Violence begets violence

The conflict in Gaza has left me speechless, not least because many years ago I spent three months living in Palestine. Some words from Martin Luther King keep coming back to me:

Hate begets hate; violence begets violence; toughness begets a greater toughness. We must meet the forces of hate with the power of love.

And while I was trying to find the source of that quote, I came across this:

through violence you may murder a murderer, but you can’t murder murder. Through violence you may murder a liar, but you can’t establish truth. Through violence you may murder a hater, but you can’t murder hate through violence. Darkness cannot put out darkness; only light can do that. (from ‘Where Do We Go From Here?’)

Philosophy as slow thinking

According to the French philosopher Alain Badiou,

Our world is marked by its speed: the speed of historical change; the speed of technical change; the speed of communications; of transmissions; and even the speed with which human beings establish connections with one another. . . . Philosophy must propose a retardation process. It must construct a time for thought, which, in the face of the injunction to speed, will constitute a time of its own. I consider this a singularity of philosophy; that its thinking is leisurely, because today revolt requires leisureliness and not speed. (Infinite Thought, p. 38)

I like the idea that the refusal to react to the latest news with a superficial soundbite is a revolutionary (or, at least, subversive) action.

It also occurs to me that something similar might be said about Christian spirituality (at least, as understood within Orthodoxy). The process of deification (of growth into Christlikeness) is not something that happens suddenly. On the contrary, it is a slow, lifelong process. Those who suggest otherwise – that there is a shortcut or a technique (usually involving obedience to the person making the suggestion) that will bring you rapidly to Christian maturity – are lying or are have themselves be taken in by the kind of counterfeit Christianity Stanley Hauerwas alluded to in the quotation I blogged the other day.

Hauerwas on American religion

Stanley Hauerwas is always good for a thought-provoking/outrageous comment or two. Here is a classic example from a lecture for the Princeton Forums on Youth Ministry:

I assume most of you are here because you think you are Christians, but it is not at all clear to me that the Christianity that has made you Christians is Christianity. For example:

• How many of you worship in a church with an American flag? I am sorry to tell you that your salvation is in doubt.
• How many of you worship in a church in which the fourth of July is celebrated? I am sorry to tell you that your salvation is in doubt.
• How many of you worship in a church that recognizes Thanksgiving? I am sorry to tell you that your salvation is in doubt.
• How many of you worship in a church that celebrates January 1 as the “New Year”? I am sorry to tell you that your salvation is in doubt.
• How many of you worship in a church that recognizes “Mother’s Day”? I am sorry to tell you that your salvation is in doubt.

I am not making these claims because I want to shock you . . . but rather to put you in a position to discover how odd being a Christian makes you.

One of the great difficulties with being a Christian in a country like America—allegedly a Christian country—is that our familiarity with “Christianity” has made it difficult for us to read or hear Scripture.

Of course, the point he is making is that a lot of what passes for Christianity in the English-speaking world today is nothing more than thinly veiled worship of contemporary Western (read ‘American’ values). Or, to put it another way, he is reminding us that as Christians we are called to be resident aliens and to abandon the soothing lie that there are such things as Christian nations. For those of us who are Orthodox, that means rejecting the notion of a symphonia between church and state.

Becoming Orthodox by Peter Gillquist

A review of Becoming Orthodox: A Journey to the Ancient Christian Faith by Peter Gillquist (Chesterton, IN: Conciliar Press, 2009 [1989]).

During my pilgrimage to Orthodoxy, I came across several books by individuals tracing their own journeys to the Orthodox Church. As the title suggests, this volume falls into that genre. However, unlike most stories of this sort, it recounts not the journey of a single person but of an entire network of churches (about 2,000 individuals and their pastors).

Gillquist begins by outlining the history of the house church network to which he belonged, describing how it emerged out of Campus Crusade for Christ. Having become Christians in the hothouse environment of student evangelicalism, many of these people found it hard to settle into North American church culture after graduation. Responding to their dissatisfaction with the fragmentation, sectarianism, and worldliness of Protestant Christianity, Gillquist and several other Campus Crusade workers resigned their posts and began to set up house churches that would try to recapture the church life they read about in the New Testament.

As Gillquist presents the story, a crucial stage in this development was the decision of the network leaders to embark on a series of studies working forward from the New Testament exploring doctrine, worship, and church history in order to answer the question of what a church that was trying to be faithful to the New Testament should look like today. They spent a couple of years on these studies, eventually sharing their findings with each other at a retreat in 1975. The outcome was that this network of evangelical house churches metamorphosed into a denomination that was orthodox in doctrine (i.e. adhering to the ecumenical creeds), liturgical in worship, and conciliar and episcopal in structure. In early January 1979 the leaders of the network ordained themselves as bishops and renamed the network, the Evangelical Orthodox Church.

He picks up the story again in Part III, tracing their early contacts with Orthodoxy in the late 1970s. Alexander Schmemann is singled out as a particularly important influence on them at this time. By the mid 1980s they felt ready to approach the Ecumenical Patriarch and ‘seek his guidance as to how we should enter the Church’. This they did in June 1985 with the support of the Greek Orthodox Archbishop of America. What happened next, he describes as ‘Byzantine intrigue’. As they were en route to Istanbul, Archbishop Iakovos advised them to abandon their trip, and when they arrived the Ecumenical Patriarch refused to receive them. To be fair to Constantinople, Orthodox sources have pointed out that they were uneasy with the EOC’s strongly hierarchical approach to authority and were unwilling to allow the married leaders of the EOC to continue as bishops (episcopal celibacy is a longstanding tradition within Orthodoxy).

That could easily have been the end of the story. Certainly, some of those involved in the abortive trip to Istanbul wanted no more to do with Orthodoxy. However, the majority decided to go through with an already planned meeting with the Patriarch of Antioch who was visiting the United States that summer. That meeting couldn’t have been more different. The Patriarch greeted them with enthusiasm and encouraged them to explore becoming part of the Antiochian Church. This they did, and the upshot was that they were accepted into the Antiochian Church in early 1987 on condition that their ‘bishops’ accept the status of priests or archpriests and that they receive further instruction in the Orthodox faith.

Sandwiched between the two historical sections of the book is a part entitled ‘Orthodoxy and the Bible’, addressing the aspects of Orthodoxy which, according to Gillquist, they found particularly challenging. The five chapters of this section deal in turn with tradition, liturgical worship, the use of ‘father’ as a title, the role of Mary, and the sign of the cross. I have to confess that I find this selection rather idiosyncratic to say the least. Certainly, it is not quite the list of issues that I would expect evangelicals to have with Orthodox theology and spirituality. In my experience, such a list would include the place of icons in prayer and worship, praying for the dead, veneration of the saints, the Orthodox understanding of the Christian life as a process of gradual divinization, Orthodox insistence on the importance human freedom and personal askesis (often misinterpreted by evangelicals as a doctrine of salvation by works), the Orthodox understanding of the Eucharist, and (among more sophisticated evangelicals) the Orthodox understanding of the Trinity since Gregory Palamas. None of these issues are tackled here, which severely limits the value of this section for commending Orthodoxy to evangelicals. It would have been interesting (and historically valuable) to have the working papers from their 1975 retreat included in this volume (perhaps as appendices).

In spite of that disappointment, this remains a readable account of an event that has had a major impact on the life of the Antiochian Orthodox Church in North America.

Read well to write well

Some advice on writing from an unexpected source:

Given a sharp and eager mind, eloquence is picked up more readily by those who read and listen to the words of the eloquent than by those who follow the rules of eloquence. (Augustine, doc. Chr. IV.3.4)

Of course, he was referring to preaching and rhetoric (Augustine was one of the great rhetors of his day), but the advice applies equally to the written word.

Actually, the advice is probably redundant for any decent writer. Certainly, all the professional writers (of fiction) I know became what they are because of their love of books. They could no more stop reading than they could stop breathing. By the same token, anyone who has to be told to get their nose out of the guides to writing a bestseller and read some good books instead will probably never be a good writer (successful, perhaps, but never really good because they write for the wrong reasons).

Basil of Caesarea by Stephen Hildebrand

A review of Stephen M. Hildebrand, Basil of Caesarea (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2014)

Basil of Caesarea was one of the key theologians of the early Church. As such, he is well known to contemporary students of theology, but often only in a fragmentary way and often only as a theologian. In this detailed and lucid introduction to Basil’s life and thought, Stephen Hildebrand has integrated those fragments to give us a rounded picture of the man and his thought. More importantly, the book clearly relates his theology to his life and his radical spirituality.

After an introductory chapter outlining Basil’s theological and spiritual context, Hildebrand begins his study of Basil’s theology with anthropology. There are some strikingly modern notes in this chapter. Apparently Basil held that, at the heart of our identity, we are both readers and interpreters. He also argued in favour of the equality of men and women. But Hildebrand also offers interesting and useful excurses into Plotinus and Origen on the body and puts Basil firmly in his historical Origenist context while making clear his more positive view of the body.

One reason for starting with anthropology is that it forms a natural jumping off point for dealing with creation and Scripture in the next chapter. Central to this chapter is Basil’s description of creation as a book that declares the glory of God. Thus there are two books – creation and Scripture – in which God is revealed. The impression left by the chapter was that Basil held an instrumentalist view of creation: its raison d’être is revelation. I must admit I was surprised by this: Was Basil’s view of creation really so different from that of his friend Gregory of Nazianzus?

From revelation, Hildebrand moves in chapters 4 and 5 to its subject: the triune God who accomplishes our salvation. In Chapter 4 he examines Basil’s credal and catechetical treatments of the Trinity followed by his better-known controversial works in Chapter 5.

Chapters 6 to 8 were for me the most interesting part of the book. They deal in turn with Basil’s understanding of Christian discipleship, the importance to him of Christian community, and the relationship between his theology and his spirituality.

I was particularly struck by the extent to which Basil’s approach to discipleship foreshadowed the mediaeval emphasis on evangelical poverty. It is a salutary reminder that the rejection of private property was no medieval innovation but rather a rediscovery of something that is deeply rooted in the Christian tradition. Perhaps with one eye on his potential audience (American, evangelical, and capitalist), Hildebrand is careful to stress that Basil’s rejection of private property had more to do with living in anticipation of the eschaton than with any this-worldly concern for social justice or equality.

The emphasis of living in the light of the eschaton is also a feature of Basil’s view of Christian community. And he expects this of all Christians: he makes no distinction between lay and religious lives. All Christians are called to participate in a communal renunciation of this world. Ultimately his spirituality is about the movement of human community towards God.

The portrait of Basil painted by Hildebrand is that of a reformer and innovator rather than a traditionalist. Yes, he turned to tradition to help him understand Scripture. But he was not afraid to use fresh insights from that understanding to modify and correct the received tradition.

In conclusion, Hildebrand’s book is a valuable introduction to the life of this key figure. It will be of particular value to undergraduate and graduate theologians and historians of early Church seeking a reliable overview of Basil’s life and work.

St John Chrysostom on prayer

Here is an interesting passage on prayer from St John Chrysostom’s commentary on the Book of Psalms. The first part has an uncannily contemporary feel to it.

Typically, when we converse with people of a class above us, we make sure that our appearance and gait and attire are as they should be and dialogue with them accordingly. When we approach God, by contrast, we yawn, scratch ourselves, look this way and that, pay little attention, loll on the ground, do the shopping.

It sounds like many an evangelical prayer meeting I have found myself attending over the years! (All except the shopping – and I suspect even that happens now that so much worship has gone online as a result of the pandemic.)

He goes on in a more positive way to describe how we should pray:

If on the contrary we were to approach him with due reverence and prepare ourselves to converse with him as God, then we would know even before receiving what we asked how much benefit we gain. . . . [In receiving prayer] God, after all, looks not for beauty of utterance or turn of phrase but for freshness of spirit; even if we say what just comes into our mind, we go away with our entreaties successful. . . . Often we do not even need a voice. I mean, even if you speak in your heart and call on him as you should, he will readily incline toward you even then. . . . when you come, he stands listening, even if it is lunchtime, even if dinnertime, even if the worst of times, even if in the marketplace, even if on a journey, even if at sea, even if inside the courtroom before a judge, and you call on him, there is no obstacle to his yielding to your entreaty as long as you call on him as you should . . . being of sober mind and contrite spirit, approaching him in a flood of tears, seeking nothing of this life, longing for things to come, making petition for spiritual goods, not calling down curses on our enemies, bearing no grudges, banishing all disquiet from the soul, making our approach with heart broken, being humble, practicing great meekness, directing our tongues to good report, abstaining from any wicked enterprise, having nothing in common with the common enemy of the world – I mean the devil, of course. (Commentary on the Psalms 4.2–3)

Arguments against the social medium formerly known as Twitter

In view of all the controversy over X/Twitter since Elon Musk bought it, it seemed to me appropriate to repost the following from the blog of James N. Anderson:

Semi-Serious Warm-Up Argument

(1) Twittering requires communication in 140 characters or less.

(2) Almost nothing of substance can be adequately communicated in 140 characters or less.

(3) Therefore, almost nothing of substance can be adequately communicated by Twittering.

(4) A method of communication is intrinsically flawed if almost nothing of substance can be adequately communicated by it.

(5) Therefore, Twittering is an intrinsically flawed method of communication.

(6) One ought not to act in such a way as to participate in, promote, or legitimize an intrinsically flawed method of communication.

(7) Therefore, one ought not to Twitter.

Virtue Ethics Argument

(1) One ought always to act in good faith.

(2) Therefore, if one Twitters, one ought always to Twitter in good faith.

(3) One can Twitter in good faith only if one believes one’s life to be so important as to merit the attention of others.

(4) It is narcissistic to believe one’s life to be so important as to merit the attention of others.

(5) Therefore, one can Twitter in good faith only if one is narcissistic.

(6) Narcissism is not a virtue.

(7) Therefore, one can Twitter only if one is unvirtuous.

(8) Therefore, one ought not to Twitter.

Aristotelian Argument

(1) One ought to aim for the Golden Mean between two extremes.

(2) Twittering all the time is one extreme.

(3) Not using the Internet at all is another extreme.

(4) Using the Internet without Twittering is the Golden Mean between those two extremes.

(5) Therefore, one ought to use the Internet without Twittering.

Augustinian Argument

(1) Evil is essentially the lack of goodness.

(2) It is good to be able to use more than 140 characters to communicate.

(3) Twitter prevents one from using more than 140 characters to communicate.

(4) Therefore, Twitter lacks goodness.

(5) Therefore, Twitter is evil.

Leibnizian Argument

(1) This is the best of all possible worlds.

(2) All else being equal, a world in which Twittering is morally impermissible is better than a world in which Twittering is morally permissible, for numerous reasons that are too obvious to spell out here.

(3) Therefore, this is a world in which Twittering is morally impermissible.

(4) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Plantingan Modal Argument

(1) It is at least possible that all moral truths are necessary truths.

(2) It is at least possible that Twittering is wrong.

(3) Therefore, it is possible that, necessarily, Twittering is wrong.

(4) According to modal system S5, what is possibly necessary is necessary.

(5) Therefore, necessarily, Twittering is wrong.

(6) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Kantian Argument

(1) Act only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.

(2) I can will that it should become a universal law that no one Twitters; indeed, I can do so with ease and without the slightest whiff of self-contradiction.

(3) Therefore, no one should Twitter.

Utilitarian Argument

(1) It is wrong to act in such a way as to reduce the overall net happiness of the human race.

(2) Twittering not only keeps people from countless other activities that might actually increase the overall net happiness of the human race, it also makes people more aware than they otherwise would be of just how banal other people’s lives are.

(3) Therefore, Twittering reduces the overall net happiness of the human race.

(4) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Natural Law Argument

(1) It is wrong to do what is not natural.

(2) There is nothing remotely natural about broadcasting the minutiae of your life to all and sundry whenever it takes your fancy.

(3) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Emotivist Argument

(1) I strongly dislike the idea of Twittering and I strongly dislike hearing about Twittering.

(2) Therefore, you should stop Twittering and stop talking about Twittering.

Alternative Emotivist Argument

(1) Boo to Twittering!

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Prescriptivist Argument

(1) Don’t Twitter!

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Intuitionist Argument

(1) I just know that Twittering is wrong.

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Subjectivist Argument

(1) Twittering is wrong for me.

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Cultural Relativist Argument

(1) I believe Twittering is wrong and the people I hang out with agree with me.

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Rortian Argument

(1) Truth is whatever your peers will let you get away with saying.

(2) My peers will let me get away with saying that Twittering is wrong.

(3) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Divine Command Theorist Argument

(1) “Thou shalt not Twitter.”

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Pop Christianity Argument

(1) Would Jesus Twitter? Probably not.

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Inductive Argument

(1) As demonstrated above, according to (nearly) all known moral theories, Twittering is wrong.

(2) Therefore, Twittering is (probably) wrong.

Seneca on living life to the full

I have just come across Seneca the Younger’s essay ‘On the Shortness of Life’ and my first impression is that it contains some remarkably good advice – advice that could have been tailor-made to incorporate into Christian spirituality. So relevant did his writings seem to the Church Fathers that he was adopted as a quasi-Christian author in the Western Church. In fact, Jerome and Augustine treated him as if he were a Christian.

Here is a sample from the introduction to the essay:

It is not that we have a short space of time, but that we waste much of it. Life is long enough, and it has been given in sufficiently generous measure to allow the accomplishment of the very greatest things if the whole of it is well invested. But when it is squandered in luxury and carelessness, when it is devoted to no good end, forced at last by the ultimate necessity we perceive that it has passed away before we were aware that it was passing. So it is—the life we receive is not short, but we make it so, nor do we have any lack of it, but are wasteful of it. Just as great and princely wealth is scattered in a moment when it comes into the hands of a bad owner, while wealth however limited, if it is entrusted to a good guardian, increases by use, so our life is amply long for him who orders it properly. (De brevitate I.3–4)

Of course, the question arises, what constitutes good use of our time? Seneca thought that quiet meditation on the classical philosophers was a good use of time. A Christian perspective would be rather different – it would likely start with Christ’s summary of the Law:

Jesus said to him, ‘“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like it: “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.’ (Matthew 22:37-40)

So, for the Christian, the good life is one devoted to prayer, to seeking to understand God (as far as is possible), and to loving our neighbour. The gospel defines ‘neighbour’ very widely to include our enemies and it presents a daunting picture of what loving our neighbour should look like:

I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me. (Matthew 25:35–36) 

Spiritual direction: beyond professionalism

Some time ago, an acquaintance told me that she would be reluctant to recommend someone to ‘a spiritual director who had not completed some sort of training course’. Setting aside for the moment the fact that, as an Orthodox Christian, I prefer to think in terms of spiritual fathers or soul friends (the Celtic equivalent of spiritual fathers), why am I uncomfortable with this?

• I think of training courses in spiritual ‘direction’ as resources rather than qualifications. There is no way a training course can qualify you to be a spiritual ‘director’.
• It smacks of the professionalization of spiritual ‘direction’: spiritual ‘directors’ become a specially trained elite; if you haven’t been through the training, you can’t join the elite.
• Professionalization narrows the range of spiritual ‘direction’ that is available by excluding those who for whatever reason are unable to do the training: those who can’t afford the cost of training; those who can’t spare the time; those who lack the educational ability to do the training; those who are deemed not to fit because of their personality type or other emotional or psychological factors. Thus some of the finest spiritual ‘directors’ / spiritual fathers / soul friends of the past would have been disqualified.
• Most of the formal training in spiritual ‘direction’ in the UK appears to be Ignatian in orientation, perhaps because Ignatian spirituality lends itself most easily to a formal structured approach. I hope I’m wrong, but I fear this can leave ‘directors’ who have completed such courses ill at ease with ‘directees’ seeking something less structured.
• But, ultimately, competence in offering spiritual advice has little to do with a paper qualification and much to do with the quality of the relationships the advisor has with God and with the person who has sought their advice.

Thomas Merton on the will of God

From time to time, I find myself asking what God wants me to be doing with my life. It’s the kind of question that surfaces at moments of uncertainty or when I begin to suspect that the things I am doing are largely meaningless. Thomas Merton offers the following thoughts on the subject:

If you want to know what is meant by ‘God’s will’, this is one way to get a good idea of it. ‘God’s will’ is certainly found in anything that is required of us in order that we may be united with one another in love. . . . Everything that is demanded of me, in order that I may treat every other person effectively as a human being, ‘is willed for me by God under the natural law.’ . . . I must learn to share with others their joys, their sufferings, their ideas, their needs, their desires. I must learn to do this not only in the cases of those who are of the same class, the same profession, the same race, the same nation as myself, but when those who suffer belong to other groups, even to groups that are regarded as hostile. If I do this, I obey God. If I refuse to do it, I disobey Him. It is not therefore a matter left open to subjective caprice. (New Seeds of Contemplation, pp. 76–7)

One implication of this is that asking what work, what thing(s), God wants me to do is the wrong question. God is really much more interested in our relationships than in our work. What is God’s will for our lives? Jesus answered the question definitively when he said,

The first [commandment] is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself.’ (Mark 12.29–31)

Christian witness in a secular world

I haven’t read much of the American lay theologian William Stringfellow, but what little I have read seems to resonate with the writings of a couple of thinkers I admire, Jacques Ellul and Walter Wink. Here is a sample of what he has to say on approaching the contemporary world from a Christian perspective:

In the face of death, live humanly. In the middle of chaos, celebrate the Word. Amidst babel, speak the truth. Confront the noise and verbiage and falsehood of death with truth and potency and the efficacy of the Word of God. Know the Word, teach the Word, nurture the Word, preach the Word, define the Word, incarnate the Word, do the Word, live the Word. And more than that, in the Word of God, expose death and all death’s works and wiles, rebuke lies, cast out demons, exorcise, cleanse the possessed, raise those who are dead in mind and conscience. (from A Keeper of the Word: Selected Writings of William Stringfellow, ed. Bill Wylie Kellerman, Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1994, p. 354)

Stringfellow died in the mid-1980s, but his emphasis on living the Word (and hence, living the truth) resonates strongly in this ‘post-truth’ era. And, of course, it is as old as Christianity itself. Irenaeus, for example, pointed his readers to the ‘rule of truth’ as the hermeneutical key for understanding Scripture and for confronting the falsehoods that abounded in his era.

Welcome to the Orthodox Church by Frederica Mathewes-Green

Here is a book review I wrote a couple of years ago:

A review of Welcome to the Orthodox Church: An Introduction to Eastern Christianity by Frederica Mathewes-Green (Paraclete Press, 2015)

The author begins with a warning: ‘Like so many important things in life, Orthodox Christianity is not something you can grasp from the outside’ (p. xi). Orthodoxy must be experienced in order to be understood. But there is still room for books that explain Orthodoxy for enquirers and for the curious. Very often that has been done by outlining Orthodox history, theology, liturgy, and/or spirituality. Frederica Mathewes-Green takes a different, and complementary, approach: she offers the reader a rough guide to life and worship in the fictitious Orthodox community of St Felicity’s.

Her guided tour is divided into three parts. The first, ‘Inside the Temple’, introduces the reader to the church building. She explores what you can expect to see in any Orthodox church, whether a great cathedral or a tiny rented room. In particular, she focuses on the icons, which are such a distinctive part of any Orthodox church. They also provide her with a convenient peg on which to hang a discussion of the Orthodox view regarding the role of the saints, the place of Mary, the Orthodox understanding of holiness, and the place of tradition in Orthodoxy. In this section, she also tackles the division between Eastern and Western Christianity, the Orthodox view of baptism, and the Orthodox practice of making the sign of the cross.

Part 2 is entitled ‘Inside the Liturgy’. Here she takes to the heart of Orthodox worship, describing typical services of Vespers and Divine Liturgy. Her description becomes the basis for discussions of the Orthodox understanding of God as love, sin, Christ’s work of salvation, and the role of human freedom among other issues.

Finally, ‘Inside the Community’ explores the life together of a typical Orthodox community. She discusses the importance of fasting in the Orthodox year. Importantly, she stresses the mutual support in Christian discipleship that is (or should be) provided by the community, introducing the part played by spiritual fathers and mothers in Orthodox spirituality and reminding us of the importance of praying for one another. In this section, she also looks at initiation into Orthodoxy (by baptism and/or chrismation), the Orthodox understanding of marriage, the importance of blessings in the life of the Orthodox, and the Orthodox way of death.

Frederica Mathewes-Green paints an attractive picture of North American Orthodoxy, which is multi-ethnic and increasingly influenced by large numbers of English-speaking converts. Unfortunately, this is not reflected in the UK where Orthodox communities are still largely diasporic (and, in some cases, seemingly more intent upon maintaining the cultural and ethnic identities of their members than in living and proclaiming the gospel). Nevertheless, this is a well-written and easy-to-read book, which does a good job of explaining the distinctive features of Orthodoxy to those who are new to it. Having read it, someone could attend an Orthodox service without feeling awkward or embarrassed.