The Archpastoral Message of His Beatitude, Metropolitan Tikhon Primate of the Orthodox Church in America & Chairman of the Seminary Board of Trustees on the Great and Holy Pascha 2017

To the Venerable Hierarchs, Reverend Clergy, Monastics, Distinguished Stewards, and the entire family of the Orthodox Church in America:


Paschal icon_Mules

(Photo: Glen Mules)

The radiant day of the Resurrection of Christ has dawned and our Paschal celebrations have bathed us in the glorious light of renewal and regeneration. Today is a completely new day, a day which began when the divine brilliance pierced and dispelled the darkness of Hades and ended with the remarkable explosion which took place when Eternal Life crushed death and corruption.

On this new and bright day, our faith is renewed along with that of the Myrrhbearing Women standing by the open tomb; our hope is confirmed along with that of the Apostles on the road to Emmaus; and our love is strengthened along with that of the Mother of God who remained ever at the side of her Son.

Even if we count ourselves among the numbers of those who previously denied or deserted the crucified Lord, such hesitation or shame cannot withstand the force of the new life of this day.

We know too well that there is no human being who lives and yet does not sin, and the consequences of the Fall are reflected in a world overshadowed by war, terrorism, and human misery. Nevertheless, this dark reality loses its hold on us today because we have tasted of the new drink from the fountain of incorruption, which fills us with spiritual courage and divine hope.

This courage and hope are not simply fleeting emotions of the moment but rather an experience of the life of the risen Lord Who fills our hearts with such joy that every day and every moment of our existence we can sing paschal hymns such as this:

How divine! How beloved!
How sweet is Thy voice, O Christ!
For Thou hast faithfully promised to be with us
to the end of the world.
Having this as our anchor of hope,
we the faithful rejoice.

With my archpastoral blessing and love in the Risen Lord,

+ Tikhon
Archbishop of Washington
Metropolitan of All America and Canada

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The Power of Christ’s Tears

As we approach Holy Week, this article by Protopresbyter Alexander Schmemann, dean of St. Vladimir’s Seminary 1961–1983, and professor of Liturgy Theology, especially reminds us how the Light of Christ continually pierces the darkness of our “stinking” world—as Fr. Alexander so bluntly puts it. Moreover, it reminds us that Christ, as a human being and as God, weeps with us over the chaos and corruption we experience daily, ever standing by our side, ever lifting our eyes to horizons beyond the darkness, and ever entering that darkness on our behalf. During our sojourn through the upcoming services of Holy Week, let us absorb the texts and hymns of the services, allowing them to penetrate our souls and minds with wisdom, as we contemplate the power of Christ’s tears, which spring from His infinite love and which ultimately overcome our last enemy: Death.

The Beginning of the Cross: Saturday of Lazarus

Lazarus-01“Having fulfilled Forty Days… we ask to see the Holy Week of Thy Passion.” With these words sung at Vespers of Friday, Lent comes to its end and we enter into the annual commemoration of Christ’s suffering, death and Resurrection. It begins on the Saturday of Lazarus. The double feast of Lazarus’ resurrection and the Entrance of the Lord to Jerusalem (Palm Sunday) is described in liturgical texts as the “beginning of the Cross” and is to be understood therefore, within the context of the Holy Week.

The common Troparion of these days explicitly affirms that by raising Lazarus from the dead, Christ confirmed the truth of general resurrection. It is highly significant that we are led into the darkness of the Cross by one of the twelve major feasts of the Church. Light and joy shine not only at the end of Holy Week but also at its beginning; they illumine darkness itself, reveal its ultimate meaning.

All those familiar with Orthodox worship know the peculiar, almost paradoxical character of Lazarus Saturday services. It is a Sunday, i.e., a Resurrection, service on a Saturday, a day usually devoted to the liturgical commemoration of the dead. And the joy that permeates these services stresses one central theme: the forthcoming victory of Christ over Hades. Hades is the Biblical term for Death in its universal power, for that inescapable darkness and destruction that swallows all life and poisons with its shadow the whole world. But now—with Lazarus’ resurrection—”death begins to tremble.” For there the decisive duel between Life and Death begins, and it gives us the key to the entire liturgical mystery of Pascha. In the early church Lazarus Saturday was called “announcement of Pascha”, it announces and anticipates, indeed, the wonderful light and peace of the next Saturday—the Great and Holy Saturday, the day of the Life-giving Tomb.

Lazarus, the Friend of Jesus

Let us first of all understand that Lazarus, the friend of Jesus, personifies the whole mankind and also each man, and Bethany, the home of Lazarus the Man, is the symbol of the whole world as a home of man. For each man was created friend of God and called to this Divine friendship: the knowledge of God, the communion with Him, the sharing of life with Him. “In Him was life and the life was the light of men.” (John 1:4) And yet this Friend whom God loves, whom in love He has created, i.e. called to life, is destroyed and annihilated by a power which God has not created: death. God encounters in His own world a power that destroys His work and annihilates His design. The world is but lamentation and sorrow, tears and death.

How is this possible? How did this happen? These are the questions implied in John’s slow and detailed narrative of Jesus’ coming to the grave of His friend. And once there, “Jesus wept.” (John 11:35) Why does He weep if He knows that in a moment He will call Lazarus back to life? Byzantine hymnographers fail to grasp the true meaning of these tears. They ascribe them to His human nature, whereas the power of resurrection belongs to God in Him. But the Orthodox Church teaches that all actions of Christ are “theandric,” i.e., both Divine and human, are actions of the one and same God-Man. But then His very tears are Divine. Jesus weeps because He contemplates the triumph of death and destruction in the world created by God.

Love, the Power of Life

“It stinketh.” say the Jews trying to prevent Jesus from approaching the corpse, and this awful warning applies to the whole world, to all life. God is Life and the Giver of Life. He called man into the Divine reality of Life and behold “it stinketh”…The world was created to reflect and proclaim the glory of God and “it stinketh.”

At the grave of Lazarus God encounters Death, the reality of anti-life, of destruction and despair. He meets His Enemy, who has taken away from Him His World and become its prince. And we who follow Jesus as He approaches the grave, enter with Him into that hour of His, which He announced so often as the climax and the fulfillment of his whole work.

The Cross, its necessity and universal meaning are announced in the shortest verse of the Gospel: “and Jesus wept”… We understand now that it is because He wept, i.e., loved His friend Lazarus, that Jesus had the power of calling him back to life. The power of Resurrection is not a divine “power in itself,” but power of love, or rather love as power.

God is Love and Love is life, Love creates Life…It is Love that weeps at the grave and it is Love that restores life. This is the meaning of the Divine tears of Jesus. In them love is at work again—recreating, redeeming, restoring the darkened life of man: “Lazarus, come forth!…” And this is why Lazarus Saturday is the beginning of both: the Cross, as the Supreme sacrifice of love, the Resurrection, as the ultimate triumph of love.

Originally published by the Department of Religious Education, Orthodox Church in America

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Third Sunday of Great Lent: The Sunday of the Cross “Christ’s Outstretched Arms”

Our Alumnus, the Very Reverend Steven J. Belonick (M.Div. ’77), is rector of Holy Ghost Russian Orthodox Church in Bridgeport, CT. On the Sunday of Cross, he delivered this homily, reflecting upon the Cross as a symbol of both judgment and mercy.

Third Sunday of Great Lent: The Sunday of the Cross
“Christ’s Outstretched Arms”
By The Very Reverend Steven J. Belonick © 2017

Today, we have reached the midpoint of Great Lent in our journey to Pascha. I pray that you have not used this time in vain but have taken advantage of this opportunity to grow closer to God. At this midpoint the Church once again offers us the Cross of Christ to venerate and to reflect upon its place in our Christian life.

Cross_Synaxis Blog_2017To help us in our reflection, I want to refer you back to a prescribed reading that was given to us this past week from the Book of Isaiah. I hope you took the time to read it (Isaiah 9.9–10.4). This reading describes the chaos that existed in Israel when the Prophet Isaiah lived. Let me describe some of it for you.

Pride and arrogance had filled the hearts of the people. They believed that they were wiser than God and refused to turn to the Him, even though danger was all around. Wickedness burned like a forest fire among them, and yet they remained unrepentant. Moral decay reigned unencumbered, and civil war was an ever-present reality. Enemies from the north were preparing to invade. Brother fought against brother, tribe against tribe. Describing these horrible circumstances that raged in his midst, Isaiah wrote these words: “For all this, God’s anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still” (Isaiah 9.12, 17, 21; 10.4).  Four times within this passage Isaiah uses these same words as a kind of refrain.

This phrase indicates that despite all the destruction around them and God’s call to repentance, the Israelites chose to sink deeper and deeper into sin—even to the point of cannibalism, due to famine! And, so God continued to stretch out His hand. In other words, He continued to permit the cycle of destruction that was devastating their lives.

This haunting refrain, however, not only describes God’s anger at His people but also, at the very same time, His mercy. How so?

If you read the passage carefully, you will find that there is a fascinating sequence to the ever-worsening judgments and disasters permitted by God.[1] First, He throws down idolatrous Israel’s altars and shrines. Second, He cuts Judah and Israel to pieces. Third, He fuels a fire, and, fourth, He gives them over to cannibalism. A modern commentator on this passage, Peter J. Leithart, states: “Israel is being sacrificed: Dismembered, burned, eaten. Yahweh’s response to Israel’s injustice is to sacrifice Israel.”

Leithart goes on to explain that this passage prophesies the death of Jesus. Jesus is the Child of God, the Lamb of God, who is cut, bruised, sacrificed on the wood of the Cross, and then given to us as food. In His crucified body, Jesus takes upon Himself Israel’s sin; He is sacrificed instead of them, and He thus delivers Israel from their sin and punishment. “Yahweh’s justice triumphs over Israel’s injustice,” says Leithart, “when the child is cut, when He is placed on the altar of the world, when He is given over to food, when He becomes sacrificial Israel to deliver sacrificed Israel.”

“For all this God’s anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still.” What a powerful message, for it tells us that God permitted punishment and destruction while at the same time promising overwhelming mercy.

And, what a lesson for us today! God was angry because the Israelites had turned away from Him, and likewise, His anger burns towards us when we sin. We must not deny this reality.

And yet, as He stretches out His hand—permitting us to suffer the consequences of our own sins—He has a merciful plan in mind. His plan is for us to return to our senses, after we find ourselves in squalor, in danger, and in a cycle of self-destruction due to our leaving His embrace, due to our disregarding His commandments.

The Cross that we venerate today, like Isaiah’s prophecy, perfectly illustrates God’s judgement and mercy. (For the judgment and mercy of God are always inextricably intertwined!)

Scripture confirms this. After Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, He knew that His arrest and death were imminent. His hour had come. He became reflective and began to speak about His death openly. He said to his disciples: “Now is my soul troubled. And what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour? No, for this purpose I have come to this hour” (John 12.27). Then He said: “Now is the judgment of this world, now shall the ruler of this world be cast out; and I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself” (John 12.31–32).

So, the Cross is a judgment on us because it shows to what extent we human beings will go to reject God, to take His care and authority in vain, and to direct our allegiance elsewhere, apart from Him. But the Cross is also a source of mercy. On the Cross God’s Son still “stretches out His hands toward us,” but this time in a different way. Nailed to the tree with arms outstretched, He forgives us, He invites us, and He welcomes us. The hands of our Lord are stretched out now for us to come to Him.

At this midpoint of Lent we begin to feel the effects of fasting, and we begin to feel the temptation to weaken our resolve to complete the course of the fast. But just like a military leader shows the colors of the flag when he sees his troops growing weary, so the Church raises the Cross of our Savior to inspire us.

May the sign of the Cross motivate us to keep going, to finish the race, to be conquerors of our passions, to complete the course of the fast, and to celebrate the Feast of Feasts, our Lord’s Resurrection. As our Lord stretches out His hands to us this day, may we in turn reciprocate by stretching out our hands to grasp His. AMEN.

[1] Here I credit research from the article: “His Anger Does Not Turn,” by Peter J. Leithart, 10 April 2011, in Credenda Agenda.

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Matushka Juliana Schmemann, an “Original Brick”: A Remembrance

Mat Juliana Schmemann_40th Day_March2017_photo

On this 40th day of the repose of Matushka Juliana Schmemann (†), it is our joy to remember her love of Christ and His Church, by sharing a poignant essay written by Shamassey Mary Honoré, wife of current seminarian Deacon Andrew Honoré and granddaughter of both Archpriest Peter E. Gillquist (†) and Archpriest Jon Braun, both of whom knew Matushka Juliana and her husband, Protopresbyter Alexander (†), long-time Dean of St. Vladimir’s Seminary, very well. Shamassey Mary’s essay reminds us how Matushka Juliana’s personal faith in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ continued to inspire and vivify those around her, even as she neared the gates of death and the threshold of heaven.

Matushka Juliana will be remembered at a Panikhida in Three Hierarchs Chapel on Friday, March 10th, at 5 p.m. Memory Eternal to our beloved Mother in Christ!

Matushka Juliana Schmemann, an “Original Brick”: A Remembrance
By Shamassey Mary Honoré

Just another day at St. Vladimir’s

It was the “new normal.” My husband was a brand-new, first-year seminarian at St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary in Autumn 2015. One Saturday night in October, we walked past the Seminary’s bookstore on our way home from Great Vespers. Both of us simultaneously stopped when we noticed—both in depth and texture—a brick sticking out of the wall. A small plaque under it revealed that it was an “original brick from the Orthodox Seminary” that had previously existed in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

We discussed it for a bit, thinking it odd that we had not noticed the little brick before, even though between the two of us we had been to the bookstore over a dozen times in the past six weeks. And we wondered: What must have that original Orthodox Seminary been like? And, what had become of it, since this little brick was here in our wall at St. Vladimir’s?

I would have forgotten all about it, except that a few days later, I met a couple of living “original bricks.” I happened to write about that experience in an email to my mom and grandma…

On October 6, I took [my two young sons] to go visit Matushka Juliana (Schmemann) at her assisted-living facility about a mile from St. Vladimir’s. I was a little nervous, to say the least, as it isn’t every day one introduces oneself and boyish kin to a 91-year-old stranger who, together with her husband, is the stuff of legend in the American Orthodox world. When I got to her room, I happily discovered there her daughter Masha, who informed me that today was, in fact, Matushka’s 92nd birthday!!

Matushka Juliana was sweet and fiery. She loved seeing the boys. After a few minutes of small talk, who should walk in to wish birthday greetings but Matushka Marie Meyendorff! It was kind of surreal, sitting there with the now aged and white-haired matriarchs of not just the Orthodox Church in America (OCA, the jurisdiction), but of THE Orthodox Church in America (not the jurisdiction). What an image, right here in front of me! I was in awe to see it, myself a young mom with my babies, from the very theological institution that each of their husbands had governed, nurtured, loved, and lived decades before. And this commonality they shared was, of course, established on a much firmer foundation: that of being refugees and strangers in a new land, where they came to nurture and share their great love of Christ and His Church. The matriarchs mostly talked together while they held hands and sat chatting in Russian.

It was crazy to think about afterwards, and I came home feeling a bit stunned. Not that there was anything presumptuous about these “tiny giants” of the Orthodox Church, but more to just think about each of them in my shoes 65ish years ago, and wondering where we (the current students/families) will be in 65ish years…I know there will be those among us, even our current classmates, who will be called to “take up the torch” so to speak. Just another day at St. Vladimir’s!

Original Brick 2017-02-18 004I was honored to have met this very special “original brick” of our Seminary and our Church. It put into perspective for me the urgency and importance of implementing what we learn here at the Seminary. One could say that to be a seminarian, and to become a worker in God’s field, is to aspire to join the firm foundation of “original bricks” that have been laid before, by God’s grace.

Hello and goodbye

Fast-forward to a chilly wintry day in early December 2016. I went with my grandma, Khouria Marilyn Gillquist—widow of Fr. Peter Gillquist— for a visit with Matushka Juliana. Gram was in town from Bloomington, Indiana, for a brief visit with my little family. She was old friends with Fr. Alexander Schmemann, of blessed memory, and Matushka Juliana.

We weren’t expecting much…we had been told that Matushka was slowing down and mostly slept. We were expecting a short visit. “Ten minutes!” we kept reminding each other. But Matushka was very happy to see us, and after that first ten minutes she remembered and understood exactly who we were. Then proceeded a wonderful hour: she wanted to know everything about everyone, and we were amazed as the minutes flew by and she talked and talked with perfect clarity.

She shared with us that she was in much pain. She was confined to a wheelchair and had really been suffering physically. She said how hard it was to grow old, and that she had asked God many times that she might be granted to die.

“I went up Jacob’s ladder!” she told us. “‘Knock knock knock! Can I come in?’…and St Peter told me ‘No, no, no! [shaking her finger] It is not your turn!’ So, here I am still!”

I began to feel dismayed and truly sorry when she solemnly declared, “I am not human anymore.” Age and deterioration had robbed her of most abilities, and pain and suffering riddled her body. But then, as if to combat our pity, she straightened up as best as she could and with quiet gusto exclaimed, “I love Jesus. Always in my mind…Jesus…Jesus…Jesus!”

She said it with closed eyes, giving Gram and me a moment to share a glance and wipe away our tears. I reached out to touch Matushka’s weary, weathered hand, and she instinctively held my fingers in her grasp for the rest of the conversation.

I could see her truly “waking” now. Our shared humanity and remembrances of old times were the greatest medicine. Talk of Jesus and heaven and Fr. Alexander were a balm to her tired soul. She and my grandmother shared joyful sorrow over the loss of their priest husbands, of how they continually missed them and yet had not truly lost them. I sat there as the neophyte. I couldn’t help but think of the “original brick” outside the bookstore a year earlier, and how here was this living “original brick” before me once again, aged and frail, but ready for the journey to eternity.

Suddenly she turned to me, and began to ask all about “my Deacon.” I had explained earlier on that my husband was a second-year seminarian at St. Vladimir’s, and newly ordained to the diaconate in the Antiochian Orthodox Church.

“How is your Deacon? How does he like St. Vladimir’s?” she wanted to know.

I told her he liked it very well, and that he was working hard and learning so much! Seminary can be difficult, I expressed, but we truly love it and are so grateful to have three years of such excellent training and care there. She declared how much her husband had loved St. Vladimir’s, how it was his life and his legacy. I felt humbled and touched.

Already an hour was spent, and it was time to go. I knew this was goodbye…we would not see Matushka Juliana again, but what a gift this precious hour had been!

I went to give her a hug, and kiss, and to say thank you. Suddenly, she grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me very close to her face—mere inches apart we were. She looked with clear blue eyes right into my very soul and with firm urgency said, “We brought Orthodoxy to America. It is up to you to bring America to Orthodoxy! This is your mission! Tell your Deacon! Tell them at St. Vladimir’s! This is the task of your generation! The most important thing: you must bring America to Orthodoxy.”

“I will. I promise I will tell them what you say,” I finally managed to say, through tears.

She proceeded to give me a blessing, the sign of the cross over me, a sweet kiss, and a strong squeeze of my hands. It was truly amongst the humblest and most holy moments of my life.

Giving thanks

When I learned of Matushka’s death just a few short weeks later, I felt real, overwhelming joy. She had such an incredible life, and now she was suffering no longer, and was with her sweetest “Jesus…Jesus…Jesus!” I can only imagine the reunion with Fr. Alexander. She died on January 29, the eve of their wedding anniversary, which happens to also be the feast day of the Three Holy Hierarchs, the patrons of our chapel here at St. Vladimir’s Seminary.

At our festal liturgy the next morning, I felt joy to know that Matushka was partaking in the heavenly liturgy, while we worshipped at the liturgy for the Three Hierarchs’ feast day. During the Epistle reading, I began to weep. The second verse is well-known and has been a comfort many times to me, and surely to all Christians:

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8)

The reading goes on to speak of Christ as the perfect and most holy sacrifice for us, and ends with these words:

Therefore let us go forth to Him, outside the camp, bearing His reproach.

For here we have no continuing city, but we seek the one to come.

Therefore by Him let us continually offer the sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of our lips, giving thanks to His name.

But do not forget to do good and to share, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased. (Hebrews 13:13–16)

I stood weeping there, because I was so struck by the truth and beauty of the words Matushka Juliana had spoken to me at the end of our meeting, in light of the Epistle that I was hearing now. And today, on the feast of the Three Holy Hierarchs, patrons of our beloved St. Vladimir’s Seminary Chapel, she was certainly “giving thanks to His name.”

We proceeded to listen to the Holy Gospel, from Matthew 5:14–19:

You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.
Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house.
Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.
Do not think that I came to destroy the Law or the Prophets. I did not come to destroy but to fulfill.
For assuredly, I say to you, till heaven and earth pass away, one jot or one tittle will by no means pass from the law till all is fulfilled.
Whoever therefore breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches men so, shall be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does and teaches them, he shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven.

Armed, as it were, with these sacred words, I could not help but think extensively on Matushka’s commission to “bring America to Orthodoxy!”

This is our mission!

Matushka’s funeral was truly glorious. I was standing to the far right side of the church, looking straight out towards her coffin, which was surrounded by many clergy, the Schmemann family, and beautiful flowers. Floating above was a massive and beautifully written icon of the Resurrection. The service was moving and beautiful. Afterwards, I went to give Matushka that last kiss, and felt as though I could gaze upon her forever; so at peace and so beautiful was she. I asked her to forgive me, and I promised her that I would take up my mission of sharing.

I hadn’t thought until then about my email a year ago, when I wrote: “I know there will be those among us, even our current classmates, who will be called to ‘take up the torch’ so to speak.” And suddenly, I realized: I am one of them, one of “us.”

I met an “original brick,” and her memory will live on forever, in a far greater way than the “original brick” in the wall next to the bookstore. No matter our age or position, gifts or struggles, blessings or sufferings, talents or trials, we know this is true: “That Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.” True for Orthodoxy in America! True for bringing America to Orthodoxy! This is our mission!

Thank you, Matushka Juliana! I love you! Memory eternal.

© Mary Honoré 2017
For permission to reprint contact:

Listen to Matushka Juliana speaking about her book, The Joy to Serve.

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Homily on the Sunday of Orthodoxy

On Sunday, March 5, 2017, Archpriest Chad Hatfield, president of St. Vladimir’s Seminary, was guest homilist during the Great Vespers service celebrating the Sunday of Orthodoxy, at Holy Ghost Russian Orthodox Church, Bridgeport, Connecticut—whose rector is Archpriest Steven J. Belonick, seminary alumnus (M.Div. ’77). The parish hosted the event, which was sponsored by the New England Clergy Association.

In this intriguing homily, Fr. Chad acts as both sleuth and visionary: he traces the origins of the Sunday of Orthodoxy and its subsequent celebration up to the present day, and then relates both little known and better known efforts at Orthodox Christian unity in the USA. He includes such historical tidbits as the words of St. Tikhon of Moscow in two of his homilies at Orthodoxy of Sunday Great Vespers, and the FOGCPJA (Federated Orthodox Greek Catholic Primary Jurisdictions in America) formed to address the crisis of Orthodox Christian soldiers during WWII not having dog tags to identify their religion properly! In closing, Fr. Chad urges a call to the Orthodox churches in North America to “a corporate repentance and a recommitment to becoming the Orthodox Christian Church in America—one house, one shared faith, and one common witness?”

Orthodoxy Sunday Vespers – 5 March 2017
Holy Ghost Russian Orthodox Church (OCA), Bridgeport, CT
Archpriest Chad Hatfield, President, SVOTS


Fathers, brothers and sisters in Christ, I want to thank Archpriest Steven Belonick for hosting this Inter-Orthodox Vespers this evening as we mark the first Sunday of Great Lent. This day is often called the “Sunday of the Triumph” of Holy Orthodoxy. We have been keeping this feast and the practice of processing with our icons and crosses since the Empress Theodora ordered Patriarch Methodius—who by all accounts was a godly Patriarch of Constantinople—in AD 843 on the First Sunday of Great Lent, to assemble the faithful for a procession with the icons, crosses, and candles, so that the holy images might be restored to the Church for veneration.

The Empress Theodora did not have the support of her late husband, Emperor Theophilus. In a dream she saw a vision of her husband being tortured for his heterodoxy as an Iconoclast. In the dream she saw herself pleading for her husband, and the voice of an Angel spoke to her, saying: “Great is your faith, o woman!” She was told that by her prayers and tears forgiveness had been granted to Theophilus.  The intercessions of the priests and faithful had been heard.

Patriarch Methodius had previously written the names of all of the heretical emperors, including Theophilus, on a plain piece of paper and had placed it under the Holy Table. After his own encounter with an Angel, who told him that his intercessions had been heard and that Theophilus had been forgiven, he tested his vision by going to retrieve the paper—finding not a single name left on it! This good news was shared with the Empress and her son Michael, and thus was the beginning of this festival day.

So, we now have our history. History is very important to Orthodox Christians. We like to look back. One bit of history that I want to share this evening, is closer to our own day. That is the question: When exactly did we start gathering on the evening of Orthodoxy Sunday, with a focus on “Orthodox Unity”? I am not sure that I have an exact answer. I don’t have an exact date or time. What I do have is some more history.

We know that after the Bolshevik Revolution, 1917–18, the Orthodox Church in North America was unable to maintain the canonical unity that had, more or less, prevailed since the arrival of those first Missionaries on Kodiak Island in Alaska in 1794. Their missionary efforts are the foundation for Orthodoxy in the New World. The Church is founded on the blood of martyrs, and we have that blood in the martyrs Juvenaly and his companion and St. Peter the Aleut. This is all part of our local church history, and it is foundational for American Orthodoxy.

We also have, as part of our American Orthodox patrimony, the vision of St. Tikhon, our own Archbishop, here in America, who would return to Russia and be elected Patriarch of Moscow and All-Russia during the 1917–18 Sobor that paralleled the time of the Revolution. This year marks the 100th anniversary of his election as Patriarch and his Enthronement. Hear the words of this great saint preached on Orthodoxy Sunday in 1903:

Holding to the Orthodox Faith, as to something holy, living it with all their hearts and prizing it above all, Orthodox people ought, moreover, to endeavor to spread it among people of other creeds. Christ the Savior has said that: “neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candle stand, and it gives light to all that are in the house” (Matthew 5.15). The light of Orthodoxy was not lit to shine only on a small number of men. The Orthodox Church is universal; it remembers the words of its Founder: “Go ye into the world and preach the gospel to every creature” (Luke 16.14). “Go ye therefore and teach all nations” (Matthew 28.19). We ought to share our spiritual wealth, our truth, light and joy with others who are deprived of these blessings, but often are seeking them and thirsting for them.

In his “Farewell Sermon,” also preached on Orthodoxy Sunday in his San Francisco Cathedral in 1907, he sounded a similar note, worth hearing once again tonight:

…it is not enough, brethren, only to celebrate “The Triumph of Orthodoxy.” It is necessary for us personally to promote and contribute to this triumph. And for this we must reverently preserve the Orthodox Faith, standing firm in it in spite of the fact that we live in a non-Orthodox country, and not pleading as an excuse for our apostasy that “it is not the old land here but America, a free country, and therefore it is impossible to follow everything that the Church requires.” As if the word of Christ is only suitable for the old land and not for the entire world! As if the Church of Christ is not catholic! As if the Orthodox Faith did not “establish the universe.”

St. Tikhon had a vision for an ethnically diverse yet united Orthodox Church and Evangelical Witness to and in America. It was set in motion with the consecration of St. Raphael of Brooklyn as an Auxiliary Bishop but never fully achieved. Church politics, ethnic divisions and xenophobic fears, and finally, the Bolshevik Revolution, would shatter Orthodoxy in America into camps and the divided house that we now find ourselves in today.

Russian Americans would become two groups; Serbs would become two; Antiochians would divide between New York and Toledo; Albanians, Bulgarians, and Romanians, would divide; and property lawsuits took a toll with Greeks, Russians, Arabs—everybody. So much for making an Evangelical witness in the New World! We looked tribal to outsiders, and we were tribal for those on the inside. We not only fought about languages, but we had calendar divisions and even communities where someone from the “wrong” Old Country Village was not welcome in a particular parish. We even divided cemeteries in some places so that we would not share space even in death!

We did face a crisis when our American boys were being drafted into military service in WW II. Orthodoxy was not recognized as a religion identity option, so there were no dog tags to identify “EO” Eastern Orthodox. We had to choose “C” for “Catholic” or “P” for “Protestant.” Some even got “J” for “Jewish” when they stated that they were “Orthodox.”

F-O-G-C-P-J-A the “Federated Orthodox Greek Catholic Primary Jurisdictions in America” would be formed to address this crisis. I am not, this evening, going to give you the whole history, but if you are interested you can check it out on Ancient Faith Radio or go to

In short, when an Orthodox priest, Fr. John Gelsinger was drafted, his father contacted a certain George E. Phillies, an attorney in Buffalo, New York who happened to be both Orthodox and Episcopalian and a Free Mason. (Our history is fascinating with some most interesting characters!)

With his legal skills he was able to bring together the “Big Four” hierarchs of the time, representing Antiochians, Greeks, Serbs, and Russians. This was an important foundation for what we do here tonight. It was an attempt at Orthodox unity that did bring about “EO” dog tags for our Orthodox Military members, and clarification of identity as a legal Christian church by the government (There is a famous photo of these bishops with Governor Thomas Dewey of New York). But, our unity effort lasted only until November 1944, when the Russians pulled out. Metropolitan Antony Bashir did his best to keep it going, at least on paper, but it failed in the end.

“SCOBA,” or the Standing Conference of Orthodox Bishops in America, would eventually be created in yet one more attempt to create a Pan-Orthodox witness and unity in America. It never became a true functioning local synod, as some thought that it would, but agencies such as the Orthodox Christian Mission Center, International Orthodox Christian Charities, Orthodox Scouting, and Christian Education Groups would find an umbrella through SCOBA. These were all a good things, and we thank God!

The bold gathering in Ligonier, Pennsylvania in 1994 was both an historic moment full of great hope but also a marker in our history where the vision of what could be was lit like a candle for all to see. As the candle was extinguished, for whatever reasons, so went much of the energy to push for Orthodox administrative unity in America.

So, we have continued to gather once a year on the Sunday of Orthodox for Vespers, as we do tonight, and many a sermon as been preached on the necessity for a unified Orthodox voice and presence in America. That is all well and good, but in reality do we not find ourselves, despite the creation of the Assembly of Canonical Orthodox Bishops in America as a replacement for SCOBA, as “Balkanized” as ever?

What is now commonly called the “Council of Crete,” convened this past summer, has not in truth, energized us to move forward and to finally fulfill the vision of St. Tikhon’s American Orthodoxy, where we can successfully make a united Orthodox witness in a culture that is seeking the treasures we possess. We seem pathetic, for the most part, when it comes to sharing the “Triumph of Orthodoxy” with others. People still look into our “tent” looking for the Church of Christ and finding instead a camp of tribes. What they see is hardly a picture of the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church.

St. Tikhon, did not see himself as only the “Archbishop of the Orthodox in America.” He saw himself as the “Archbishop of America,” and all of the sheep were counted as members of his flock. Both Orthodox and non-Orthodox were his spiritual children. As we mark the 100th Anniversary of his election as Patriarch of Moscow and we remember his contribution to the life of the Church in North America, can we not recommit ourselves to bringing “Orthodoxy to America” and “America to Orthodoxy”?

In this spiritual tithe of the year when we seek true repentance and amendment of life as individual disciples of the Living Lord, can we not also call the Church in our land to a corporate repentance and recommitment to becoming the Orthodox Christian Church in America—one house, one shared faith, and one common witness?

We can’t afford to make peace with our unhappy divisions. We need to repent of whatever stumbling blocks keep us from being united in Christ in all things.

We have a most powerful intercessor in this cause in the person of St. Tikhon. We have heard his words and hopefully caught a glimpse of his vision for what can, and should, be Orthodoxy in America, today.

Ask yourself, as I ask myself—what do we need to do to set in motion the action steps needed to complete the vision of a faithful witness given by a saint who loved America, served it in the Name of his Lord, and who calls us to unity in Christ this very night? Ask, in your prayers this Great Lent—what needs to be done by you personally and corporately by our various churches, dioceses, archdioceses, and metropolises to achieve an end to the division and brokenness that the events of history have created and we now live with? If nothing else all of us can utter the words: “Holy Tikhon, pray unto God for us!”

Listen to an audio file of Fr. Chad’s homily here:

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Archpastoral Message of His Beatitude Metropolitan Tikhon, Primate of the Orthodox Church in America and Chairman of the Board of Trustees, St. Vladimir’s Seminary

Great Lent 2017

All mortal life is but one day, so it is said, to those who labour with love.
There are forty days in the Fast: let us keep them all with joy
[Canticle IX of the Canon, Monday of the First Week].

To the Venerable Monastics, Reverend Clergy and Pious Faithful of the Orthodox Church in America:

2017-0227-gethsemaneAs the gates of repentance of Great Lent open to us and we take delight in the pleasures of the Fast, I ask your forgiveness for all the ways that I have offended or disappointed you, my brothers and sisters in Christ. The cross that each of us bears is one chosen especially for us according to our needs, but we recall the words of the Apostle, “God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear” (I Corinthians 10:13). I am grateful for your prayers, support and labors on behalf of the Orthodox Church in America and for your prayerful remembrance of her Primate and the Holy Synod.

During these days, I especially recall the blessings of this week at the Monastery of Saint Tikhon of Zadonsk when the majority of the time, for both monastics and seminarians, was spent participating in the full and rich divine services offered. My hope is that each of you can find some time this week to preserve for yourselves some moments of spiritual rest and renewal, even as you attend to the necessary tasks of family life, work, school, and other responsibilities.

I have found the following passage from the Homilies of Saint Gregory Palamas to be an encouraging reminder of how the transformative effects of our liturgical and spiritual disciplines can be found universally throughout history. This great saint offered the following words in his 6th homily for the Wednesday of the First Week of Great Lent:

For the last two weeks our city was given over to gluttony and lack of self-restraint, and straight away we had troubles, shouting, fights, disturbances, shameless songs and obscene laughter. But this week when the fast came it made everything more honourable. It took us away from frivolity’s expensive cares, stopped us toiling for the sake of our useless stomachs, set us instead to works of repentance and persuaded us not to labor for the food which perishes but for the food which endures to eternal life.

Where are now the slaughter of animals, the aroma of roasting meat, the variety of sauces and the cooks’ best endeavours? Where are the men who run around the streets and pollute the air with their impure voices? Where are those who beat the drum and make music around houses and tables, and their devotees who join in with applause and eat their fill of the food set before them to the accompaniment of kettledrums and flutes? Where are those who spend their days and nights at parties, who are always looking for places to drink, who keep each other company in drunkenness and the shameful acts that result from it? Once the fast was proclaimed all these evils went away and all things good took their place. Instead of disgusting songs, mouths now sing holy psalms. Instead of obscene laughter, there is salutary sorrow and tears. instead of undisciplined outings and wanderings, everyone takes one and the same way to Christ’s Holy Church. If unlimited eating produces a dense swarm of sins, fasting is the root of all virtues and the foundation of God’s commandments.

We may not live in Thessalonica in the 14th century, but I know that every Orthodox Christian has experienced the change that takes place during the First Week of Great Lent, both inwardly and outwardly. Though we are a small and humble Church on a very large continent, I pray that we all may continue to bear witness to Christ in this fallen world and that, by God’s grace, the transfiguration of our hearts, our communities and our society by the light of Christ and the resurrection, will continue for the life of the world and it’s salvation.

Please forgive me and pray for me, a sinner.

+ Tikhon
Archbishop of Washington
Metropolitan of All America and Canada

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Artistic Innovation in the Middle Ages and Today: Encountering Christ in Cologne Cathedral

This essay, by Dn. Evan J. Freeman, seminary alumnus (M.Div. ’09, Th.M. ’12), reminds us of the recent Gospel admonition heard on the “Sunday of the Last Judgment”: “I was a stranger and you took me in.” (Matt 25:35). Deacon Evan, who is a Ph.D. candidate at Yale University and also the lecturer in Liturgical Arts at St. Vladimir’s Seminary, explains how the sacred arts—at times through powerful imagery—can proclaim God’s Word in every age.

31 “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. 32 All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. 33 He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

34 “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ (Gospel of Matthew, chapter 25)

img_2225I recently visited Cologne Cathedral, a towering Gothic edifice and UNESCO World Heritage Site overlooking the Rhine in western Germany. Begun in 1248 but not completed until 1880, it was the tallest building in the world from 1880-1884 and remains one of the world’s largest churches to this day. Pilgrims and tourists flock to the cathedral daily, both to pray but also to admire its impressive architecture and numerous other masterpieces of sacred art contained within. On my recent visit, two artworks in particular struck me—one medieval and the other postmodern—that each highlight the vital role of artistic creativity in Christianity’s perennial quest to understand and proclaim God’s eternal Word in every age.

img_8797The renowned Gero Cross was at the top of my list of things to see in Cologne Cathedral (recently discussed by Annika Elisabeth Fisher in “Cross Altar and Crucifix in Ottonian Cologne—Past Narrative, Present Ritual, Future Resurrection”). Probably commissioned by Archbishop Gero around 970 to stand above an altar dedicated to the Crucifixion, the Gero Cross is now set in a Baroque frame and situated north of the high altar. Carved in oak then painted and gilded, the life-size sculpture renders the dead Christ with striking naturalism. Christ’s distended stomach projects outward toward the viewer, while His taught arm muscles strain to support the weight of His lifeless body. Eyes closed, His head slumps in death.

To the modern tourist walking through Cologne Cathedral, the Gero Cross might seem like just another medieval crucifix, a traditional Christian image from a time long past. But it would be wrong to dismiss the Gero Cross as a conservative work, since it was remarkably innovative in its own time. Before the Ottonian period (919-1024), sculpture in the round had been virtually absent from Christian art, still carrying connotations of pagan idolatry. The Gero Cross marks a period of revival of freestanding statuary in the Christian artistic tradition.

img_8807Depicting a dead Christ was also a relatively recent innovation. Images of the dead Christ on the cross emerged in Byzantium in the post-Iconoclastic period as a means of emphasizing Christ’s human nature. They also appeared in the west in the ninth century in conjunction with theological writings like Paschasius Radbertus’s ninth-century De Corpore et Sanguine Domini that emphasized the real presence of Christ’s body in the Eucharist. What’s more, an eleventh-century text called the Chronicon of Thietmar of Merseburg (written between 1012 and 1018, just a few decades before the Eucharistic debates erupted between Berengar of Tours and Lanfranc in the mid-eleventh century) suggests that the Gero Cross once contained a relic of the True Cross and some of the consecrated bread of the Eucharist. This inclusion of relic and Eucharist made the Gero Cross more than a mere depiction of Christ, and instead transformed it into a kind of reliquary and proto-monstrance (anticipating the appearance of monstrances in the fourteenth century that displayed the Eucharistic bread for veneration).

We can only imagine how surprising and compelling the Gero Cross, with its triple presentation of Christ in image, relic, and Eucharist, must have been to its original medieval audience. Today, crowds of tourists dutifully stop beneath it to consult their guidebooks (or smartphones) for a moment or two before moving on to the next attraction.

img_8770But on my recent visit to Cologne, a much newer artwork also attracted crowds of visitors, and it caught my attention too. Installed in 2016 and located just north of the church’s west entrance, the title of the installation is projected on the floor in multiple languages beginning with German: Christus sitzt im Flüchtlingsboot, “Christ sits in the refugee boat.” Drawing close to the installation, the viewer encounters a small, wooden boat resting on the stone floor of the Gothic church like a Duchamp readymade. The boat is entirely unremarkable, except for its curious presence within the Gothic cathedral.

A caption beside the boat reads:

This fishing boat was confiscated by the Maltese Army in the Mediterranean Ocean. Smugglers were using it on the route from Libya to Italy. The boat is seven meters long and carried up to 100 people. The refugees had no protection from sun, storm or cold. They were not allowed to bring anything, not even food or water. So many people were packed on the boat on the trip over that some suffocated and many survivors collapsed from being unable to breathe.

Some visitors peer into the boat. Despite the title, Christ is nowhere to be found. Flüchtlingsboot is an image of Christ without a Christ. Or rather, Flüchtlingsboot is a kind of mirror, revealing Christ in the twenty-first century viewer’s own time and place. A projector shines photographs of refugees onto the wall behind the boat, evoking Christ’s words in Matthew’s Gospel: “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger [xenos] and you welcomed me… as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me” (Matthew 25:35-40). Through these projected images, Flüchtlingsboot invites the viewer to acknowledge Christ in the stranger and to practice hospitality (philoxenia), or “love of the stranger,” as commanded by God in the Hebrew Scriptures (e.g. Gen. 18; Exod. 22:21; Lev. 19:33-34, 23:22, 25.35; Deut. 10:19, 14:19, 23:7, 24:14-22, 27:19; Job 31:32; Ps. 94:1-6, 146:9; Wis. 19:13-14; Isa. 58:7; Ezek. 22:7-22; Zech. 7:9-10; and Mal. 3:5), as well as in the New Testament (e.g. Luk. 10:25-37; Rom. 12:13; 1 Tim. 3:2, 5:10; Tit. 1:8; Heb. 13:2; 1 Pet. 4:9; and 3 Jn. 1:5).

img_8779Combining a found object with projected words and images, the multimedia Flüchtlingsboot is unapologetically postmodern in format. Its power lies precisely in its poignant combination of otherwise disparate elements. The work’s caption transforms a seemingly ordinary fishing boat into a tangible illustration of the migrant’s suffering. Even more than an illustration, the boat is an actual artifact of human suffering, a kind of contact relic akin to the piece of the True Cross inside the Gero Cross. But whereas Gero’s life-size scale and illusionistic carving thrusts an emphatically kataphatic image of the suffering Christ into the physical space of the viewer, Flüchtlingsboot answers with an apophatic vision of Christ, an absence that urges the viewer to look beyond the artwork and into the faces of his or her fellow human beings represented by the projected photographs of refugees. On my recent visit to Cologne, Flüchtlingsboot’s effectiveness was manifest in the constant stream of pilgrims and tourists who gathered around the boat to contemplate the refugee’s plight, offer prayers, and place alms in the nearby collection box for Migrant Offshore Aid Station (MOAS).

Although they both claim to represent Christ, the Gero Cross and Christus sitzt im Flüchtlingsboot are two very different works, serving distinct liturgical functions and aimed at unique historical audiences. The Gero Cross employs medieval materials and techniques to create an illusionistic cult image originally intended for a cross altar in Cologne’s Ottonian cathedral. It combines image, relic, and Eucharist to offer the viewer an embodied encounter with the crucified Christ that evokes medieval descriptions of Christ’s physical presence in the Eucharist.

In contrast, Flüchtlingsboot is a postmodern, multimedia installation that greets tourists and pilgrims alike at the entrance of the cathedral and challenges them to recognize Christ in the suffering refugee before they seek Him in iconic works like the Gero Cross or in the Eucharistic bread. Recalling Last Judgment scenes that decorate the entrance portals of Romanesque churches like St. Foy at Conques in France, Flüchtlingsboot confronts those entering Cologne Cathedral with Christ’s stark description of the Last Judgment in Matthew’s Gospel, paraphrased and contextualized by Cardinal Rainer Maria Woelki, archbishop of Cologne: “Whoever lets people drown in the Mediterranean lets God drown.”

But despite their differences, the Gero Cross and Flüchtlingsboot are both exemplars of the same dynamic Christian artistic tradition that has embraced creativity in every era as a means of communicating the timeless message of the Gospel to contemporary audiences. As the Greek Orthodox iconographer George Kordis recently told me in an interview for the Sacred Arts Initiative, “Tradition is creativity. If there is a tradition with no creativity it is no tradition anymore, it is something dead… Creativity is a basic characteristic of tradition.” In the tenth century, the Gero Cross daringly innovated by employing a novel naturalistic style and three-dimensional format to promote a new theological insight about Eucharistic realism. Through its postmodern combination of found object and projected words and images, Flüchtlingsboot compellingly reveals the crucified Christ in suffering refugees to its twenty-first century audience.

And as we witness the dark tides of nationalism and xenophobia rising across Europe and North America today, Flüchtlingsboot’s powerful call for hospitality—the Biblical mandate to the love the stranger—couldn’t be more timely or more potent.

This essay was first published on the website of the Sacred Arts Initiative at St. Vladimir’s Seminary.

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