Where do we go with ecumenical dialogue?

Yesterday I made the rather bland observation that I had been gone for a while. The best way to put it is that for a long time I have been wrestling with the effects of not having a full-time job. By that I mean not a full-time job in academic theology, but any job. I have not had a full-time job since July 2010; I have had less-than-part-time employment here five out of the last six years. If you have been unemployed or underemployed for a longer period of time, perhaps you know the shredding, crushing effects such an experience can have on things like self-confidence, and the dusty cloud of depression that can settle over all of life. After a while, one can begin to feel that everything that has befallen one is one's own fault: it is too easy for shame at one's situation (and indeed, shame in oneself) to insinuate itself into one's outlook on the world, shutting one off from friends and possible ways out  of the darkness.

That wrestling has affected my writing, among other things. But recently I have come to see that the way forward sometimes is simply to do, to reach out, and not worry beyond that. I'm taking small steps in that general direction now. Thank you for your patience with me.

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As I said in yesterday's post, last fall I was elected to the board of directors of the international aid, development, and missions agency of the Orthodox Church of Finland. A month or so after that, I was appointed as a representative of the church (one of two) to the national Faith and Order Commission here in Finland. As you may know, Faith and Order deals with outstanding theological questions separating the churches.

The task of reconciling the divided, sometimes alienated, members of the body of Christ has been a passion of mine for a very long time. A couple of my earlier posts here expressed my frustration with the current state of the ecumenical movement. So much seemed on the cusp of happening in the 1970s and 1980s. We have incredible, mind-blowing agreements on issues that once bitterly divided churches (for example, the Catholic-Lutheran joint statement on justification). Perhaps more obscure, but no less earth-shaking, changes have been taking place in sacramental theology (for example, the affirmation by the Catholic church that the celebration of the Eucharist using the Anaphora of Saints Addai and Mari, which contains no institution narrative, is sacramentally valid). Huge changes have been taking place. Most recently, Pope Francis's emphasis on his title as Bishop of Rome and his reaching out  to us Orthodox in the ways he has since the start of his pontificate have game-changing potential in the fraught area of Catholic-Orthodox relations. (In saying this, I don't intend to take away from the fact that Pope Benedict XVI also emphasized Catholic-Orthodox relations, and showed a deep knowledge and appreciation of of Orthodox theology and liturgical practice.)

But on the ground, as it were, what fruits do we see of all these encouraging developments? Let's be honest: there isn't a lot to see. Reconciling the body  of Christ remains the pastime of professionals. Our talk is good, and important, and it does not cost us much.

We need something new. A new way forward.

If you read about the history of the ecumenical movement, you will see that friendships across ecclesial traditions played a large role in the formation of what would become the World Council of Churches and other organisations devoted to reconciling Christ's body. This is no less true today than it was eighty years ago.

But today we need more. I find it difficult to believe any longer that in my lifetime there will be a radical reconciliation of churches at the level of common ministries, shared structures of common life, a shared Eucharist or baptism. The world and its powers (in a Pauline sense) have too thoroughly found a home in our ecclesial hearts. Of course we must still work toward that reconciliation, in spite of the seeming futility of the task. It's not optional. It's an obedient response to the Lord's prayer that all his followers might  be one.

What might this "more" be? We need individuals who are called to the work of transgressing the boundaries we have set up over the course of our history. We need people with the courage not only to think, but to live in terms of crossing the boundaries that keep us apart. Perhaps you could call this a prophetic stance; the difficulty with putting things this way is that it is all too easy for prophecy to become grandstanding.

This is where I think the idea of kenosis could be especially useful. Some (not all!) strains of Orthodox theology have emphasized the self-emptying of Christ (see Philippians 2) as a central, organizing motif for Christ's followers. Think of the icon of Extreme Humility. Kenosis is transgressive.

Paul says to the Philippian church that they should have the same mind that was in Christ, who did not think equality with God was something to be grasped at, but emptied himself, taking on the form of a servant. To have the "same mind" as Christ's in this way gives us the necessary antidote or counterbalance to the dangers and pitfalls of prophecy alone.

This is what we need: prophecy and kenosis made tangible in real, complex, faithful people motivated by love to act in new ways not simply for the life of the church, but for the life of the world.

I know this all sounds vague, theoretical, perhaps even ethereal. But ethereal it is not: we know that Christ's self-emptying was anything but theoretical. If this vision speaks to you as well, come help me flesh out its meaning for our lives here and now .

Giving and receiving

I have been away a while. Now that the autumn is upon us I hope to revive my writing here regularly.  This post and the next will be about work I have begun to do here in Finland related to international aid and ecumenical dialogue.

I don't recall if I've mentioned it before but last fall I was elected to the board of directors of the international aid and missions organization of the Orthodox Church of Finland. This organization is called Filantropia. It carries on the work of an earlier organization called OrtAid; the name was changed effective January 1 of this year.

Filantropia is a good name for the development, assistance, and missions agency of the church. It emphasizes something that the earlier name did not: namely, that what we do in reaching out to help another person is an expression of love for our fellow human being. In the Divine Liturgy we proclaim God, who loves the human race. The work of Filantropia is one expression of that love God has for us. Mission is part of that work, but it too must be seen in the light of the love of God for all human beings, as part of the larger missio Dei embodied in the Incarnation of the Word of God.

One of the difficulties with giving money or time to the relief of people elsewhere in the world (or right next-door, for that matter) is that the action can often be curiously one-sided. We give, and we feel that we have done our duty. But there is far more to the matter than that. There must be reciprocity.  Pope Francis recently said something to this effect, that we must look the person who needs our help in the eye, we must touch their hand as we give: otherwise we do not make contact with the flesh of Christ. (I will find the quote for my next post.) This reciprocity is true for every instance of giving, no matter what the religious tradition of the person who receives our help. In the case of when we help other local churches, the necessity of reciprocity is especially urgent.

If, for example, we contribute to a development project run by the Orthodox Church of Tanzania, we should not be content simply to have funded important work providing clean water or preventing human trafficking or helping women to start small businesses.  Our giving needs to make possible an opening towards the other. We are one in Christ's body, we are joined by bonds of love in the Holy Spirit. Our giving ought to invite our sister or brother to come to us, so that we might learn from their life in Christ where they are, so that we might more fully live out and express the unity, catholicity, and holiness of Christ's body.  It is so easy to live in isolation! Our giving can be a means of overcoming some of the fragmentation of our age.