
The latter part of Matthew 25, read on the Sunday of the Last Judgment, is certainly among the most sobering, even frightening prescriptions in the lectionary of the Church. The answer to fundamental questions, How can one be saved? How will I be judged? How shall I live? are answered, with stark clarity, by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. It’s not a difficult teaching to understand. By this, I mean, it is not a riddle to solve, or a mental or spiritual exercise. It’s brutally simple and practical: Did you visit the sick and the prisoner? Did you feed the hungry? Did you give drink to the thirsty? Did you clothe the naked?
Perhaps this Scripture’s directness and finality are what also make it polarizing. This makes sense: the image itself is literally about separating, dividing. But the polarization I’m referring to is about interpretation. There is discomfort in knowing what one is to do, how literally one is to take what seems clearly presented—we will be judged by our Creator based almost solely on how we cared for those in need.
One response is to “spiritualize” the text. This happens to other teachings from Jesus, usually about the rich and poor, attachment to things of the world (including nation and family), and the severity of effort one should exert to flee sin. Love your enemy is a beautiful ideal as an abstract, overarching principle; but if someone steals your coat, offer your shirt as well is a little more concrete and unsettling. Read More



In these five and a half minutes we learn that Herman beats his wife when he feels that she deserves it. For her part, she has written Beaten by My Husband… What I Have Had to Endure with Herman Sterligov, a book in which she defends wife-beating. (In her interview under her husband’s watchful eye she calls it “natural.”) The meaning of the photoshopped cover image could not be clearer: in front of the cabin where they and their five children live, with the Church giving her implicit blessing from the romantically hazy background, Alyona stands—with arms at her sides, as we Orthodox do when we pray—in motionless submission, seconds before Herman’s horse comes pounding down on her head.
The incident recounted below represents why dialogue has become utterly impossible in some Orthodox circles.