I debated with myself on whether to call this article the celebration of our moral superiority, the commodification of our moral superiority, or the gentrification of our moral superiority. Pick one.

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On October 10 Orthodoxy in Dialogue published my “Abortion, Contraception, and Christian Faith.” In a world where the tragic reality of abortion has always existed and will never go away, it argues—reluctantly, for I am the father of five and grandfather of two whom I would not wish unborn—it argues for the moral imperative of keeping abortion legal, accessible, and performed by properly trained and licensed medical professionals.

The premise of the article was meant to be simple, easily understood by all: when we cannot save two lives, we have a moral obligation to save one. If abortion stops a beating heart, back alley abortion stops two beating hearts. Ensuring the accessibility of legal abortion signals to a woman that the sanctity of life includes the absolute sanctity of her life, regardless of what decision she makes with respect to her pregnancy: we want our wife, mother, sister, daughter to come home from the clinic alive. Is this so hard to understand?

(NOTE: Canon 2 of St. Basil the Great shows no less concern for the life of the woman having an abortion than it does for the unborn child: “For in most cases the women die in the course of such operations.” St. Basil’s care for women’s lives goes completely unaddressed in the movement to deny women access to legal, professional abortion.) Read More

Orthodoxy in Dialogue typically does not cross-post articles. Yet we find the present remarks by Dr. Demacopoulos to be an exceptionally important conversation starter, as they touch implicitly on questions much broader than the future of Orthodox theological education in the US. If we truly envision, truly desire, an American Church fully united under a single Holy Synod and the presidency of a single Primate—if we are not merely paying lip service to this ecclesiological and canonical imperative—what are some first steps that we can take? Then what are our next steps? 

It has always been the case that forces beyond the control of the Church have prompted changes in the practice of theological education. For example, Ottoman repression led many Greek Christians to seek education abroad. Tsar Peter I imposed Western-styled seminaries upon the Russian Church. And the Bolshevik Revolution crippled religious education throughout Russia and much of Eastern Europe.

While not as dire as those examples, Orthodox seminaries in the United States face significant structural challenges. At one and the same time, the real cost of operating a seminary is steeply rising while active participation in the Church is diminishing.  What is more, the very nature of seminary education is undergoing a profound change that requires genuine transformation.

When they were founded, St. Vladimir’s Theological Seminary and Holy Cross Greek Orthodox School of Theology functioned as cultural and theological oases, preparing priests for Russian and Greek immigrant communities. Over the past ten years, however, because fewer and fewer young men raised in Church pursue the priesthood, the majority of divinity graduates have been adult converts to Orthodoxy. What is more, both seminaries attract a large number of students who have no intention of pursuing ordination—instead, they seek positions as chaplains, lay ministers, or academics. And, whether cradle or convert, male or female, the cultural horizon of these students is no longer Russian or Greek. It is distinctively American.  The questions, debates, and sub-groups among students and faculty largely mirror those of twenty-first-century America. Read More

I believe, O Lord, and I confess
that Thou art truly the Christ, the Son of the living God,
who camest into the world to save sinners,
of whom I am first.

~

Since we do not know how to pray as we should, the Orthodox prayer book teaches us how. The prayer book is a true school of prayer. In this school our invisible teacher is the Holy Spirit, who instructs us and forms us through the inspired (in-Spirited) words of many Fathers among the saints. The more we pray in their words, the more we learn from them how to pray; and the more we learn from them, the more our own prayer — “in our own words” — sounds like theirs.

I am the first among sinners. I have done nothing good on the earth. No one has committed the sins that I have. Like cast-off rags is my so-called righteousness. My sins are more in number than the hairs of my head, the stars in the heavens, the sands of the sea. I am worse than the harlot who came to touch Thee…Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, the sinner. 

Standing before God in prayer I am revealed to myself not as one sinner among many, but as the sinner, the only sinner. Who am I, the first among sinners, to judge the fifth, the three hundredth, the ten millionth, the fifty billionth among sinners?

Over and over again the prayer book knocks the pharisee in us to his knees—who praises himself, who congratulates himself for being better than other people, who wants to feel good about himself, who “prays with himself.” It places on our lips and in our hearts the words of the publican, that we may be heard in our unworthiness and receive from the super-abundance of divine mercy: Show forth Thy goodness in this way, that Thou hast mercy even on the likes of me. Read More

The third article in our Christian Unity Series comes from a young theology student in Bulgaria.

You for your part will remember your behavior and feel ashamed of it when you receive your elder and younger sisters and I make them your daughters, although this is not included in my covenant with you. I shall renew my covenant with you and you will know that I am the Lord, and so remember and feel ashamed and in your confusion be reduced to silence, when I forgive you for everything you have done—declares the Lord God. (Ez 16:61-63)

When we think about Christian unity this is not the first passage we think of. And yet, kneeling before a cross in a medieval cathedral with twenty thousand young adults in Basel, Switzerland, in silence, it is hard not to think of it. Can so many be united by…silence? They have gathered for a kind of pilgrimage, the 40th Taizé European Meeting, praying in song and silence: but is this unity? It is in this same silence, kept for a longer moment during all of the three daily prayers, that this question emerges. But immediately I am reminded that, at least for the Orthodox, unity is unity in the Eucharist, the Body and Blood of Christ, in the Body of Christ—His Church. Read More