Old Sandals

This baptism, therefore, is given into the death of Jesus: the water is instead of the burial, and the oil instead of the Holy Ghost; the seal instead of the cross; the ointment is the confirmation of the confession; the mention of the Father as of the Author and Sender; the joint mention of the Holy Ghost as of the witness; the descent into the water the dying together with Christ; the ascent out of the water the rising again with Him. The Father is the God over all;  Christ is the only-begotten God, the beloved Son, the Lord of glory; the Holy Ghost is the Comforter, who is sent by Christ, and taught by Him and proclaims Him.

(ANF 7.431)
Constitutions of the Holy Apostles (cir. 375)

“More than all have I sinned;
I alone have sinned against You.
O God my Savior,
Have compassion upon me, Your creature.

There has never been a sin, a deed, an evil act
Which I have not cherished, O Savior.
I have sinned in thoughts, words and deeds,
And no one has sinned more than I.”

Thus begins the penitential canon of St. Andrew of Crete, chanted during the first of Lent in the Orthodox Church. But is it really right to say that I have sinned more than all others and that there is no sin which I have never cherished? Father Thomas Hopko, in his book, The Lenten Spring, provides this response:

Every person stands alone before God….Standing before God, one does not look at others. One looks only at God….In my unique personality, in the life which my Maker has given to me, with what I have received from my bountiful Lord, I have truly surpassed all in my sins!…[Each of us], in the spiritual uniqueness of his or her own life–especially in the Church of Christ where willful, lustful thoughts are fornication and adultery, and hidden movements of anger and judgment are torture and murder, and the failure to share is thievery, and the failure to give is covetous idolatry–will say with St. Paul with perfect conviction that “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the first.”

by Philip Kariatlis

When we think of fasting in the Orthodox Church today, our mind almost immediately goes to certain rules relating to what we can and cannot eat. Moreover, this practice is especially associated with Great and Holy Lent. And so, when it comes to this “forty-day” fast, there are some who will almost exclusively focus all their attention on familiarizing themselves with all of the Church’s prescriptions regarding when they need to abstain from particular foods. Then, there are some who might go to great lengths, meticulously checking all ingredients of certain food items in supermarkets for example, in order to ensure that there are no traces of foods which they know are not permitted during fasting periods, also rejoicing with delight when they happen to find substitutes to their favorite food. What necessarily results from such an understanding of fasting, among its practitioners, is a belief that if they have been “successful” in this effort, they are then prepared to receive the risen Lord on Easter night.

A question which justifiably arises, however, is whether this in fact is what fasting is all about. If Great Lent is a preparatory time within the Church’s liturgical year meant as a means for preparing the faithful to encounter the risen Christ on the day of Easter, how does such an understanding of fasting assist in this “spiritual” journey? Is this the true meaning of fasting? Or, have we reduced it merely to rules about what foods are permitted and what are not?

In studying some of the hymns found in the Triodion—a liturgical book out of which many beautiful hymns are chanted during the period of Great Lent—the hope is that we might recover the true meaning of fasting. This approach is plausible to the extent that the hymns of the Orthodox Church, more generally, reflect its theological vision; indeed, they reveal, in sung form, the theological outlook of the Orthodox Church. More specifically, we will briefly look at certain hymns known as “Apostichaidiomela” of Vespers since they all specifically focus on presenting the Church’s understanding of fasting. Indeed, these would have been intentionally inserted in the Service to remind the faithful of the true meaning of fasting. Unfortunately, the connection of these hymns to fasting have been lost sight of and therefore their significance largely overlooked today.

Even a cursory study of these Lenten hymns clearly shows that fasting is primarily about renewing our relationship with God, neighbor and the world more broadly. Already, at the Vespers Service of Pure Monday, we are reminded that fasting involves a personal cleansing of our whole self and not simply a dietary “detox”:

Let us fast in a way that is acceptable and pleasing to the Lord. True fasting is flight from evils, temperance of the tongue, refrain from anger, separation from lustful desires, and from lies, from falsehood and from perjury. The absence of all these makes our fasting true and acceptable.

In this instance, fasting is connected with the dynamic of purification. Following Christ’s call for holiness (cf. Mt 5:8), many fathers of the Church speak of purification as a necessary first step towards encountering God. Fasting therefore needs to be accompanied with effort in purification.

In the same way, the hymn in question, is an injunction for purity. The meaning of purity, like fasting, ought not to be impoverished. Purification essentially signifies a process towards integrity—note the etymological proximity between the two concepts. Accordingly, purification is understood as internal consistency or integrity of character which, in the face of temptation, remains totally devoted to God. Put another way, it involves a gradual transformation from brokenness to wholeness. And so, according to the hymn, true fasting is a ‘means’ towards “wholeness.”

Together with an undertaking towards temperance from the passions, the purpose of fasting is to open up the faithful to the splendor of the new life that comes from the Cross. Namely, in experiencing a little physical hunger through fasting, the hope is that this might be recast towards ‘hunger and thirst’ for Christ. This transformative aspect of fasting is captured in the troparion sung on Tuesday of the first week of Lent:

Let us observe fast, not only by abstinence from food, but also by separating ourselves from every bodily passion… so that we may be counted worthy to partake of the Lamb…the Son of God… Thus, we shall be lifted up on high in the joy of virtue and by the delight of excellent works we shall be glad in God, the Lover of Humankind.

Accordingly, fasting finds its true meaning when the outward abstinence of food is connected with the inward struggle to intensify our longing for God through the dynamic of purity and repentance—the consummation of which is realized in Holy Communion.

Coupled with observing a balance between the material and spiritual aspects of true fasting, there is a third necessary dimension, namely, practical compassion towards neighbor. At the first Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts, the Idiomelon makes this explicit:

While fasting with the body, o brethren, let us also fast in spirit; let us loosen every connection with injustice… Let us give bread to the hungry and introduce into our house the poor who have no roof to cover them, that we may receive from Christ our God the great mercy.

True fasting requires not only fasting from foods but also practical works of compassion which, in this case, include working towards overcoming injustice and extending hospitality philoxenia—especially to those in need. In simple terms, the hymn underscores that there cannot be genuine fasting with love towards the “other,” especially those in most need. In the end, fasting is a means to remind us not only of our dependence upon God, but also the often-forgotten truth that God is beheld in the face of the “other.”

Without this struggle to fix our eyes on God through beholding God in our neighbor and all of his creation, mere fasting from food has no value. On the other hand, when truly practised, fasting becomes a positive action, nothing less than a true theophany opening us up to the beauty and splendor of the Risen Lord.

Beloved church of God, hear this royal declaration from Psalm 93:
“The LORD reigns, He is clothed with majesty; the LORD is clothed, He has girded Himself with strength. Surely the world is established so that it cannot be moved. Your throne is established from of old; You are from everlasting.” The LORD reigns. Jesus is LORD! The cry that echoes through creation! Let us stand and sing together.

Father God, Your mercy is in the heavens. Your faithfulness reaches to the clouds. Your righteousness is like the great mountains. Your judgments are a great deep. This is the meditation of a shepherd, trying to express what cannot really be expressed in words. For You are great, O LORD, and greatly to be praised. And Your greatness is unsearchable. The heaven and the heaven of heavens cannot contain You. And yet, because of Your merciful condescension, You inhabit the praises of Your people. So, we praise You, O LORD! O Christ! For Your creation, for the world You have established. And we praise You even more, so much more for this: that being clothed with majesty, You put on a garment of flesh that we might be clothed with the garment of salvation. In the name of Your Son, and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ we pray, Amen.

“[But] the floods have lifted up, O LORD. The floods have lifted up their voice. The floods lift up their waves.” This verse, coming right after such lofty thoughts, seems out of place. Disconnected in a way. The focus shifts. I know that the LORD is clothed with majesty and strength. But the floods, LORD, but the floods. But the floods. Hardly a week goes by—or a day—without our doubts and anxieties rising up, at times like a flood. Then we become disconnected. Our focus shifts away from the Lord. In light of the exceedingly great and precious promises we have been given in the Scriptures, this is a sin to be confessed, and repented of. Join me as we do this now, together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rich and fertile was the earth allotted to us, but all we planted were the seeds of sin. We reaped the harvest of evil with the sickle of laziness. We failed to place our evil fruits on the threshing floor of contrition. So now we beg You, O Lord, the Master of the harvest: may Your love become like the wind that blows away the straw of our worthless deeds, and make us like the precious wheat to be stored in heaven, and save us all!

From the Orthodox liturgy at vespers on the ‘Sunday of the Prodigal Son’

Just as I am – of that free love
The breadth, length, depth, and height to prove,
Here for a season, then above!
O Lamb of God, I come!

Let the bishop love the laity as his children, fostering and cherishing them with affectionate diligence; as eggs, in order to the hatching of young ones; or as young ones, taking them in his arms, to the rearing them into birds: admonishing all men; reproving all who stand in need of reproof; reproving, that is, but not striking; beating them down to make them ashamed, but not overthrowing them; warning them in order to their conversion: chiding them in order to their reformation and better course of life; watching the strong, that is, keeping him firm in the faith who is already strong; feeding the people peaceably; strengthening the weak, that is, confirming with exhortation those who are tempted; healing those who are sick, that is, curing by instruction those who are weak in the faith through doubtfulness of mind; binding up those who are broken, that is, binding up by comfortable admonitions those who are gone astray, or wounded, bruised, or broken by their sins…Seek for those who are lost, that is, do not suffer those who despair of their salvation, by reason of the multitude of their offences, utterly to perish. For we know that God is very merciful to those who have offended, and has promised repentance with an oath.  But you, like a compassionate shepherd, and a diligent feeder of the flock, search out, and keep an account of your flock. And as you are a physician of the Lord’s church, provide remedies suitable to every patient’s case. Cure them, heal them by all means possible; restore them sound to the church. Feed the flock, “not with insolence and contempt, as lording it over them,” but as a gentle shepherd, “gathering the lambs into your bosom, and gently leading those who are with young.”

Constitutions of the Holy Apostles
Book II, Chapter XX

The Old Roman Creed (also known as the Old Roman Symbol) is an earlier and shorter version of the Apostles’ Creed. Scholars believe that it dates from the 2nd century, and served as an interrogatory declaration of faith for those receiving baptism.  (Though the name “Apostles’ Creed” appears in a letter of St. Ambrose (c. 390), what is now known as the Apostles’ Creed is first quoted in its present form in the early 8th century.)

I believe in God the Father almighty; and in Christ Jesus His only Son, our Lord, who was born of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, who under Pontius Pilate was crucified and buried, on the third day rose again from the dead, ascended to heaven, sits at the right hand of the Father, whence He will come to judge the living and the dead; and in the Holy Spirit, the holy Church, the remission of sins, the resurrection of the flesh, and the life everlasting.

“The effect of divine providence is not only that things should happen somehow; but that they should happen either by necessity or by contingency. Therefore, whatsoever divine providence ordains to happen infallibly and of necessity, happens infallibly and of necessity; [whereas those things that divine providence conceives should happen from contingency], happen by contingency.”

St. Thomas Aquinas

Lectio Divina is a way of reading Scripture. It literally means ‘divine reading’. Its roots go back to Origen in the 3rd century. After Origen, church fathers such as Ambrose, Augustine and Hilary of Poitiers used the term Lectio Divina to refer to the reading of Scripture.

The monastic practice of Lectio Divina was first established in the 6th century by Benedict of Nursia and was then formalized as a four-step process by the Carthusian monk Guigo II during the 12th century.

Guigo II referred to the four steps as a ladder, and named them with the Latin terms lectio (reading), meditatio (meditating), oratio (praying) and contemplatio (contemplating or wondering).

Since the latter part of the 20th century, the popularity of Lectio Divina has increased outside monastic circles and many lay Catholics, as well as some Protestants, practice it.

Lectio Divina is not meant to be a complicated process. As David Foster, OSB writes in his book, Reading with God, “It is usually just a question of being ready to sit with what we have read, dwelt on, and prayed over, just letting the whole thing sink in.”