In spite of my doubts about its Unitarian origins, I do think one of the verses of ‘It came upon a midnight clear’ seems particularly appropriate given the mass killing of Palestinian civilians in Gaza over the past three months:
But with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love-song which they bring; –
Oh hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing!
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| Icon of the Nativity, Mt Athos |
Your Nativity, O Christ our God,
Has shone to the world the Light of wisdom!
For by it, those who worshipped the stars,
Were taught by a Star to adore You,
The Sun of Righteousness,
And to know You, the Orient from on High.
O Lord, glory to You!
Troparion for the Nativity of our Lord God and Saviour Jesus Christ
A couple of weeks ago I gave a presentation (via Zoom) to the annual conference of the St John Chrysostom Research Group (meeting this year in Tbilisi). And, once again, I found myself overwhelmed by impostor syndrome. As a relatively recent convert to Orthodoxy, what right do I have to talk Orthodox theology to a gathering of Orthodox theologians?
In one way or another, I have been practising theology for about forty years. And, while I only became Orthodox recently, I have for much of that time been in dialogue with Orthodox theology. One might think that by I would have developed a certain confidence about my work. In fact, the opposite is true. As the years go by, I simply become more conscious of how much I have not read, of how little I actually know with any degree of confidence. Perhaps that is as it should be. The subject of theology is, of course, infinite. How can I, a finite human being, even begin to grasp anything worth knowing? Finitum non capax infiniti.
There is an image, which I think was proposed by Sir Arthur Eddington to describe the quandary of the astronomer trying to make sense of the universe. He is like a bug in the hold of a ship trying to deduce the nature of the ocean from the movement of the ship. The situation of the theologian would be infinitely worse if it were not for the fact that God, in his grace, has revealed himself to us.
Thus I try to justify my impostor syndrome as something to be expected by a theologian. But the truth is, I have always suffered from impostor syndrome. I can still recall my surprise at getting half decent school exam results. And my shock when Dan Hardy congratulated me on getting my PhD. The surprise (and, yes, pleasure) on hearing Colin Gunton telling Robert Jenson how much he had learned by supervising that PhD. But then and now I am mainly conscious of how little I really know.
Just before his death from cancer, the theologian Alan Lewis wrote the following:
We face suffering, distress, and death with courage, faith and trust, not by maintaining serenity of psyche or buoyancy of soul within, but precisely by casting ourselves in all the times of emptiness, aridity, and wordlessness – as well as those still more spiritually dangerous times of optimism or elation – upon the gift of grace outside us and around us. God promises to do what we cannot do, and go where we need not go, to enter the dark valley ahead of us and defeat on our behalf the frightening foe. And the Spirit undertakes to pray for us, and stirs others to intercede on our behalf, just when we feel awful, overwrought in body or in spirit, when faith eludes intellect or consciousness and our tongues have lost all utterance.(Between Cross and Resurrection, p. 430f.)
There’s not much one can add to that, except perhaps ‘Amen!’ And, of course, this applies as much to times of darkness and depression as to when facing terminal illness.
Let books be your dining table,
And you shall be full of delights.
Let them be your mattress,
And you shall sleep restful nights. (St Ephrem the Syrian)
I love this quote – perhaps partly because I always have my head in a book and perhaps partly because, as a child, I used to sleep with two or three books under my pillow!
Some years ago, I came across this list of critical questions to be asked of any technology, which had been doing the rounds in the blogosphere. Folk seemed to attribute it to Jacques Ellul but, while it certainly feels like the kind of thing he would have written, I can’t trace it back to one of his writings.
Ecological
Social
Practical
Moral
Ethical
Vocational
Metaphysical
Political
Aesthetic
It strikes me as an interesting and potentially very useful list for anyone debating the implementation of a new piece of technology. And, with a bit of adaptation, it could also work as an examen for anyone trying to make their lifestyle technologically simpler.
From the introduction to Yves Congar’s I Believe in the Holy Spirit:
Each one of us has his own gifts, his own means and his own vocation. Mine are as a Christian who prays and as a theologian who reads a great deal and takes many notes. May I therefore be allowed to sing my own song! The Spirit is breath. The wind sings in the trees. I would like, then, to be an Aeolian harp and let the breath of God make the strings vibrate and sing. Let me stretch and tune the strings – that will be the austere task of research. And then let the Spirit make them sing a clear and tuneful song of prayer and life.
When a great many people agree that a problem is insignificant, that usually means it is not. Insignificance is the locus of true significance. This should never be forgotten.(Roland Barthes, The Grain of the Voice, p. 177)
This is true across so many disciplines. Consider, for example, the state of physics in about 1900. That year, Lord Kelvin, one of the most eminent physicists of the nineteenth century, told the British Association for the Advancement of Science, ‘There is nothing new to be discovered in physics now. All that remains is more and more precise measurement.’ In the same year he told the Royal Institution that only two clouds remained to obscure the ‘beauty and clearness’ of Newtonian physics. One of the problems he dismissed as clouds led ultimately to relativity theory; the other to quantum theory. Together these new theories amounted to a revolution in our understanding of the physical world.
Given the increasing prevalence of alt-right and white nationalist sentiments on blogs and websites that claim to be Orthodox, it seems good to share this quotation from St Tikhon of Moscow:
It is not civilization at all — which is shamefully preached by some — wherein the sole idea is that the white race must not only dominate the world, but must wipe out the other ‘colored’ races . . . True civilization consists in giving as many people as possible access to the benefits of life . . . Since all people originate from one man, all are children of one Heavenly Father; all were redeemed by the most pure blood of Christ, in Whom ‘there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free.’ All are brothers and must love one another — love one another not only in words, but in deeds as well. (From a sermon preached in San Francisco in June 1900)
I have an almost obsessive relation to writing instruments. I often switch from one pen to another just for the pleasure of it. I try out new ones. I have far too many pens—I don’t know what to do with all of them! And yet, as soon as I see a new one, I start craving it. I cannot keep myself from buying them. . . . In the end, I always return to fine fountain pens. The essential thing is that they can produce that soft, smooth writing I absolutely require. (Roland Barthes, The Grain of the Voice, p. 178)
I can definitely identify with this (to the point where I have to ration my visits to websites like Cult Pens). The smoothness of a good fountain pen is an important factor in making writing effortless.
