Twelve”, he is nevertheless depicted in icons of the Last Supper or else kissing Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane. In icons of the Last Supper he is easily recognizable as the one dipping his hand into the dish, thus revealing his future betrayal of the Lord. Often, the Apostles are not shown with halos in scenes prior to Pentecost, but needless to say when they are shown with halos, Judas is conspicuous by not having one.

Whatever it may be worth – and it may be worth nothing – in Orthodox Iconography Judas is almost always shown beardless, like John, Philip, and Thomas; thus, like them, he was perhaps still a teenager at the time he betrayed his Saviour.

Source: https://iconreader.wordpress.com/2010/08/17/how-to-recognize-the-holy-apostles-in-icons/

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