Dirty words

For not a few Orthodox, "ecumenism" and "ecumenical" are theological four-letter words, to be equated with heresy, capitulation, falsehood, deception. For me, those two words evoke not dread and hatred, but sadness.

I grew up in the heyday of both the Ecumenical Movement and the Liturgical Movement. I remember the sense of hope and optimism that both engendered, at least among some. But both seem spent, left behind in the search for the latest enthusiasm-generator for the churches. Did either movement achieve its aims? I doubt it.

For all who are cold

The Revelation to John contains this charge against the church in Laodicea:

I know your works; you are neither cold nor hot. I wish that you were either cold or hot. So, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I am about to spit you out of my mouth.(Rev 3:15-16, NRSV)

In other words, there is a place for those who are cold. I know of no thorough discussion of what it might actually mean to be "cold." Or what it means that Christ wishes that the church in Laodicea were either hot or cold. At first glance, you might think that those who are cold will suffer a negative judgment. But the people who will be spit out (or, as some translations have it, vomited out) are not the cold, but the lukewarm.

What place is there in the church for those of us who are cold? What does it mean to be cold, in terms of spiritual life, in terms of the way the church is in the world?

sic et non

Following up on the what I'd begun to say about the place of "practical theology" in Orthodox theological education.

It seems inevitable that we have to accept the way that a modern university chooses to divide the disciplines it embraces. We don't have a choice about that. The alternative would be to establish a separate theological school. That's not in the cards here, at least as far as I can see.

But what we do have a choice about is how we define what "practical theology" is. I must admit that the division into practical and systematic approaches to theology has always made me uncomfortable, even before I became Orthodox. It's not just that that way of seeing things appears to elevate systematic theology above the "mere practitioners." It's also that it gives the false impression that theology has nothing to do with how the faith is practiced, lived out, made flesh and bone.

Better not to do theology than have that happen.

So what do we do instead? We must fight the "practical-systematic" division at every step of the process of theological education. Can we rely on the tried-and-true reply so often made by Orthodox, that theologia in Orthodox traditions really has to do with the contemplative vision of God? I don't think so, though that argument is important.

I suggest a different approach. As the mystery of the Incarnation lies at the heart of Orthodox Christianity, I think that a more fruitful approach today would be integral, embodied, contemplative, centered on the person in her and his unity and wholeness.

No Abelard

Rereading my post on practical theology and Orthodox theological education, I see that I've concluded the post with what some might take as an ironic or witty reference to Abelard's Sic et non. The reference was unintentional.

Unintentional, but maybe not pointless. Abelard seeks to resolve unresolved questions in the writings of the church Fathers. I don't think Abelard's project is possible these days. Ambivalence, ambiguity, contradiction, tension:  these are the norms, not the aberrations, of thought today. In saying this I'm not yearning for a return to an era of univocal responses to theological issues. The tensions have always been there; the question is, how do theologians and the church interpret them.

 

 

holiness and publicity

I don't recall off the top of my head if it's The Diary of a Russian Priest or one of Alexander Schmemann's works that contains this observation, but noticing a photo of Thomas Merton gracing the cover of his little book on contemplative prayer, it came to mind. That is, that if today one really wanted to adopt the life of solitude and prayer so extolled by the Sayings of the Fathers, one would not enter a monastery but take up a boring, menial job such as a bank teller that would allow one to pray continuously while doing the mechanical tasks of that job.

How attractive would such a life be? Not very, I imagine. It doesn't come with the accoutrements of an exotic community or lifestyle, or a culture different from the world around it. It doesn't give us an option to flee to, from our ordinary lives. It embraces the tedium of modern life in its quest for solitude in which prayer can grow. It is the spiritual equivalent of the high-wire artist working without a net. In such a bare life, one stands exposed to everything that can stunt or kill love and prayer. Surprised that I mentioned love here? The stereotype of the contemplative is one of a person cut off from the world, pursuing their own spiritual adventures. But the goal of contemplation is love, as Merton himself reminds us. Love itself is the door to the vision of God.

David Foster Wallace's last novel, The Pale King, comes to mind here as it's been called a book about boredom and transcendence.