June 17, 2012 Jordanville, NY: A Sermon
by Protodeacon Andrei Kuraev in Holy Trinity Monastery
On Monday, June 4, on the Feast of the Holy Spirit, Moscow
Theological Academy professor Protodeacon Andrei Kuraev took part in
the divine services in honor of the patronal feast day of Holy
Trinity Monastery in Jordanville,
NY. After the Communion hymn, Fr. Andrei addressed pilgrims with the
following words:
In
the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit!
Happy birthday, O ye Orthodox! In a week, we will all celebrate our
namesday – it will be the feast of All Saints, when we will
celebrate the memory of all of our heavenly intercessors. But today
all of us celebrate our birthday, because today is the birthday of
the Church, the day of Pentecost. In what sense do I mean that it is
the Church’s birthday and the birthday of us all? Seven years ago, I
was walking along the streets of the Uzbek city of Samarkand. It was
during the Paschal days of May, and in the middle of a crowd of
people I saw a boy walking in my direction – 15 years old, clearly
Russian and clearly a local, not a tourist ‒ already a rarity in
Uzbek cities.
As
we passed each other, I realized that I couldn’t just pass him by,
and I said, "Christ is Risen, Little Brother!" The lad froze,
dumbfounded – these were words unfamiliar to him. But he understood
that something nice had been said to him. As a young man of good
upbringing, he decided to say something kind in return, and so in
response I heard, "And the same to yourself!" In all my life, a more
Christian well-wishing I have never heard! Indeed, it is this which
is the principle desire of the Christian.
Saint Gregory the Theologian, recalling the life of Christ, said,
"Lord, Thou didst resurrect three men!", meaning St. Lazarus, four
days dead, the widow’s son, and Jairus’ daughter. And so St. Gregory
the Theologian continued, "O Lord, Thou didst resurrect three men!
Would that I might be the fourth?" It is this which is the most
deep-seated desire of the Christian: that all which happened to
Christ – his journey through death to everlasting life – that this
journey might become ours, as well.
But in order for us to become partakers of Christ’s life and
Resurrection, for this we are in need of the sacrament of communion
with the Holy Spirit. The work of the Holy Spirit in the life of the
Church is the work, as the Greeks say, of economy (οἰκονομία), or in English –
housekeeping. That which the Lord granted to mankind becomes the
inheritance of each of us through the action of the Holy Spirit. And
then, when that action makes contact with us, we are transformed
from ordinary people – city and village dwellers alike – into
members of Christ’s Body. And thereby, His life and His death become
ours, as well.
The principle difference between different Christian confessions is
namely this: we all agree that Christ died atoning for our sins and
rose again. But the difference between the confessions lies in
determining what more is necessary for our salvation: how this great
gift, given to humanity,
might be given to me ‒ to
a man living not in the first, but in the twenty-first century, not
in Palestine, but in totally different lands altogether – how might
this gift reach me? Simply through a book? The wonderful holy book
of the Gospel – you read it, and say, "I agree!" ‒ and you’re saved.
This is the Protestant reply. Through subservience to the Bishop of
Rome? This is the Catholic reply. But here is the Orthodox reply ‒
through the Church, through the action of the Holy Spirit, which
makes us partakers of, participants in, Christ. And it is in this
sense that all of us celebrate our birthday in our capacity as
Christians.
When we pay close attention to the Apostolic, New Testament
narrative about the events of that long-ago day, a certain shadow of
sorrow falls upon us. Recall that on the day of Pentecost the
Apostle Peter began to cite the words of the Prophet Joel: "I will
pour out my Spirit upon all flesh," and "Your young men shall see
visions, and your old men shall dream dreams," and so on. But if we
read further the Prophecy of Joel, which the Apostle Peter called to
remembrance on the day of Pentecost, we see therein words highly
desirous to us, and from which we find ourselves so far away ‒ after
all, the prophecy continues: and there will be no more need for
elders, no need to seek the counsel of any man, for the Holy Spirit
will direct each of you. This is a sort of sermon of mystical
anarchy.
When there will be no need for any intermediary, when God’s truth
will be plain to see in the heart of every member of the community,
every member of the Church; and the Holy Spirit will directly lead
all of our lives as a shepherd. This is the Christian’s dream. Has
it been realized in the life of the Christian Church? We must reply
sorrowfully that No, it has not. It has not been fully realized. It
may, perhaps, be realized after the Second Coming of Christ, for the
Kingdom of God. But in the meanwhile, in the interim we inhabit,
between the First and Second Comings, it has not been realized.
St. John Chrysostom began his commentary on the Gospel according to
Matthew thusly: he said that the fact that we have this book, the
Gospel, is very bad. We oughtn’t have this book, because this
teaching of Christ ought to be written in each of our hearts. But,
inasmuch as it has been erased from our hearts, the Lord gave it to
us on paper, and so let us take at least this gift from God,
preserve it, and study it diligently.
Much in our church life is a concession by divine pedagogy and
economy for our sakes; for instance, the fact that we have churches.
Indeed, for where two or three gather My name, there am I with them…
We understand that one of the new practices instituted by the New
Testament was bridging the traditional gap that existed until that
point between the sacred and the profane. The Apostle Paul says:
rejoice evermore, pray
without ceasing, in every
thing give thanks. If you’re traveling, if you’re drinking ‒ do
everything in God’s name. We failed to apply this elevated
understanding of God to our spiritual lives. The Lord replied: very
well, so you cannot pray without ceasing, but perhaps you can give
Me one tenth? The Church Fathers underscored this ‒ the length of
Great Lent is one tenth of the year. The forty-day fast, minus
Saturdays and Sundays, plus the days of Passion Week, is exactly one
tenth of the year ‒ you can at least offer Me this tithe? You can’t
spend all of your time in church? But perhaps you could make it on
Sundays? You can’t give away everything, as did the Apostles’
disciples, can’t give away all you own to the poor? But perhaps you
could pay your parish dues? At least a little bit – granted, not
everything, but at least do a little bit?
In
Christ’s Church there oughtn’t be ecclesiastical
rights, ecclesiastical
law… the word "law" is a cold one. The Apostle Paul said that the
Law had yet to bring anyone to perfection. But the law can save you
from bestiality. In the Christian Church, in our Orthodox Church,
yes, we dream: if the fullness of the Holy Spirit were in each of
us, as it was in St. Seraphim of Sarov, then we wouldn’t need any
law, any rights. Everything would be plain to see. Alas, we are not
Seraphims of Sarov, and for that reason we require Church order,
Church Tradition, discipline, hierarchy. This is, on the one hand,
the wisdom of the Church, but on the other, it betrays a
centuries-old disease in the Church.
Recall that, in the same society that experienced the Pentecost,
disagreements and arguments began almost immediately among the
people when the Greek widows (that is, they who were from among the
proselytes, not Jewesses) complained to the Apostles that they were
being abused at the common meals, being segregated, seated
separately from the Christian Jewesses, that no one was sharing the
best pieces with them and so on, that people avoided them... And
they complained to the Apostles, and then the Apostles confirmed the
diaconate for the very purpose of overseeing the tables, that at the
very least the rules of decorum might be observed at Christian
gatherings. And yet ahead lay the famous missionary debate between
the Apostles Peter and Paul. It was very difficult even in the
community of the Apostles.
The day of Pentecost carries with it glad tidings, as well, because
the gifts of the Holy Spirit are for us. See here ‒ before us on the
analogion lies an icon of the Descent of the Holy Spirit on the
Apostles. Could you see yourselves in this icon? Realize that each
of us is depicted there, on that icon. This icon is very unusual ‒
pay close attention to it: there are three traits unusual for an
Orthodox icon of Pentecost. First, the Apostles are sitting
vertically, not lengthwise, as on usual icons of the Mystical
Supper, but vertically. This explanation is not theological, but
purely historical. This iconographic depiction comes to us from a
period when there were no iconostases as we understand them today.
The icon of Pentecost was written on the walls of the church, on
this archway above the altar. And you have this symbolism – the dome
is God, and its cylindrical part is the grace of the Holy Spirit,
proceeding from God to the world, and through the Apostles it is
given to us. We, meanwhile, stand below this archway. That is the
origin of this iconographic depiction ‒ the projection of Church
iconography on this wooden surface. That is how this icon came to
be.
The second special trait of this icon is very much under debate. In
the middle of the icon we see the Mother of God. Why is this under
debate? Because the Mother of God only began appearing on icons of
Pentecost sometime in the sixteenth century. Earlier iconography
knew no such detail. And, in fact, the Mother of God had her own
personal Pentecost, before the whole of mankind, before the
Apostles. While the Apostles still knew not that they were Apostles,
the Archangel had already said to the Mother of God: "The Holy
Spirit shall come upon thee, and the power of the Most High shall
overshadow thee." The feast of the Annunciation is the Pentecost of
the Mother of God. For this reason, ancient Byzantine and ancient
Russian iconographers determined that the Mother of God need not be
included in this icon.
But there remains one more mystery, the most important one on this
icon ‒ it’s the figure below all of the Apostles. Take note – below,
in the lower middle of the icon, there is a dark semicircle. And in
this dark semicircle is a certain person, an elder with a crown and
cloth extended on his arms. I don’t know if this icon before us has
the inscription or not, but according to the canons it should bear
the inscription κόσμος ‒ the cosmos, the world,
God’s creation. After all, we said that today the whole world
celebrates its namesday. So it is: "I will pour out my Spirit upon
all flesh." God’s creation is full of grace; it is good. But the
Apostle Paul says: "The creature was made subject to vanity, not
willingly, but by reason of him who hath subjected the same."
St. Symeon the New Theologian explained the words of St. Paul
thusly: the first-created man was Adam, and he was the king of all
creation. But then Adam fell, and it came to pass that man – fallen
man – found himself lower than the
unfallen world. And then man had no freedom to act in the world. St.
Symeon the New Theologian writes that creation did not wish to serve
fallen Adam – the springs refused him drink, the sun would not shine
for him, the animals desired to devour him. And then, acting to save
man in the world, the Lord placed all of creation in submission to
fallen man. It is for this reason that all of creation is enslaved
to the law of decay, death, and entropy ‒ but not willingly.
For the whole world, death is the wages of sin. For us, it is an
entity of our making, the consequence of our freedom. But not for
the rest of the world. That is why the Apostle Paul writes that the
whole creation groaneth, waiting to be delivered from the bondage of
corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. And
that is why the Cosmos on this icon is depicted imprisoned, yet
wearing a king’s crown, because it did not deny Christ and its
inheritance. And it awaits the liberation of the sons of man. That
is why this is a feast for all creation – the Holy Spirit has
returned and the divine plan for the relationship between God, man,
and the universe can be restored in the life of the Church and the
lives of the saints – we see this occur often in the lives of many
of the saints. That is what this icon of Pentecost testifies to us.
And so, on the one hand, this is a joyous, momentous event for us,
but on the other hand, it is a reminder that nevertheless, if
nothing in my life, with the exception of my kittens, listens to me,
and I even have a difficult relationship with the neighbor’s dog,
and bears do not come to me out of the woods to eat prosphoras from
my hand, then I am no Seraphim of Sarov. And this, I think, is
another important lesson that we learn today – we must remember that
each of us is imperfect. But we are not only personally imperfect.
It is my understanding that the prophecy of Joel came to pass in
part – only in part – on this day, and it seems to me that
remembering this might help us to overcome crises in the Church. We
must understand that not only am I myself imperfect, but I must know
how, as strange as this may seem, at a certain age in my spiritual
life, to accept the imperfection of life in the Church. Here in
America, many of you know that some people search their whole lives
for the perfect church, and in the end find nothing. They spend
their whole lives switching from one jurisdiction to the next, from
one parish to the other, in search of perfection. In the end, they
destroy their own soul.
It
is my first time in this wondrous monastery, but this morning I was
told something that shocked me: it turns out that, when an agreement
was reached five years ago concerning the unification of all of
Russian Orthodoxy, some of those abiding in this monastery were
unable to accept the decision, unable to make peace with it, and
they left the monastery. This is not what surprised me. What
surprised me was something else: they told me that some of them
later married. This makes no sense to me. Let us say that I find the
behavior of another individual – a bishop, even – uncanonical,
improper. But I, as a monk, have my vows before God. What does
anyone else, anyone who may do something improper, have anything do
with it? If someone acted unjustly, it does not free me from living
according to those precepts and vows that I accepted upon myself.
And that is a difficult ability to master: to live in the Church,
remain in the Church, accepting your own imperfection. This, too, is
extremely difficult. At some point you must realize: I will never be
an Olympic champion, no Macarius the Great – or any great spiritual
athlete – will come of me, and to be the next Chrysostom is not my
lot, either. But the mere fact I am not to be an Olympic champion
does not mean that I ought to drink myself to death. That I am no
venerable father does not mean that I can live like an animal. In
the same way, just because I am not possessed of the perfect
spiritual life, it does not mean that I should leave the Church. And
if there is strife in our church community, that does not mean I
should spit on the Church and go revel in my own fantasies. There
are many people today who are searching for the Church according to
the lyrics of a popular ditty: "I sculpted [it] out of what I had on
hand; and what I got I came to love " (Alena Apina, "Uzelki"
("Knots")). One cannot do this with the Church. It will be the love
of an idol, of a graven image, which I created in my imagination;
but then it turns out that I only love myself, and all of this is
very far from God.
The day of Pentecost reminds us, I think, of what the wonderful 19th
century Russian poet Yakov Polonsky expressed so supremely clearly
and accurately. He said this:
Life without Christ is but an
accidental dream. Blessed is he who heareth twice; He, who
doth hear the calling of the Church, And heareth the prophetic
Spirit’s voice. (Yakov Polonsky, "Den’ Krescheniya Rossii" ("The
Day of Russia’s Christening"))
We
must be able to distinguish in accordance with the Gospel: what is
of the Sabbath, what is of man; what is of primary or secondary
importance; and so on in the life of the Church. But we see little
of that. Any intelligent, non-Church person in Russia today can tell
you this: man is higher than the Sabbath. But you, churchgoers, with
your Sabbaths, typicons, and calendars, you forgot the duty of your
humanity. And so, I think, it would be good not to forget the second
"hearing," that of the calling of the Church.
The correct formula for life in the Church, I think, is as follows:
a person in the Church knows how to differentiate between things of
primary and secondary importance, but at the same time, he is able
to appreciate the secondary things in the light of the primary
things that show through them.
All too often, I hear the following conversations in various cities
and countries: Well, tell us, is this really necessary for
salvation? For instance, why do we serve in green vestments on
Pentecost? Yes, you can certainly be saved if you serve on Pentecost
in white or red. You can be saved. But why are green vestments bad?
What is so bad about a tradition that reminds us that today the
earth celebrates its namesday, that flesh is now deified and
animated by the Holy Spirit? That is why it is insufficient to say,
This is of primary importance, while that is secondary. You may, but
then you cannot throw off that which is secondary; you must be able
to embrace and accept it for the sake of its greater significance.
One of the gifts of the Holy Spirit is the gift of temperance, the
gift of soberly gauging yourself, your condition, the motives behind
your actions, and your standing within the Church. And it is
important to remember this, in order to remain in the Church until
Christ’s Second Coming, never forsaking for any reason this, the
only ark of our salvation.
