St Sergius of Radonezh: A memory not made for war

St Sergius of Radonezh, whose feast day it is today, was one of the great monastic figures of the Christian East: a man of prayer, humility, hospitality, reconciliation, and patient spiritual renewal. He lived in Rus’ in the fourteenth century, a time of division, violence, and oppression. And the tradition remembers him as an ascetic who sought peace, rebuilt common life around prayer and labour, and called people towards unity rooted in love.

Sadly, today the real Sergius is in danger of being supplanted by a Sergius reinvented to serve the purposes of the Russian state. The famous saying attributed to him, ‘By love and unity we shall be saved’, which invokes our union in the body of Christ relativizing all ethnic differences, has been weaponized to justify the forced reunion of Ukraine with Russia (or perhaps we should think of it as Moskovia). The later story of Sergius’s blessing of Dmitry Donskoy before the Battle of Kulikovo has been transformed from a blessing on a defensive campaign after all avenues of peace had been exhausted into a precedent for a war of aggression against Ukraine. 

To invoke Sergius should mean recalling the spiritual discipline required to resist hatred, falsehood, and the intoxication of power. It should mean praying for all who suffer in this war: for the Ukrainians living under attack and occupation, for displaced families, for the Russians drawn into violence or silenced when they speak truth, and for the bereaved on both sides. It should mean refusing the suggestion that any nation possesses a divine mandate to dominate another. Contrary to the poisonous ideology of Russkii mir, a shared Orthodox inheritance, language, or historical memory does not give one people the right to subsume another. Christian communion is not empire. Rather, it is freely received fellowship in Christ. 

May the memory of St Sergius call Christians not to the consecration of war, but to the difficult work of peace: truthful remembrance, solidarity with the vulnerable, repentance where the Church has blessed injustice, and unity formed by love rather than force.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (37)

Hopko’s 37th maxim is ‘Flee imagination, fantasy, analysis, figuring things out’. For autistic Orthodox Christians, this is not a command to stop thinking, drop theology, or shut down your rich inner world. Rather, it is a warning about a specific pattern: when imagination, analysis, and fantasy stop serving love and start spiralling into anxiety, scrupulosity, daydreams, escapism, or endless ‘what‑if’ scenarios that keep you from praying, acting, or resting. Many autistic people know this pattern very well: replaying conversations for hours, mentally running every possible outcome of a simple task, building elaborate fantasy scenarios to escape overwhelming reality, or over‑analysing every feeling until you are paralysed. Fleeing, here, means gently stepping out of that loop – not rejecting your mind itself, but refusing to let the loop rule you. 

Because autistic cognition naturally tends toward depth, pattern‑spotting, and detailed internal simulation, this maxim needs to be applied with nuance. Some imagination and analysis are gifts: they help you understand Scripture, theology, other people, and your own sensory world; they fuel creative work and problem‑solving. You can keep those gifts by asking concrete questions like: ‘Is this helping me love God and neighbour right now, or is it only feeding fear, pride, anger, or avoidance?’; ‘Have I thought about this enough to choose a next step?’ When the answer is ‘No’ in the first case or ‘Yes’ in the second, fleeing the loop might look like: returning to a short prayer instead of running the scenario again; moving your body; doing a small task in the real world; or shifting to a grounded, creative use of your mind (writing, art, study, etc.) instead of unstructured rumination.

Practically, you might:

• Set time limits for analysis and problem‑solving, then deliberately hand unresolved pieces to Christ at the end of that time.
• Notice specific triggers – doomscrolling, certain kinds of theological argument, some fantasy worlds – that reliably send you into loops, and limit or reshape your engagement with them.
• When you catch yourself scripting a conversation for the tenth time, say, ‘I’ve done enough figuring out’, and choose one concrete action (send the email, ask for clarification, or consciously postpone the topic).

Lived this way, ‘Flee imagination, fantasy, analysis, figuring things out’ does not forbid you to be an intensely thinking, imaginative autistic person. Rather, it invites your mental powers to come back from the places where they trap you – catastrophic fantasy, endless self‑interrogation, escapist daydreams – and to stand, as you are, in the small, real moment where Christ is actually present and where even one simple act of trust or love is worth more than hours of brilliant but fruitless spinning.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (36)

Hopko’s 36th maxim, ‘Speak simply, clearly, firmly, directly’, fits many autistic communication strengths when it is understood rightly. For autistic Orthodox Christians, it means letting your words be truthful, minimally complicated, and as free as possible from passive–aggressive hints, double meanings, or performative piety. It is often more loving to say, ‘I’m tired and need quiet now’, ‘I can’t take on that task’, or ‘That noise hurts me’, than to hint, endure, resent, and then melt down later. 

Because autistic communication is frequently misread – ’too direct’, ‘too intense’, ‘too detailed’ – this maxim is best lived with a few gentle adjustments. You might aim for:

• Simple words and short sentences, especially when discussing conflicts or needs.
• Clear structure: say what happened, how it affected you, and what you are asking for, instead of circling the point.
• Firmness without hostility: using calm, declarative statements (‘I will need to leave by 9 p.m’.) rather than apologies for existing (‘Sorry, I’m difficult, but maybe I should go early?’).

Practically, you can prepare brief scripts for recurring situations – at church, at work, with family – so that in moments of overload you have simple, pre‑chosen phrases ready. Written or text communication can often help you keep things simple and clear when speech is hard; this still fulfils the maxim. Over time, ‘speak simply, clearly, firmly, directly’ becomes less about trying to sound like everyone else and more about allowing your God‑given autistic directness to be shaped by charity: words that are honest but not weaponized, straightforward but not contemptuous, so that those around you can actually understand you, and you can live in less confusion and resentment before God and neighbour.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (35)

Hopko’s 35th maxim, ‘Think and talk about things no more than necessary’, can sound impossible if your autistic brain naturally loops, analyses, and infodumps. But this maxim is not about the impossible task of switching off your thoughts or silencing your interests. rather, it is about noticing when thinking or talking has stopped serving love and has become rumination, anxiety, or self‑stimulation that wears you out. ‘No more than necessary’ might mean: enough thought to understand a situation and choose a next action; enough speech to be clear and truthful. After that point, the extra hours of rehashing conversations, rechecking decisions, or particularly arguing online usually do not add wisdom; they drain your energy and peace. 

Because autistic cognition often runs in detailed, repetitive tracks, you will probably need to develop concrete habits rather than be satisfied with vague intentions. You might:

• Set time limits for analysing a problem, using a timer, and then handing it to God in a brief prayer when the time ends.
• Agree with yourself or your confessor on ‘parking places’ for thoughts – writing them in a notebook to revisit at a set time, instead of carrying them all day.
• Before launching into a long explanation, ask, ‘What is actually necessary here?’ and offer the short version first, adding detail only if the other person asks.
• Notice triggers (certain topics, online spaces, theological disputes) where ‘talking more’ almost never helps, and gently avoid or limit them for the sake of your well-being.

This maxim also has a compassionate side for your special interests and emotions. You don’t need to be afraid of thinking or speaking; God often works through your focused attention and deep passions. The point is to let that attention be ordered – into prayer, study, creative work, concrete action – rather than letting it spin endlessly without fruit. When you realize you’re rehearsing the same argument for the tenth time, or explaining again to someone who clearly does not want to understand, you can say, ‘I’ve reached “no longer necessary”,’ stop, and turn to something life‑giving, e.g. a psalm, a walk, a photograph, a small task. Lived this way, ‘Think and talk about things no more than necessary’ does not demand a neurotypical brain; it gently trains your vivid autistic mind so that its strength is spent on what truly builds up you and your neighbour in Christ.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (34)

Hopko’s 34th maxim, ‘Be awake and attentive, fully present where you are’, is not a demand for constant hyper‑focus or sensory openness. For autistic Orthodox Christians, being ‘awake and attentive’ often begins with acknowledging how easily your attention is pulled away – by sensory overload, intrusive thoughts, special interests, or social anxiety – and then choosing one thing, one person, or one task to be with at a time. Fully present may mean focusing on the prayers during Liturgy (perhaps with your eyes shut if you find movement around you distracting); listening as best you can during a conversation; actually tasting what you are eating rather than ruminating over the past or speculating about the future.

Because autistic nervous systems are fragile and easily overwhelmed, this maxim should be kept together with the earlier ones about food, rest, exercise, and managing intrusive thoughts. You are more able to be present after you have eaten, taken a movement break, reduced painful stimuli, or allowed yourself some ‘special interest’ time, than when your body is in constant alarm. Concrete helps might include setting aside tech‑free periods during the day; using simple mindfulness exercises before prayer; giving yourself permission to stim quietly so your brain can stay online; or shrinking ‘fully present’ to short, manageable segments (five attentive minutes of prayer, ten attentive minutes with a person, one task done without multitasking). Lived this way, ‘Be awake and attentive’ becomes not another impossible standard, but a gentle training of your vivid, detail‑rich autistic mind to meet Christ and neighbour here, in this limited moment, rather than only in memory, fantasy, or fear.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (33)

Hopko’s 33rd maxim, ‘Listen when people talk to you’, can be hard when you are autistic – not because you do not care, but because auditory processing, sensory overload, and anxiety make listening costly. It is worth noting that this maxim does not require autistic Orthodox Christians to satisfy neurotypical expectations: it is not about making perfect eye contact, responding instantly, or decoding every social nuance. Rather, it is about doing what love makes possible so that, when someone speaks to you, you offer as much genuine attention as you can cope with at that time. Listening can become an ascetical act: you receive the other person as an icon of Christ, within your limits, instead of vanishing into your inner world or your special interest whenever interaction becomes uncomfortable.

Because your ability to listen changes with context, this maxim needs practical supports and honest communication. You might:

• Tell friends, ‘I listen better if I’m not looking at your face’, and allow yourself to look away or stim while they speak.
• Ask for one-to-one conversations in quieter places when something important is being discussed, rather than trying to follow talk in loud cafés or busy spaces.
• Use clarifying scripts: ‘I heard X; is that what you meant?’ ‘Can you repeat that more slowly?’ or ‘I’ve hit my listening limit; can we continue later, or can you put this in writing?’

Listening also includes noticing when your brain has already jumped ahead – to planning your reply, connecting the topic to a special interest, or defending yourself – and gently returning to what the other person is actually saying.

Beware of letting this maxim be weaponized to keep you in situations that are abusive, shaming, or sensory‑unsafe. You are not obliged to keep listening when someone is attacking you, denying your humanity, or ignoring clear boundaries. Sometimes the most truthful way to ‘listen’ to such behaviour is to recognize it as harmful and leave, or to say, ‘I can’t continue this conversation’. However, within healthy relationships, this maxim can shape small, realistic goals: letting the other person finish what they are saying without interrupting; staying with a friend’s story even when it is not your topic; listening carefully in confession or spiritual direction and asking for clearer, concrete guidance when you do not understand. Lived this way, ‘Listen when people talk to you’ becomes less a demand to perform neurotypical social skills and more a call to let your focused, detail‑attentive mind become a gift: offering others the rare experience of being truly heard, within the honest contours of your autistic life.

Christos Yannaras (10 April 1935 – 24 August 2024)

Today is the second anniversary of Christos Yannaras’s falling asleep. So, I thought I would remember him by quoting his very trenchant critique of contemporary institutional Christianity:

Increasingly,  Christian  life  seems  to  be  nothing  more  than  a particular  way  of  behaving,  a  code  of  good  conduct.  Christianity  is  increasingly  alienated,  becoming  a  social  attribute  adapted to  meet  the  least  worthy  of  human  demands – conformity,  sterile conservatism,  pusillanimity  and  timidity;  it  is  adapted  to  the trivial  moralizing  which  seeks  to  adorn  cowardice  and  individual  security  with  the  funerary  decoration  of  social  decorum. The  people  who  really  thirst  for  life,  who  stand  daily  on  the brink  of  every  kind  of  death,  who  struggle  desperately  to  distinguish  some  light  in  the  sealed  mystery  of  human  existence – these  are  the  people  to  whom  the  Gospel  of  salvation  is primarily  and  most  especially  addressed,  and  inevitably  they all  remain  far  removed  from  the  rationalistically  organized social  conventionalism  of  established  Christianity. (Freedom of Morality, p. 115)

With the saints give rest, O Christ, to the soul of Thy servant Christos, where there is neither sickness, nor sorrow, nor sighing, but life everlasting.