Ria Novosti has an interesting article by Russia Profile on the Russian Orthodox Church and how it has weathered the two decades since the Soviet collapse: “Through Thick and Thin.” I found its section on enculturation fascinating:
Today observers usually describe what is happening with the church by using the term “revival,” meaning a return to what was lost or destroyed after the 1917 revolution. Some people think that the last 20 years saw natural and steady growth of the church’s influence on society and the state. Others believe that this was a time of mistakes and lost opportunities for full-scale revival. However, a close look at the events taking place in church life shows that they least of all resemble a recovery of what was lost.
In reality, every single sphere of religious life demonstrates new phenomena that did not exist in the early 20th century. Take new religious schools, such as academies, seminaries and other theological institutions—before the revolution, they primarily educated the offspring of the clerical order that no longer exists today. Religious schools are actively developing and avidly absorbing the achievements of European theology. They are even getting ahead of Russia’s secular schools in the Bologna Process—a gradual unification of academic standards for European bachelors’ and masters’ degrees.
A similar situation exists in icon painting. In the early 20th century, Viktor Vasnetsov’s mystical and romantic modernism was seen as the inaccessible acme of religious painting. Even well-educated contemporaries did not know or understand East Christian icons with their deeply-ingrained symbolism. What is happening now is not a revival of the Vasnetsov School, but a return to icon painting per se—in all of its different periods and styles. Church architecture has also been reborn in the past 20 years using new technology and catering to new tastes.
These are just the most striking examples of the trends seen everywhere in church life, showing that what is happening is not the mechanical recovery of something lost, but a process of enculturation—the creative entry of the church into the modern and post-modern culture of Russia and other CIS countries.
There are many good signs. It will take much time and much prayer to restore Christendom in Russia. Moreover, Holy Russia has always been an ideal rather than a historical reality. It is a model of Zion incarnate—the communal equivalent to the Theotokos’ exclamation, ἰδοὺ ἡ δούλη κυρίου γένοιτο μοι κατὰ τὸ ῥῆμα σου / ecce ancilla Domini fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum—an icon of an obedient and faithful people that pious Russians try to emulate.
As a reprieve from the week’s dour take on education, please allow me to wish those on the old calendar a joyous liturgical new year! To celebrate the day and to keep with the academic theme of the week, I would like to present the Orthodox Christian School Association. Its directory of schools is the most comprehensive one that I have seen, though I do not know if all the linked school have affiliated with the organization.
As one would expect, there are fewer Orthodox institutions of higher education. To my knowledge, there are only two colleges—Hellenic College in Brookline, Massachusetts and the newly formed Saint Katherine College in Encinitas, California. Rose Hill College existed in Aiken, South Carolina for a few years. Its dean, James Cutsinger, offers an account of the college’s short life: “The Once and Future College: Rose Hill in Theory and Practice.” I also had friends who were involved in organizing an Orthodox great books college in northern Virginia, though, like Rose Hill, a shortage of funds led to the project’s demise.
I wonder why there are so few Orthodox schools in the country. Were Orthodox immigrants content to send their children to the already established Roman Catholic schools? Were they too poor in the beginning to create an Orthodox school system? Of course, the masses of Roman Catholic immigrants did not have riches, either, but they did have legions of consecrated religious men and women who were willing to work as voluntary slaves in the Roman institutions of the country. The Orthodox Church does not have religious orders, and the lack of Orthodox charities not connected with a parish is the result. Only since the cultural revolution of the 1960’s have Orthodox Christians decided to build their own schools. I expect that this process will continue, though the small, dispersed population of Orthodox Christians in America presents obvious obstacles to school formation. May their efforts be strengthened!
“And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.”
This past spring, I had a conversation with a fellow on the train as the Cardinal Line coursed through the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. He was a lapsed Episcopalian, which I considered rather redundant. We had a pleasant talk about religion wherein he mentioned doctrines that troubled him and I defended them in ways that made them less objectionable to him. I then wanted to share something about the Christian religion that I found problematic, but as I began to speak, I discovered an appropriate rejoinder. It was an odd experience. Am I an apologist in spite of myself?
I had wanted to complain about the repeated injunctions in the scriptures to believe. My skeptical side has always disliked these passages, finding them inexplicable and even embarrassing. I do not want to believe; I want to understand. Moreover, I want solid reasons to accompany that understanding. Exhortations to belief struck me as a fraud’s gimmick to sucker in folks. I never judged the evangelists as snake oil peddlers, but certain passages in the bible made me uncomfortable. Paul and Silas preach, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house.” John writes, “He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not. He came unto his own, and his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.” Mark writes, “Now after that John was put in prison, Jesus came into Galilee, preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God, And saying, The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand: repent ye, and believe the gospel.” There are scores upon scores of such examples, and they are targets for skeptics who care not for blind belief. I am sympathetic to them.
As I was relaying these objections to my fellow Amtrak passenger, a simple explanation came. My interlocutor never knew that my objections were not rhetorical. This unforeseen answer reminded me an earlier objection that I had about the anthropomorphism in the scriptures’ depiction of a wrathful, vindictive God. When that thought bothered me, I happened to come across some patristic texts that addressed the problem, though I do not remember which. The basic idea was that the scriptures are written for men—for their edification and for their salvation. Hence, the inspired texts speak to men at their level. Portrayals of a wrathful, jealous God do not depict God as he is but rather address us pastorally. Most of us have had loving fathers who corrected us. Fathers employ anger, disappointment, approval, sadness, and joy in pedagogy, and we grow up with an intimate recognition of these emotional tools. Holy writ taps into our human psychology to instruct us in the ways of the Lord. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, but it is not the end of it.
Similarly, it occurred to me that the recurring invitations in the bible to believe may also be pastoral. Rather than seedy priestcraft, the call to believe is like a physician’s request that a patient trust him. Unless the patient believes that the physician is able to help him, he will not likely follow the doctor’s advice. Trust necessarily precedes the assistance that the physician may offer. Likewise, Christ the Healer offers us medicine, but we must first accept that it is medicine rather than poison. We must have faith in the physician. This is so obvious to me now, and it is likely a commonplace thought among Christians, but I never realized it before. One must believe before one knows in almost any discipline, since one must trust his teacher before he attains knowledge. How much more necessary is trust when we are dealing not with mere knowledge but with salvation?
I wish those on the old calendar a blessed feast of the Transfiguration, as well as a happy birthday to my sister.
The gospels do not specify upon which mountain the Transfiguration occurred, though Christian tradition holds that it was Mount Tabor. Christians have made pilgrimages to the mount since antiquity, though the Mohammedans demolished all Christian edifices in the thirteenth century. Centuries later, the Ottomans allowed first the Franciscans and then the Orthodox to rebuild monasteries and temples on Mount Tabor. The site BibleWalks has pictures and information, and there is another page for the Orthodox Monastery of Saint Elijah.
Interestingly and coincidentally, my sister’s namesake has a historical connection to Mount Tabor, as recounted in the fourth chapter of the Book of Judges.
Last month, I gently criticized the Orthodox Church in America in “An Illness in Orthodox America.” I fear that the problems might be more grave. Take, for instance, the issue of Wonder dedicated to the relationship between Christianity and secular politics. Wonder is a publication of the O.C.A. Department of Youth, not merely someone’s private blog. Even a bishop has an article in the publication, and it betrays, under the banner of tolerance, the pusillanimous stance of a retreating Christianity unwilling to uphold the moral tradition of the Church and of the civilized West. One’s responsibility for his own spiritual state does not negate his social responsibilities. One’s lack of ultimate spiritual perfection must not paralyze him from tending to more worldly duties.That some Christians seem unable to grasp this reveals a rot in Christendom. Nietzsche saw it, and he condemned the entire religion. The other articles echo the convoluted excuses of prolife Democrats who vote for abortion rights politicians, as if there were an equivalency between tax policy and legalized abortion. The Christian tradition has no set political philosophy regarding socialism, whereas Christian civilization is unanimous in its condemnation of child murder. Christians of good will may disagree about energy policy and the welfare state, but Christians cannot in good conscience support attacks on the fundamental natural laws of the human community. Only one party has declared war against divine law and human nature. Yet, some on the “religious Left” want to carry water for the theomachists.
Perhaps even more troubling are signs that some folks in the O.C.A. are in open rebellion against the Church’s teaching on human sexuality, including priests and possibly bishops. Read “Same-Sex Marriage and the Revolt Against Metropolitan Jonah” and “A Pastoral Counselor’s take on Leonova’s FB Group.” In addition to other unpleasantries that have surfaced in the last year, many O.C.A. members are concerned about a Facebook group in the Diocese of Boston that appears to seek the normalization of homosexuality in pastoral practice. That would not be disturbing if the members of the group did not include the bishop and several priests. I have been skeptical over insinuations of the “Lavender Mafia” in response to the political crisis in which Metropolitan Jonah finds himself. Perhaps, I have been naive about the extent of a Protestant style revolt.
What ever happend to Christian sinners’ acceptance of their shortcomings and the high probability of their damnation? Is it a sign of our age’s intolerable narcissism that everyone wishes to rewrite the law, history, and even holy writ to justify his own personal foibles. It is so petty and pedestrian, I find it difficult to believe that homosexuals have sunk to such a level of bourgeois self adulation. Can you imagine Wilde or Proust being so dishonest with themselves?
When I first encountered the simple medieval procedure for testing the truth of revealed religion, I was thrilled. It only works negatively, though; so, it has its limits. The basic argument is that there is divinely revealed truth that is inaccessible to human reason on its own and there is divinely revealed truth that is accessible to human reason on its own. A revelatory tradition that teaches doctrines that conflict with what human reason is able to know is not trustworthy, and a revelatory tradition that teaches doctrines that accord with what human reason is able to know has not disqualified itself. This process does not assure the truthfulness of a revelatory tradition, but it does winnow out falsehood.
Yet, there are many problems with this procedure, including the frailty of human reason as manifested in most men. It is pleasant to think that human beings can easily overcome controversy through rational dialogue, but such dialectical ascent evades the bulk of mankind. Even the wisest find answers to the truly important questions difficult or indiscernible. Hence, the schoolmen argue for authority and divine revelation as assistance to the weak human mind. However, one must choose his authorities wisely; for we know that the world is full of liars and sowers of confusion. Therein, one sees the circular problem. How does the ignorant man wisely choose an authority to follow in order to spare him from his ignorance? In the end, each individual must make that choice, though the beneficial consequence of that choice is really required to make it.
The issue is quite practical. If we wish to serve God, how do we know whom to serve when, in our ignorance, we do not know who is telling the truth about ultimate matters? In the book of Genesis, we read the striking story of Abraham’s planned sacrifice of Isaac. The account serves to demonstrate Abraham’s faith and devotion, but a skeptical reader might think that Abraham was a naive dupe who happened, fortunately, to follow the true Lord (that hypothetical reader must not be too skeptical). For God’s command should have been repugnant to Abraham. Were he to have followed the aforementioned scholastic advice, he would have asked God to leave him. The pious man replies that Abraham trusted God more than he trusted his own sense of right and wrong, but that is precisely the problem. How does one discern messages from God from those of other sources without relying on one’s own wisdom?
Perhaps, Abraham developed enough trust in the Lord, gained from the many years during which he served God before he was asked to sacrifice his son, that he would obey despite the ostensibly heinous request. One might ask what the value of trust is if it is to be continuously questioned. Nonetheless, would not Abraham have good reason to suspect that the Adversary was attempting to lead him to evil under the guise of God? However, maybe one cannot mistake evil for God once one knows God.
These sorts of questions lead me to think that we have been blessed with more spiritual faculties than simply discursive or analytic reason. As I have written before, I think that we might have something like a faculty of faith. If the peasant can commune with God as well as the philosopher, perhaps our principal organ for dealing with the divine is not our mind. Abraham’s fidelity and righteousness might have resulted from his superior employment of this faculty.
Yesterday, I commended the Israelis for performing Wagner in “Jews at Bayreuth.” Today, however, I have nothing but scorn for the Jerusalem Post‘s anti-Christian screed, “A Christian scholar on ‘why antisemitism, why the Holocaust?’” David Turner reviews William Nicholls’ Christian Antisemitism: A History of Hate as a pretext for attacking Christianity, proving once again that hate—a profound, blistering, ignorant hate—has a home in the hearts of many religions. Unfortunately, Turner cannot really be blamed for not knowing that the “Anglican” Nicholls, who serves as his glimpse into Christianity, hates the gospel as much as Turner. How perverse is it that Nicholl’s namesake was an Anglican divine who wrote—approvingly—of the Book of Common Prayer?
Turner’s-by-Nicholl’s major point is that Christianity is anti-Semitic because of an insecurity complex. That Jews persist strikes terror in Christian hearts because their unbelief calls Jesus’ claims into question. The most frustrating aspects to interreligious dialogue are that people generally know very little about other people’s religions and that people generally do not even try to understand religions on their own terms. Such is obvious in this case for the Jew Turner and the heathen Nicholls, though one would think that a biblically literate Jew would know better. Was Abraham “insecure” when he noticed immoral paganism in his travels? Was Moses “insecure” when the pharaoh’s heart hardened? Were he and the judges “insecure” when the people continually rebelled? Were the Jews after the division of the kingdom “insecure” because many, perhaps most, of their brethren forsook the temple cult in Jerusalem? Were the prophets “insecure” because of idolatrous kings? I always thought that they preached God’s messages to errant and fallen people; I never considered that their prophesies resulted from “insecurity” about some of their listeners’ failing to heed God’s words.
The entire history of the Abrahamic tradition is about obedience and disobedience to God’s commands. From the garden on, we are shown again and again that some people follow God and others reject God. It is one of the most basic themes in the scriptures. Why, then, would Christians be especially “insecure” that some Jews rejected Christ? Indeed, this rejection of God’s dispensation has been the standard course in human history. Consider Noah’s project, or Job’s friends, or the Hebrews scores upon scores of times. There would have been no prophets if God’s revelations had not continuously been rejected. The new covenant of the gospel, like the previous covenants, was an occasion of disobedience for many men. It is surprising to me, even given ecumenical obstacles, that a rabbinical Jew would fail to notice this.
Curiously, Turner notes, “But Nicholls’ reserves his harshest criticism for Martin Luther, a father of his own reformed church.” From the outside, we might say that Luther was a father of the Anglican religion, but many Anglicans would reject this. It is not an important point, though it further shows Turner’s ignorance of Christian history. And that is a mighty ignorance, tracing, as it does, the holocaust to the gospel:
What is to be done? Even assuming that Christianity would want to repent its two thousand years of Jew-hatred resulting most recently in what is not likely to be the West’s final effort at a Final Solution to its Jewish Problem: Is reform even possible? According to Professor Nicholls the likelihood is negligible. On page 168 he writes, “Christian anti-Judaism is not a later distortion of an originally pure religion. It is embedded in the foundation documents of the faith.”
I deal with the history a bit in “Those Jews” and elsewhere, but no such reasoning can be done with a man whose bigotry refuses to see a religion as anything but a tribal enemy.
Turner also exhibits the revolting rabbinical tic of thinking that only the Jews are clean and that everyone else is an unclean savage:
What, for example, would the Matthew gospel be without its dramatic rendition of the trial of Jesus: of Pilate “washing his hands” (a typically Jewish, not Pagan, custom!); of the Jews self-condemned forever as deicides.
Does he not realize that the idea of the sacred is universally connected with the idea of purity and that other people have been civilized and have believed in spiritual and bodily hygiene for ages? Christians and rabbinical Jews alike inherited this bizarre ignorance of pagans that, thousands of years later, they blithely maintain. Educated Christians seem to move past this idiocy, but rabbinical Jews with learning stubbornly seem to hold onto it. Their attachment to their chosen status is so strong, they appear to get “insecure” by the thought that other nations might wash themselves, cultivate virtue, and excel in intellectual pursuits. But then, what can be done? Hebrew chauvinism is not a later distortion of an originally pure religion. It is embedded in the foundation documents of the faith.
Turner claims that the gospel of John has Jesus refer to the Jews as Satanic:
The John gospel repeatedly describes the Jews as satanic: “Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do, (John 8:44).” From there it is a short step to characterizing the Jews as antichrists. John associates the Jews with Satan many more times than all three other canonical gospels combined.
Turner forgets, I suppose, that almost every agent in the gospels is Jewish, from the Theotokos to Caiaphas. Pick any prophet’s chastisements in the Hebrew scriptures, and one would interpret them as Jew hatred using the same hermeneutics.
The golden calf prize for asininity, one kil’ayim of a metaphor, goes to this statement:
And assuming a wave of remorse, a universal need to express penance, what then would remain of Christianity if indeed it did agree to do so? According to Nicholls, “Once all the anti-Jewish elements have been removed from Christianity, what is left turns out to be Judaism (p. 431).”
Turner cannot be blamed for Nicholl’s apostate remark, but he is a fool for using someone like him as his source for Christianity. I assume that his mistake was not done in bad faith. A sane man cannot be expected to understand the insanity that Nicholl’s represents. Turner then goes on to speak of Rome’s changes toward rabbinical Jews, about which I am ignorant. I would not be surprised if Rome had muddled its theological waters, but Christians must be clear that Jesus Christ is not the Lord of the goyim only but of all mankind, first to the Jew, and then to the Greek. Yet, it is this very univeralism that horrifies the rabbinical community, and they readily associate evangelism with the genocide of the holocaust. Even Christian Jews often have this mentality. Maybe, it’s that special status “insecurity.” We wouldn’t want the dogs to get any of God’s crumbs, would we?
The Orthodox Church in America (the “O.C.A.”) has had a rough spring. A short internet search will produce scores of pages and far more opinions on the topic. Indeed, the O.C.A. has dealt with many troubles over the last few decades, and its institutional woes has caused much grief to its faithful. I am not a member of the O.C.A., and I am not privy to the complexities of its ecclesial politics. I do hope that good order and good sense prevail.
I suspect that the jurisdiction’s recent controversy reflects a deeper fissure in the character of the O.C.A. between the Orthodox commitment to tradition and the need to be “relevant” in modern, Western Christian society. Of course, all Orthodox Christians in the West must address this tension in our individual and communal lives, but the O.C.A. has made a conscious, ongoing effort to address the conflict. The dominant force in the O.C.A.‘s approach has been the thought of the so called Parisian school theologians, who taught or were educated at l’Institut de Théologie Orthodoxe Saint-Serge. These men of Russian émigré families who had settled in Paris after the revolution tried to synthesize their Orthodox heritage with Western philosophical and cultural trends amid the horror and confusion of the twentieth century. Many of these Russo-Franco churchmen moved to America after the Second World War, and they formed the intellectual tradition of the Metropolia, which became the O.C.A.
I admire the intellectual and spiritual athletes who came from l’Institut Saint-Serge. There must have been something stirring in Gaul in the first half of the twentieth century; there was an impressive generation of Roman Catholic theologians and philosophers that emerged in France at the same time. They also wrestled with modernity and sought to understand the gospel and the treasures of Christian theology and philosophy in an age that was quickly becoming anti-Christian, anti-human, and anti-rational. Times of civilizational crisis tend to be great catalysts of the human spirit.
So, let me repeat that I admire and appreciate the émigré theologians. Nonetheless, there is a strong Westernizing, modernist strain among many of them, and that modernism still flows in the religio-intellectual veins of the O.C.A. along with all the good qualities of the émigrés. No one typifies this dual tendency better than Fr. Alexander Schmemann. From my perspective, his writings are honey laced with strychnine. He is not unlike the thinkers at the Second Vatican Council who attempted to address similar problems of how to be a Christian in the modern West. In fact, he was present at the council as an observer. He obviously meant well, but he listened too much to the foolishness of the age. He remains a hero in the O.C.A., though I do not think that the culture there often recognizes the tensions in Schmemann’s writings. The émigrés’ heirs at Saint Vladimir’s Seminary seem to be occasionally blind to the contradictions between Orthodoxy and American life. For we Orthodox Christians in the modern West live the contradiction on a practical level, and it is therefore easy to forget that there is a contradiction on the theoretical level. It is our messy lot.
A good—one might even devilishly say iconic—example of this theological neurosis can be seen in Saint Vladimir’s Seminary’s twenty-second annual Fr. Alexander Schmemann Memorial Lecture from six years ago. Fr. Leonid Kishkovsky delivered what might be the essence of O.C.A. theology: “Orthodoxy Today: Tradition or Traditionalism?” Fr. Leonid’s points are not simply his musings; his arguments reflect an approach pervasive in the O.C.A., where even John Doevich the layman obsesses about the distinction between capital “T” and lower case “t” tradition. Such concerns accompany and perhaps promote the criticism of traditional Orthodox practices as glorifications of some past “golden age,” usually coupled with snarly remarks about nineteenth century Russia. These attitudes are remarkably predictable and consistent among a large section of folks in the O.C.A.
I find Fr. Leonid’s arguments and the religious culture that they engender quite disturbing. The minimalism inherent in seeking to classify our inheritance into the essential and the non-essential betrays a Protestant mindset wholly unsuitable for decent, integrated Christian thinking. The hostile stance toward tradition, the arrogant belief in progress, and the quick dismissal of whatever is not immediately comprehended are all prominent character traits of the so called Enlightenment and its spiritual spawn. These attitudes are most perfectly embodied today by the political Left in Western societies. The modernist elements in the O.C.A. are less unruly, less obnoxious, less impious, and less consistent versions of this same orientation toward that which has been received. Yet, just because the disease is less advanced in a body does not mean that it is not still a disease. To treat an illness, however, requires one to know that he is sick. Perhaps, the recent turmoil in the O.C.A. may convince the body to seek treatment.
Nearing the end of this Pentecostal week, I wanted to address the Church’s beginning. Sometimes, you notice parochial signs or bumper stickers that list the foundation of the Church in A.D. 33 (more likely A.D. 30, but who knows?). As far as I can tell, dating the foundation of the Church to Pentecost is a Western idea, though one can find it among Orthodox Christians in America. When, then, did the Church begin? It certainly did not start in Los Angeles, California sometime in the 1970’s, or in Boston or Utah in the nineteenth century. It predates the Great Schism. The Church was alive and strong with the first of the ecumenical councils at Nicea, as its nascence came before the first ecclesial council in Jerusalem about which we read in the Acts of the Apostles. Then, we have the tradition that founds the Church at Pentecost, with the tongues of fire. Yet, in the Gospel of John, we read that Jesus met the disciples before his Ascension:
Then the same day at evening, being the first day of the week, when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled for fear of the Jews, came Jesus and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you.
And when he had so said, he shewed unto them his hands and his side. Then were the disciples glad, when they saw the LORD.
Then said Jesus to them again, Peace be unto you: as my Father hath sent me, even so send I you.
And when he had said this, he breathed on them, and saith unto them, Receive ye the Holy Ghost:
Whose soever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them; and whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained.
Indeed, the Lord commanded the Great Commission afterward, but before the Pentecost, and yet are we to think that there was no Church to receive the order? So, perhaps, we can trace the Church to the death and resurrection of Christ? Christians are the Paschal people, after all. However, before the Passion, Peter addressed Jesus as Lord on Mount Tabor, and, as Paul writes, “No one can know Jesus as Lord except by the revelation of the Holy Spirit.” Wasn’t the Church present when Peter, James, and John witnessed the Transfiguration?
The Church is Israel, matured and blossomed, and its saints lived long before the coming of the Messiah in time and space. The Church exists before the temple, and it exists before Aaron and the Kohanic priesthood. For the people of God had already assembled to receive the law from Moses. As the Church is Israel, maybe we should date the Church to Jacob and his children, but what about Abraham? Wasn’t the sacrifice of Isaac a great milestone in the history of God’s economy with man? Perhaps, we should go back to Noah, when universal laws were given for all nations. Yet, certain men before Noah were righteous and communed with God. Consider what such piety did for Abel. So, it seems sensible to start at the beginning, with the Church’s coming to be in time with the creation of Adam. Yet, time itself is an image of the eternal, and from all eternity the Body of Christ exists for the mind of God. In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul writes,
According as he hath chosen us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and without blame before him in love:
Having predestinated us unto the adoption of children by Jesus Christ to himself, according to the good pleasure of his will,
To the praise of the glory of his grace, wherein he hath made us accepted in the beloved.
In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace;
Wherein he hath abounded toward us in all wisdom and prudence;
Having made known unto us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure which he hath purposed in himself:
That in the dispensation of the fulness of times he might gather together in one all things in Christ, both which are in heaven, and which are on earth; even in him:
In whom also we have obtained an inheritance, being predestinated according to the purpose of him who worketh all things after the counsel of his own will:
That we should be to the praise of his glory, who first trusted in Christ.
In whom ye also trusted, after that ye heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation: in whom also after that ye believed, ye were sealed with that holy Spirit of promise,
Which is the earnest of our inheritance until the redemption of the purchased possession, unto the praise of his glory.
Think again whether Pentecost is truly the Church’s birthday. I contend that it might be better to consider Pentecost as the Church’s Bar Mitzvah.
Last week, my father asked me why the Roman Catholic bishops supported open borders. Of course, the opportunism of such a position is obvious. The Roman Church in the United States has been hemorrhaging its white American membership for decades and needs a steady supply of Mexican immigrants to fill the emptying parishes in many parts of the country. There is also the religio-tribal reflex; Roman Catholics have natural sympathies for their coreligionists around the world. Besides, Mexico is our neighbor, and a large portion of the country has a long, intimate history with Mexico. For Americans in the Southwest, Mexico is about as alien to them as Old American Yankee life. If we were experiencing an invasion of Mohammedan Pakistanis, I doubt that there would be so much pro-immigrant cheerleading from the Roman bishops.
However, there is something much deeper underlying the bishops’ position. It is an ancient Christian problem; one may even call it an inherent tendency in our religion. Christians may easily forget the city of man. By that, I do not mean that they neglect the world in the Buddhist way. A doctrinal grounding of Christianity is the incarnation, and Christians enthusiastically care for the city of man as a way to manifest divine love. Rather, they forget that the city of man retains its own nature—its own set of ways and rules, some of which have resulted from what Christians call the fall. A common Christian response to this “alien” city of man is to pretend that the rules for the city of God have supplanted the laws of nature. Until the eschaton, such will not be the case.
Allow me to flesh out this theory. Christians rightly judge the soul and the state of the soul to be more important than the body and the state of the body. However, if they only considered this fact, they would jeopardize society. Indeed, pagans and anti-Christians have accused Christians of doing this since the apostolic age. Consider a barbarian attack on a city. If the Christians’ manning the city walls thought only about everlasting consequences for the soul, they would not kill the attacking barbarians. For then, they might rob the heathens’ chances of hearing and of accepting the gospel. Yet, if they refused to defend the city, they would be guilty of neglecting their earthly responsibilities, and the blood of the massacred population would be on their hands, albeit indirectly. The insane spiritualism to which Christianity can easily descend judges such a result acceptable. For this view holds that the innocent, Christian victims will happily enter the kingdom of God while the witness of the Christian soldiers who refused to fight testifies the mercy of God to the barbarians. That is madness. The barbarians would judge such an extreme form of irresponsibility as cowardice and foolishness, and the heathen would understandably spit upon the images of Christ in the city’s temples as the god of an idiotic populace.
This temptation to neglect the city of man is ancient, but rarely has it become widespread, notwithstanding the accusations of the pagans. Christian civilization developed, and Christian cities defended themselves from the forces of barbarism, both from within and from without. It is very telling that contemporary spiritualists point to the healthy, vigorous Christian societies of the past as examples of darkness and hypocrisy when they were functioning, strong, vibrant Christian communities that both knew what must be done to secure earthly order and what the higher aim of mortal life must be. Nietzsche criticizes Christianity as the new Buddhism, but historically, Christian civilization has not been a nihilistic, self destructing exemplar of social dysfunction.
Necessity is an incentive toward sober thinking, and most people throughout history have not had the luxury to ignore the standard perils of human life. The wealth and power of the modern West have allowed men to indulge in drunken thoughts. The naive assurance of permanent order allows for the spiritualism previously discussed and for the follies of leftist social fantasy. Both tendencies have likely influenced the Roman bishops’ support of unrestricted immigration. The hierarchs are so telescopically focused on spiritual matters that they forget or refuse to think about the city of man. Societies need social cohesion, unity, and shared loyalties. Large scale population displacements—invasions, really—disrupt those political needs and lead to disorder and disintegration. Yet, such mortal concerns do not interest those pious men of God who only gaze upon heaven. Theirs is another country; to hell with the land of their birth.