In the year 330 A.D., St. Constantine relocated the capital of the Roman Empire to Constantinople. Roman Emperors continued reigning from here for more than a millennium, until the city was savagely raided by Muslims on May 29, 1453.

In the earliest centuries of the Church, there was no “Greek East” and “Latin West”, nor was there anyone who could have conceived of a “Byzantine Empire” in opposition to the “Roman Empire”.

In the first century, the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Romans had been written in Greek, because Greek was the language of the Empire.  And in the year 330, Constantine, the Roman Emperor, had moved the capital of the Roman Empire to Byzantium (Constantinople).  For at least the first three centuries A.D., everyone—in both East and West—spoke Greek and called themselves “Romans”.  In fact, the term “Byzantine Empire” is a modern invention.  Even as late as the fall of Constantinople in 1453, the inhabitants of that city still called themselves “Romans”.

With so much initially in common, how did such a great rift finally divide East and West?  What were the pressures and influences which brought about such an enmity between these two ancient centers of Christianity?  For convenience, many historians mark the year 1054 as the year of the “Great Schism”, highlighting the mutual excommunications of Cardinal Humbert (leader of the papal legates) and Michael Cerularius (Ecumenical Patriarch).  However, “it is only with hindsight that the events of this year have assumed such significance”, because these events “made no impact upon Byzantine sources, which ignore them, and in the West there does not seem to have been any sense of final schism” (Andrew Louth, Greek East and Latin West, p. 271). And according to Hussey, “it was no doubt thought that normal relations between Constantinople and the curia would eventually resume” (J.M. Hussey, The Orthodox Church in the Byzantine Empire, p. 136). Indeed, if Rome wasn’t built in a day, then neither was Rome divided in a day.  The schism of 1054 came on the heels of centuries of pressures from multiple sources.  As an analogy, one might say that the pot had been simmering for a long time, and that 1054 was a year when one of the major bubbles finally burst through the surface.

One of the factors which contributed to the schism was simply distance.  Four of the Five Patriarchal sees were nearby one another — Constantinople, Antioch, Jerusalem, and Alexandria — but Rome stood relatively alone.  This geographical isolation made it more difficult for mutual dependence and trust to be cultivated between Rome and the East.

Language differences also proved to be a major factor in laying the groundwork for the schism.  Though the entire Roman Empire had originally spoken the common language of Greek, the East is the only part of the Empire that continued this practice.  The West gradually abandoned the Greek language and instead embraced Latin. In retrospect, this language shift appears to have been a sort of localized “tower of Babel” experience for the Roman Empire. . . where former friends and family are driven apart, due to communication difficulties. Once this formidable language barrier finally settled into place, the stage was set for the East and West to communicate far less effectively with one another, thus causing their respective cultures and liturgies to diverge that much more rapidly, eventually crumbling the ties which once bound the two halves of the Empire together.

The Last Roman Emperor Constantine XI - (1449-1453)

Another critical factor was the political vacuum in the West which paved the way for the rise of papal power. After the 5^th century witnessed the reign of the last Roman Emperor in the West, the Western bishops were able to fill the void by stepping into positions of greater and greater political influence. This sort of political vacuum never happened in the East, however.  Roman Emperors continued to reign in Constantinople for another millennium, right up until the reign of Constantine XI, when Constantinople itself fell to the Turkish armies of Mehmet II in 1453.

The more lasting differences between East and West were doctrinal (persisting even to this day). The West’s innovations regarding the filioque, the Eucharist, and the Papacy (among other issues) were all hot buttons which ultimately exploded in 1054.

The Latin word “filioque” means “and the Son”. And in reference to the eternal procession of the Holy Spirit, that term did not exist in the original Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed (Nicene Creed), which had been finally formulated in 381 at the First Council of Constantinople. But in an attempt to combat Arianism, the Third Council of Toledo (Spain) added the filioque to the Nicene Creed in the late 6^th century. This was a local council which lacked Ecumenical authority.

Nevertheless, the filioque gradually spread throughout the West, until it became a major cause of contention between the two halves of the Church. In fact, the filioque controversy had already led to an East/West schism—the “Photian Schism”—nearly two hundred years before Cardinal Humbert’s fateful encounter with Patriarch Cerularius. This schism lasted for a decade in the late 9^th century, and had been healed by repentance from the West:  Pope John VIII affirmed the 879-880 council of Constantinople, which anathematized the filioque and struck down the “robber council” of 869-870. Thereafter, the filioque was still a recurring point of contention between the East and the West, finally becoming a major factor in the debacle later known as the “Great Schism”.  In 1054, Cardinal Humbert arrogantly strode into the Hagia Sophia, and laid a bull upon the altar, excommunicating the Patriarch of Constantinople. Incredibly, one of the bull’s charges against Cerularius was that he had removed the filioque from the Nicene Creed!

The East and West also had divergent Eucharistic practices. In regard to the use of leavened bread, the East and West had previously enjoyed Eucharistic unity for nearly eight hundred years. Then in the West, “various ordinances appeared from the ninth century on, all demanding the exclusive use of unleavened bread for the Eucharist” (Joseph A. Jungmann, The Mass of the Roman Rite, vol. II, p. 34). And even then, the use of unleavened bread in the West did not become universal until after the passing of the first millennium. As one Roman Catholic priest points out:

During the first millennium of Church history . . . it was
the general custom in both East and West to use normal
“daily bread,” that is, leavened bread, for the Eucharist
(Johannes H. Emminghaus, The Eucharist:
Essence, Form, Celebration, p. 161)

Unleavened bread was an innovation which was introduced into the Eucharist by the Western churches. This new practice was not widespread in the West until around the 11th century.

Though the early Church had normally used leavened bread for Holy Communion, Rome abandoned historic tradition. Their Eucharistic innovation “did not come into exclusive vogue until the middle of the eleventh century” (Jungmann, p. 34). And the eleventh century is precisely when we see Humbert’s infamous antics take place. Traditionally, it had been customary to permit the existence of some Greek-rite churches in Rome, and some Latin-rite churches in Constantinople. But after the Normans had infiltrated the Western Church, persecution broke out against Byzantine Christians in southern Italy. Greek-rite Churches were forcibly incorporated under the Latin-rite, Orthodox bishops were deposed, and Christians were required to partake of unleavened Eucharistic bread.  It was in response to these outrages that Patriarch Cerularius, in the year 1053, had ordered all Latin-rite churches to be closed in Constantinople. This attack (albeit defensive) against Latin-rite churches was among the charges in the bull of excommunication which Humbert presented to Cerularius in 1054. He castigated the Patriarch for requiring leavened bread in the Eucharist, and for showing hostility to Latin Christianity.

Quite possibly, the deepest root of the East/West schism was the Frankish-influenced papacy. As Dr. Martin suggests, “The recognition of Pippin by the Pope is one of the great critical points in history” (Edward James Martin, A History of the Iconoclastic Controversy, p. 79).  For centuries, the West had considered the Roman Empire to encompass both East and West, and had regularly sought good relations with the Roman Emperors in the East.  But in the midst of the Iconoclastic controversy, during the era of the Hieria council, Constantinople “now showed itself to be rooted in error. Henceforth Constantinople is regarded by the Pope with indifference or fear. His ally is the Frank” (Martin, p. 80).  In 757, just three years after Hieria, Paul ascended the papal chair, and “for the first time his election was formally announced not to the Emperor but to Pippin. Rome and Constantinople are finally separated” (Martin, p. 80).  This was not the first instance in history where an Eastern Patriarch had fallen into heterodoxy.  But this was the first time that Rome presumed to have found a viable alternative ally in the Franks.

On Christmas Day, 800 A.D., Charlemagne became the first king of the new Frankish (German) Empire. It was wrongfully called the "Holy Roman Empire". In fact, Constantinople had been the capital of the Roman Empire since 330 A.D., and Roman Emperors continued to reign in Constantinople until the year 1453. Charlemagne was a usurper.

Thus having psychologically rejected their own dependency on the true seat of the Roman Empire, the West pursued a redefinition of the Roman Empire, through Frankish kings and popes.  They starting calling the eastern Romans “Greeks”, and they started calling the Franks “Romans”.  And though there had been a continuous line of Roman Emperors reigning in Constantinople since the time of Constantine himself, the bishops of Rome presumed to coronate Frankish kings as Emperors over the Holy Roman Empire.  The bishops of Rome had ascended in power, to the point that they believed they had not only ecclesiastical power over their own dioceses, but also jurisdictional power over the entire Roman Empire, and the world besides.  Though the official date of the Great Schism would come a couple centuries later, the “final breach between the Churches . . . was virtually complete in the ninth century” (Martin, pp. 220).

Over the previous centuries, the bishops of Rome had steadily increased their verbal claims to universal jurisdiction.  But as long as they felt they needed support from the Eastern half of the Empire, their overreaching claims were mitigated enough that they could often be tolerated and ignored as merely arrogant rants.  But once the bishops of Rome felt they had the military support they needed from the Franks, they were able to break psychological ties with the East to the point that their claims to universal jurisdiction could be pressed to the breaking point.    Indeed, papal claims were central in the events of 1054.  The main reason the papal legates (including Humbert) had come to Constantinople was to defend papal authority.  Prior to their visit, Cerularius had circulated letters accusing the Western church of “Judaizing”, specifically referring to their use of unleavened bread in worship.  But Pope Leo IX was not content merely to have a debate over the Eucharist . . . he saw this as an opportunity to force the issue of papal supremacy.  Regardless of Holy Tradition which had been followed for numerous centuries, the Eastern churches were not supposed to debate, question, or criticize the practices of the Western church, simply because the pope was the pope.  Ultimately, the West pressed the claims of the papacy to the point that the result had to be either Eastern submission or Western schism. And since the East refused to break with Tradition, the West travelled the latter route.

In the 9th century, St. Photios wrote "The Mystagogy of the Holy Spirit" as a critique of the "filioque" doctrine.

There were also a number of other doctrinal issues which came to a head in the West’s excommunication of Patriarch Cerularius. As Mahlon Smith has pointed out, the Western Church was upset with the East’s “marriage of priests, refusal to recognize the validity of baptisms done without triple immersion, translation of bishops from one see to another, admission of pregnant women to communion,” and “excommunication of priests and monks who cut their hair or shaved” (Mahlon H. Smith, And Taking Bread: Cerularius and the azyme controversy, p. 119, footnote #127).  Examples could be multiplied, illustrating the divergent paths which had been taken by the Eastern and Western churches.  But as discussed above, certain doctrines stand out.  The filioque was utterly unacceptable to the East, because it was an illicit change to the Nicene Creed.  Changes of any kind had already been expressly prohibited five centuries earlier, in the Third Ecumenical Council (Ephesus).  And this change was considered particularly heinous, because it recast the doctrine of the Trinity in a false light.  The use of unleavened bread was unacceptable to the East, for both doctrinal reasons and political reasons.  And the papacy, by nature, caused major problems both doctrinally and politically.  Doctrinally, the idea of universal papal supremacy was ahistorical, in opposition to the Holy Tradition of the first millennium of the Church.  The papacy was also an umbrella over many other heresies . . . e.g. the East was expected to swallow unleavened bread and the filioque, simply because the pope claimed he had the authority to require it.  Politically, the alliance between the Frankish kings and the bishops of Rome also served to sever ties between the East and West.

Humbert, not content to castigate Cerularius for his actual differences with Rome, added a whole host of historic heresies to the list of charges against the Patriarch.  Humbert actually charged Cerularius with being a “Severian, Pneumatomachian, Manichaean, Nazarene, Donatist, and Arian” (Smith, p. 119, footnote #127).  Of course, this sort of diarrhea-of-the-mouth says a lot more about Humbert’s character than it does about that of the Patriarch.  Cerularius was an Orthodox Trinitarian Christian, who fit into none of the categories asserted by Humbert.

One might say that the hinges of door of the Great Schism were greased in the 8^th and 9^th centuries, in response to the iconoclastic controversy, to the ascent of Frankish and papal power, and to the debates surrounding the Photian schism.

One could say the door of the Great Schism was nearly shut in the 11^th century, in 1054, with the mutual excommunications of the papal legates and the Patriarch of Constantinople.

But if the door of the Great Schism was nearly shut in the 11^th century, then it was slammed and locked in the 13^th.  In the year 1204, the Western Crusaders sacked Constantinople.  “That was when the real schism occurred” (Hussey, p. 136). Vryonis sums up the carnage:

The Latin soldiery subjected the greatest city in Europe to an indescribable sack. For three days they murdered, raped, looted and destroyed on a scale which even the ancient Vandals and Goths would have found unbelievable. . . . the French and others destroyed indiscriminately, halting to refresh themselves with wine, violation of nuns, and murder of Orthodox clerics. The Crusaders vented their hatred for the Greeks most spectacularly in the desecration of the greatest Church in Christendom. They smashed the silver iconostasis, the icons and the holy books of Hagia Sophia, and seated upon the patriarchal throne a whore who sang coarse songs as they drank wine from the Church’s holy vessels. The estrangement of East and West, which had proceeded over the centuries, culminated in the horrible massacre that accompanied the conquest of Constantinople. The Greeks were convinced that even the Turks, had they taken the city, would not have been as cruel as the Latin Christians. The defeat of Byzantium, already in a state of decline, accelerated political degeneration so that the Byzantines eventually became an easy prey to the Turks. The Crusading movement thus resulted, ultimately, in the victory of Islam, a result which was of course the exact opposite of its original intention.  (Speros Vryonis, Byzantium and Europe, p. 152)

Even after the 1054 split, there had still been frequent occasions of intercommunion between Eastern and Western Christians.  But after the carnage of 1204, the Great Schism was complete.  This enormous scar has remained upon the Church now for over 800 years, and we continue to pray the day will come when the bishop of Rome returns to the fold, in tears of repentance.

Acknowledging God’s Holy Standard

Jesus said that the greatest commandment is for me to love God with all of my heart, mind, soul, and strength.  And the second greatest commandment is for me to love my neighbor as much as I love myself.  The question is not whether I have ever broken these two commandments . . . the real question is whether I have ever kept them. Indeed, the first step to true repentance is an honest recognition and acknowledgment of God’s perfect standard of righteousness.  After all, if I do not know the standard, then how can I know whether I fall short of it?  How can I repent of something unless I first realize that I am doing something wrong?

The recognition and acknowledgment of God’s holy standard is a foundational necessity for repentance, and this fact is poignantly made in the book of Judges.  This book spans several centuries, and covers numerous cases where Israelites raped and murdered one another, while committing flagrant forms of idolatry.  Significantly, the book simultaneously repeats the refrain that “every man did that which was right in his own eyes” (Judges 17:6; 21:25). We would be appalled just to read that Israelites were willingly committing acts of wickedness.  But how much more shocking it is to hear that they committed these acts without even comprehending the gravity of their evil!  It is ghastly to imagine that men can rape and murder in spite of their consciences.  But it is even more mind-boggling to think that men can rape and murder in agreement with their consciences.  Men’s consciences may become so seared that they don’t even feel guilt when committing such acts.  People in such a state may express sorrow for getting caught, but they are not yet in a position to exercise true repentance.  Before godly sorrow and meaningful confession can take place, the conscience itself must first be pricked.

The Prophet Nathan confronts King David regarding his sin with Bathsheba

Recognition That We Have Fallen Short

One example of “conscience-pricking” can be seen in the case of King David and the prophet Nathan.  In the months following his infamous adultery and murder, David exercised no obvious fruits of repentance.  While he did go to lengths to conceal his sin, it was manifestly a series of ploys intended to keep him from getting caught.  Even though David thereby exhibited an understanding that his actions might lead to political repercussions, he still showed no evidence that he felt genuine conscience-pangs during this time.

But all of this changed when God sent Nathan to confront the King.  Nathan told his now-famous story about the greedy man who stole and killed his neighbor’s beloved sheep.  When David ordered the death-sentence for this man, Nathan responded directly:  “You are the man” (2 Sam. 12:7).  David was immediately cut to the heart, and he responded with true repentance.  He even penned the Psalm which has become the very blueprint for Christian repentance (Ps. 50).

Another example of “conscience-pricking” can be seen in the book of Acts, at Pentecost.  Prior to the coming of the Holy Spirit, and prior to St. Peter’s sermon, a large number of Israelites felt no guilt regarding their participation in the murder of Jesus.  Just weeks prior, they had murdered the very Son of God.  Yet they felt no shame.  But then, they were confronted face-to-face with their sin.  Peter spoke to them directly:  “Therefore let all the house of Israel know assuredly, that God hath made the same Jesus, who ye have crucified, both Lord and Christ” (Acts 2:36).  In response to this, “they were pricked in their heart” (Acts 2:37). Their consciences had finally been pricked.  They finally recognized their sin.  They finally recognized God’s holy standard, and they realized that they had acted in rebellion against Him.  Upon this revelation, St. Peter said that the very next logical step was repentance and baptism: “Then Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.”  (Acts 2:38) Thus we can clearly see that the deep moving of one’s conscience is a necessary prerequisite for genuine repentance.  Without a personal recognition that we fall short of God’s holy standard, we may regret getting caught, but we cannot truly repent.

Auricular Confession

The next step is the sacrament of Repentance itself, via auricular confession.  This is where the penitent person orally confesses his sins before an icon of Christ, in the presence of an Orthodox priest.  Then, as a mouthpiece for Christ, the priest declares the person’s sins forgiven, and offers him helpful counsel for avoiding similar temptation in the future.

The practice of auricular confession is firmly rooted in the history of God’s dealings with his people.  The Scriptures refer to various forms of auricular confession throughout both the Old and New Testaments. From the very beginning, God has required his people to confess their faults.

After the very first human sin, God approached Adam and Eve not with accusations, but rather with questions which invited confession.  God asked Adam, “Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat?” (Gen. 3:11), and he asked Eve, “What is this that thou hast done?” (Gen. 3:13).  In both cases, God was inviting them to own-up to their sins, and to confess orally.  Instead of trying to escape blame, what if Adam and Eve had repented in sorrow and tears, as King David did in Psalm 50?  How might the course of human history have gone differently?  We may never know.  God gave them the chance to exhibit heartfelt repentance, but at least upon the initial confrontation, they do not seem to have availed themselves of the opportunity.

Auricular confession was an integral part of the Levitical sacrificial system.  Before an Israelite could offer a trespass offering, he first was required to orally confess his sin (Leviticus 5:5-6, Numbers 5:7-8).  And on the annual Day of Atonement, the High Priest would lay hands on the head of the scapegoat, confessing the sins of the entire nation of Israel, prior to exiling the scapegoat to die in the wilderness (Lev. 16:21).

In reference to his sin with Bathsheba, King David explicitly noted the direct connection between confession and forgiveness.  He said, “I acknowledged my sin unto thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid. I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the LORD; and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin” (Psalm 31:5).

King Solomon prayed for future generations of God’s people, that they would confess their sins, and that God would respond with forgiveness (1 Kings 8:33-36, 2 Chronicles 6:24-27). When Israel sinned against the Lord by taking foreign wives (directly disobeying God’s command in Deuteronomy 7:3), Ezra instructed all the people to confess their sins (Ezra 10:11).

Nehemiah confessed the sins of Israel before the Lord, including himself among the transgressors (Nehemiah 1:6-7).  Then he followed his confession with a request for God’s mercy, and a reminder that God had promised to respond favorably to those who were repentant (Neh. 1:8-11).

Throughout the ninth chapter of his book, Daniel confesses his sin and Israel’s sin to the Lord (cf. Daniel 9:20). The Wisdom of Sirach says we should not be ashamed to confess our sins (Sirach 4:31), and that we should not hinder anyone from confessing in prayer (Sir. 20:1).

Thus, the Scriptures are filled with references to auricular confession, long before we even reach the New Testament, long before we come to the two famous confession passages which follow:

“Confess [your] faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much. . . . Brethren, if any of you do err from the truth, and one convert him; let him know, that he which converteth the sinner from the error of his way shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins” (James 5:16-20)

“If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us [our] sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:8-9)

Indeed, both of these passages give clear instruction for confessing one’s sins. And the passage from James in particular makes it clear that confession should be oral, in the presence of a fellow Christian. So, why do many non-Orthodox sects give us such criticism over our ancient practice of auricular confession to a priest?  I believe the primary reasons can be summed up thus:

1. Ignorance of confession in the Old Testament
Many people are unaware that OT Israelites orally confessed their sins in the presence of priests (e.g. Leviticus 5:5-6).  Failure to consider this fact may be part of the reason that many Protestant exegetes have failed to properly interpret New Testament passages such as John 20:23, where Jesus grants duly ordained ecclesiastical leadership the authority to pronounce the forgiveness of sins on His behalf.  A better knowledge of established OT practices should make it less surprising to discover similar practices in the NT.

2. Ignorance about confession in the New Testament
Many exegetes have noted that James 5 doesn’t narrowly require confession to a priest alone.  And indeed, in the early Church it was a common practice to confess one’s sins to the entire congregation, not just to the priest.  However, it would be a huge mistake to conclude one’s thought processes at this point.  First, it is important to note that even when one confesses to an entire congregation, one is still confessing to a priest.  When one makes a public confession of sin, the leader of that congregation does not normally plug his ears and walk away.  Second, the priests’ ecclesiastical responsibility for maintaining the purity of the Church (cf. Matt. 18, 1 Cor. 5, etc.) implies the necessity of involving the priest in any proceedings concerning the forgiveness of serious sins committed by members of the Church.  After all, if the priest is not among those who hear the person’s confession, how can he—in the name of the Church—declare that person’s sin forgiven?  And if he cannot declare that person’s sin forgiven, then how can he readmit that person to Eucharistic fellowship?  The biblical practice of Church discipline both implies and requires the practice of auricular confession at some level.

3. “Rome-a-phobia” wrongly transferred to Orthodoxy
Many people mistakenly think Orthodox confession is comparable to Roman Catholic confession, falsely assuming that we espouse Rome’s views on merit, penance, purgatory, etc.  While it is good to criticize Rome’s doctrinal excesses, it is unhelpful to assume that the East shares those excesses.

4. Sola Scriptura 
Even if sola scriptura were an accurate doctrine, the practice of auricular confession would still be quite defensible, as can be seen above.  Nevertheless, the doctrine of sola scripturais still for many people a barrier against properly understanding the Church’s teachings regarding confession and repentance.  Even if a person does not correctly understand what Scripture teaches about confession, that person should still be able to look at the historic practice of the Church for guidance.  And it is undisputed that auricular confession to a priest is a very ancient early Church practice, which continues to be used today.  If people would simply trust the Church, their lack of exegetical skills would be far less consequential.  Sadly, though, we are faced with millions of people who (1) have a fuzzy and incomplete understanding of Scripture, and (2) demand that their understanding of Scripture be the sole leg they stand on.  This combination is appalling.

Thankfully, as Orthodox Christians, we are the heirs of a very firm doctrinal foundation.  And among many other things, our foundation firmly supports the practice of auricular confession in the presence of a priest.  We can see that the practice is affirmed by Scripture in both the Old and New Testaments, and is simultaneously supported by two thousand years of faithful practice within the Church.

An Incarnational Change of Direction

For the process of Repentance to become fully complete, one must literally demonstrate a changed life.  A person’s penitent thoughts must become incarnate, manifesting themselves as good works.  The sins formerly cherished and practiced must now be abandoned and despised.  As Jesus commanded the woman taken in adultery, “Go, and sin no more.” (John 8:11)

This does not mean that Orthodox repentance is at all similar to Roman Catholic penance.  We do not perform prayers, or acts of contrition, with any expectation of meriting an eventual release from our sins.  There is no merit.  There is only grace.  Our only hope is the mercy of God, which—thankfully—is readily available.  When we truly confess, He truly forgives.

Nevertheless, we would sorely err if we were to assume that repentant feelings and repentant words could be of any great value without consequently manifesting themselves in repentant actions.  Repentance which begins and ends with a mandatory meeting with the priest is not true repentance at all.  The Greek word most often used for repentance is metanoia, which literally means “to change your mind”.  True changes of mind always result in true changes of actions.  We don’t instantly become perfect, but we do improve.  Genuine repentance always bears fruit.

Repentance as a Second Baptism

Why has the sacrament of Repentance historically been called a “second baptism”?  Now that we have discussed the Church’s view of Repentance, we should be able to answer this question by briefly comparing the two sacraments:

Baptism involves the oral confession of sin. (cf. Matt. 3:6; Mark 1:5; Acts 2:38; 19:2-5,18)
Repentance, too, involves the oral confession of sin.  (cf. Lev. 5:5-6; James 5:16ff)

Baptism washes away sin. (cf. Acts 22:16)
Repentance, too, washes away sin.  (cf. 1 John 1:9)

Baptism is admission to the Body of Christ. (cf. 1 Cor. 12:13)
Repentance is readmission to fellowship in Christ’s Body. (cf. Matt. 18; 2 Cor. 2:6-8)

Baptism is a person’s admission to the Eucharist. (cf. 1 Cor. 10:17 with 1 Cor. 12:13)
Repentance is a person’s readmission to the Eucharist.  (cf. 1 Cor. 5:11 with 2 Cor. 2:6-8)

Baptism washes away sins.  And the Church has always understood that the sacrament of baptism cannot be repeated.  This is why post-baptismal sin was such a thorny issue for the early Church.  There was much discussion and debate, and though some corners of the church temporarily held a view which considered post-baptismal sin to be unforgivable, that view was ultimately abandoned.  The Church recognized the glorious truth that God’s forgiveness can be applied to us many times, even if baptismal water cannot.

Stephen King

Stephen King’s novels are famous for their explicit gore.  Monsters, murders, rapes, and vengeance are all described in picturesque terms, with an alarming level of alacrity.

In this sense, the Bible is similar to a Stephen King novel.  A cursory look through the book of Judges (or even the book of Genesis) will reveal a number of stories about demons, murder, rape, lust, battles, power struggles, and sexual intrigue.

But there is an important difference between Scripture and Stephen King novels. . . . In many of the stories by Stephen King, darkness gets the upper-hand.

In 1408, the evil presence is ultimately inescapable. Either you die an unspeakable death while in the haunted room, or else your exposure to the evil brings about your demise at a later date.  The protagonist of the story is one who seems to escape.  Yet at the end of the story, he struggles with burns, trauma, heart problems, and emotional issues.  He also gives up writing.  The rest of his life is defined by his encounter with evil, and genuine escape is ultimately impossible.

In many of Stephen King's novels, Evil is ultimately triumphant, even though it experiences occasional temporary setbacks.

In Duma Key, the protagonist is left utterly desolate.  His marriage, his beloved daughter, and his best friend are irrevocably taken away from him.  He has to think long and hard to remember his “last good day”.  Even his apparent triumph over the wicked Persephone is tinged with doom . . . he laments that she will eventually escape her watery prison, and that she will practice her evil ways once again.  Even if it takes her 1000 years to do so, her eventual release is assumed.

The message is consistent . . . good may gain the upper-hand over evil for a time, but evil will ultimately triumph. If a soul is infected with darkness, all light will eventually be snuffed out, and only the darkness will remain. No matter how good a man is, the sin within him is still stronger.

Scripture agrees that there is no duality. But the reasoning is opposite. According to the Bible, light triumphs over darkness, good triumphs over evil, and the gates of hell shall never prevail against the Church.  No matter how evil a man is, the image of God within him still shines through.

John Calvin

The first view echoes the doctrine of Total Depravity, which was one of the central doctrines taught by John Calvin.  He taught that evil so courses through the veins of all men, to such a thorough extent that every man is rendered worthless.  Twisting Romans 3 out of context, he taught that absolutely no one seeks God, and that all people are therefore naturally without value. No matter how relatively “good” a man may try to be, the sin lying at the root of his heart makes him a depraved being, worthy of nothing but God’s unmitigated wrath and fury.  Even in the rare cases when God unilaterally chooses to save such a wretched being, He does it strictly for His own reasons, with no thought whatsoever of any “value” lying within the sinner himself.  For this reason, this salvation is called “unconditional election”.

Much of our society has inherited the assumptions of John Calvin’s theology, and Stephen King’s novels are the logical result (The Shawshank Redemption notwithstand­ing).  For centuries, the Reformed Churches and their children have been telling us that evil is the single most defining trait of man, and at one level or another, we have fallen for this lie. Even our scary books and horror movies have reflected this base assumption.  A person may seek to do good, attempting to rage against the machine, but all such efforts are doomed to be merely temporary.  No matter how long it takes, no matter how hard the struggle, the dark seed within will grow, and spread, and overwhelm all competition, until the hapless victim is swallowed up in misery. Without a complete and unilateral intervention from God Himself, a human being is doomed to a vile and worthless existence.

Light is more powerful than darkness.

The second view manifests a doctrine which might be termed, “Inescapable Theophany”.  It is a doctrine which is precisely the inverse of Total Depravity.  While Total Depravity suggests that sin is the natural victor within every man’s heart, the position of Inescapable Theophany holds that the spark of God’s glory shines within the heart of even the most wicked men.  Darkness cannot snuff it out.  Wickedness cannot defeat it.  Sin cannot swallow it up.  In such men, the Image of God is like a candle thrust into the vast expanse of a dark cavern.  No amount of darkness, gathered together in a single location, can find the collective strength to overwhelm even the smallest of light sources.  This is proof that light is always stronger than darkness. When the door of a darkened room is opened, light always floods in, but darkness never floods out.

Of course, we really don’t need to coin the term “Inescapable Theophany”, because a better term has already been provided in Scripture.  This term is, simply stated, “the Image of God”.  According to Scripture, man retained the Image of God even after the fall, and no amount of sin can snuff out that central fact about man’s existence.  According to the ninth chapter of Genesis, this is the very reason why murder is forbidden.

If a sinful man was truly worthless, then it would be very difficult to explain why killing him would be such a bad idea.  Mosquitoes are generally considered to be worthless, and a nuisance besides, so killing them is rarely frowned upon.  But according to God, a man is not a mosquito. A man may acquire some of the habits of the mosquito, draining his fellow man, irritating him, and generally being a nuisance.  But even this man was created in the Image of God, and no matter how much he may sin, he still retains this Image.

If you honor the King, then you will also honor the image of the King.

It is as if we had a magnificent portrait of the King, caked over with cobwebs and mud and dust. The filth itself may be worthless and offensive, but the portrait remains extremely valuable. Intentional destruction of this portrait would offend the King Himself.  So we must not destroy the painting . . . we must clean it off and restore it.

This is how God views every human being. Each one was created in His Image, and therefore each human is of infinite value.  A man does not become worthless, regardless of his guilt.  A woman does not become worthless, no matter what she has done.

This is not to say that judgment day will never arrive.  It will.
This is not to say that every man will survive judgment day.  He won’t.

Rather, this is to say that the Image of God is of great value, and we dishonor God whenever we fail to recognize this fact.  The doctrine of Total Depravity suggests the possibility that “The Image of God” can be “worthless”.  This suggestion I heartily reject.

Stephen King imagines a world in which darkness snuffs out light, and where men are irrevocably overcome by an infection of evil which festers and overwhelms from within.  Stephen King’s novels manifest an imagined horror which stalks throughout the world, overwhelming all that is holy.

John Calvin’s theology shares Stephen King’s worldview. The doctrine of Total Depravity is the infection of evil which festers and overwhelms from within. And Calvin’s god is the horror itself, which irresistibly creates millions of men and women in a state of misery from which they stand no chance of escaping. For those who are not “elect”, the slow and hideous march of Death ultimately overtakes each soul, like the sadistic work of a vile spirit emerging from the pages of a Stephen King novel.

But if man is truly created in the Image of God        (and he is),
And if man cannot cease to bear this Image               (and he cannot),
And if the Image of God is inherently valuable         (and it is),
Then John Calvin’s doctrines cannot be true.
And Stephen King’s worldview must be in error as well.

The next time you look at a person . . . any person at all . . . test yourself to see whether you truly believe that man is created in the Image of God.  Look at your brother, look at your sister, and say, “That’s what God is like.”  If you find yourself unable to even whisper those words, then you do not yet believe that all men were created in the Image of God.  You do not yet believe the words of Scripture.

But if you can truly say, “That’s what God is like”, and see the Truth of that statement, then you have begun to view your brother as God views him. You have begun to appreciate your sister as God appreciates her.  You have begun to value God’s Image truly, even if you simultaneously recognize that His Image has been covered over with much dust and many cobwebs which need to be gently and lovingly removed.

A Calvinist looks at a group of sinful people, and says, “How utterly worthless!”
A Christian looks at a group of sinful people, and says, “Behold the pantheon!”

The difference between these two points of view is the difference between day and night.  It is the difference between darkness and light.  It is the difference between Christ and Satan.

The first person looks at dirty portraits, and sees God nowhere.
The second person looks at dirty portraits, and sees God everywhere.

If Jesus was sinless, then Jesus obeyed Leviticus 19:18, loving His neighbor as He loved Himself.  And if Jesus Himself was God, then that means Jesus loved His neighbor as He loved God.  Let that sink in . . . .

"I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd gives His life for the sheep." (John 10:11)

Jesus graciously provides healing for his people . . .

Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord.  And the prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise him up. And if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven.  Confess your trespasses to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed.
(James 5:14-16)

The sacrament of healing is offered both to people who are physically healthy, and to people who are sick, because all people are diseased in one way or another.

Connections linking Sickness, Death, & Sin

Suffering, sickness, and death are not normal. Rather, they are direct consequences of the ancestral sin. When the first Adam rebelled against God, it was a rebellion against Life, because God is Life. This rebellion against Life brought suffering, sickness, and death upon Adam, Eve, and all their progeny. Like an infection, Death spread to all mankind. And through humanity, Death spread to the entire world.

"Through one man sin entered the world, and death through sin, and thus death spread to all men, because all sinned" (Romans 5:12)

Therefore, all sickness and death has a common root. Cancers, colds, and car accidents are not isolated events, utterly unrelated to one another. Rather, all suffering, all sickness, and all dying are mere symptoms of a greater underlying problem: man’s alienation from his Creator.  The root cause of every ache, boil, cancer, depression, epidemic, fever, gout, hernia, infection, jaundice, keloid, leprosy, miscarriage, neoplasm, osteoporosis, psychosis, quarantine, rash, sore, tumor, urinary infection, virus, wart, xiphoid syndrome, yellow fever, zit, and funeral can be traced to Adam’s forbidden meal in the third chapter of Genesis. So in a very real sense, all sickness and death is a result of food poisoning. (It is thus very fitting that our “medicine of immortality” is likewise food . . . the Eucharist.)

While all sickness and death results from sin, we cannot conclude that every illness a person suffers is due to his own sin, nor that every person dies because of his own sin.  A heroin addict can give birth to a very sick baby, even though that baby did nothing to deserve being sick.  A drunk driver can kill a child, even if that child did not deserve death. In John 9, Jesus plainly told a blind man that his blindness was not due to his own sin, nor to his parents’ sin.  And the millions of victims of abortion have done nothing to deserve their fate. It can be very misleading, and therefore very dangerous, to assume that a fellow human being has only himself to blame for the suffering which he endures. This sort of critical spirit is incompatible with the compassion which is needed to facilitate the healing process. There is a direct connection between sin and disease, but the connection is rarely a simple one-to-one correlation.

"Be sure your sin will find you out" (Num. 32:23)

Of course there are exceptions to this rule. There is a fairly direct connection between the promiscuous lifestyle and the acquisition of venereal disease. Gluttony is tied closely to obesity.  Heavy smoking has a close connection to lung cancer. And the abuse of alcohol frequently leads to cirrhosis of the liver. However, even cases like these are not necessarily as simple as they may seem. A person may be virtuous, and yet still acquire a venereal disease because of an unfaithful spouse. A person may be overweight due to a glandular defect, rather than due to overeating.  Some people get lung cancer without ever smoking a cigarette. And even teetotalers can have liver problems. I even read about one unlucky man who went in for a dental appointment, and acquired AIDS from his dentist, during the operation. Regardless of the disease which is encountered, snap judgments are rarely helpful. The first prescription should always be compassion.

How the Church approaches Sickness and Death

The Church understands sickness and death holistically, approaching healing primarily at the root, not merely at the level of symptoms.  While the modern medical field mostly focuses on the physical aspect of disease, the Church focuses on the entire person: body, soul, mind, and spirit.  The Church realizes that this or that disease may be temporarily addressed by medical science, but that nothing truly lasting is accomplished until the actual root of the problem is cured. Therefore, the Church always views sickness and healing within the context of sin and redemption.

This focus is radically different from the approach taken by medical science. And for this reason, people can easily make the false assumption that medical doctors are the only ones interested in “real” healing, thinking that the Church merely uses sickness as an segue for talking about “unrelated” spiritual issues. For a person who is suffering from physical disease, it can be easy to misunderstand the Church’s intentions. In the mind of the Church, a focus on sin and redemption is the only way to address the root cause of disease and death. But in the mind of a person who does not understand the connection between sin and sickness, it can appear like the Church is changing the subject. For this reason, it is imperative that the connection between sin and death is not only understood by the Church, but is also clearly communicated to the sick person. The biblical texts on healing, and the words in Orthodox healing services, both help to communicate the close connection between sin and sickness, and between redemption and healing.

Of the numerous passages in Scripture which discuss healing, two prominent texts are Mark 6:12-13 and James 5:13-16.  Both of these passages call for repentance, promise healing, involve the anointing of oil by Christ’s chosen ministers, and are applied broadly to a plurality of sick people. The message is clear: Sin and sickness are closely related problems, and therefore they share a common cure. And just as the problem plagues us all, so the cure is available to all.  The ultimate cure for all sickness, all disease, and all death, is nothing less than the life of the risen Christ, mediated to the patient through His body, the Church.  In reconciliation to the Church, we are reconciled to Christ.

In baptism, we become heirs of Christ’s victory over death. In chrismation, we receive the healing indwelling of the Holy Spirit.  In the Eucharist, we receive the medicine of immortality. In penance, we are cleansed from sin as if in a second baptism, and are restored to communion with Christ and His Church. The sacrament of ordination includes specific reference to the healing which God brings to every infirmity. The sacrament of marriage creates an indissoluble tie which cannot be broken by sickness. And by the sacrament of healing, the sick person is reintegrated into the Church community, given the promise of a hopeful future, and is reminded that Christ has triumphed over death, hell, and the grave, thereby transforming all Christian suffering from defeat into victory.

The Main Themes in the Rites of Healing

The Orthodox Church has celebrated the sacrament of healing in many different ways over the centuries. It took far longer for this sacrament’s liturgical expression to be solidified, compared to the other sacraments. The only two constant elements are the two core prayers:  the prayer of blessing over the oil, and the prayer of anointing. And even the text of these two prayers exists in several different archaic versions. This sacrament has been concelebrated by 7 priests in a magnificent cathedral, with thousands attending, and this sacrament has been celebrated by a single priest visiting a single sick Christian. Either way, the point is to restore the sick person to the community, either by bringing the sick person to Church, or by bringing the Church to the sick person.

The prayer of blessing over the oil explicitly addresses the connection between soul and body, between sin and sickness.  In the prayer, the priest calls upon God to use this blessed oil to bring healing to both flesh and spirit. The prayer makes no division between these two aspects of healing, and does not suggest that the anointing oil would be efficacious for one, but not the other. There is not one substance used only for healing the body, and a separate substance used only for healing the soul. Rather, the single vial of anointing oil is deemed efficacious for both. It is understood that true healing strikes at the very root of the problem, and thereby touches the entire person, both body and soul.

A good introduction to the Church's sacrament of healing

The prayer of anointing likewise incorporates this holistic understanding of healing. Through this single rite of anointing with a single substance, God is beseeched to heal the infirmities of both “body and soul”. The Church on earth is represented in the person(s) of the priest(s) celebrating the sacrament, all the saints and angels are called upon for intercession, and the holy name of the Trinity is invoked. Through prayer and the anointing of oil, the sick person is embraced by Christ and His Church, sins are forgiven, sanctification is given, an ax is brought down upon the very root of all illness and infirmity, and the promise of final, total, ultimate healing is provided.

Healing is realized, regardless of whether the external symptom (the physical malady) is immediately eradicated or not. The important thing is that the underlying cause for sickness has been addressed. The outward, physical sickness may be healed immediately. Or, it may linger.  If it lingers, then it does so as a dead plant which has already been severed from its roots. Its leaves may be green for a moment, but its doom has already been decided, and it will wilt, dry up, and blow away. No sickness can remain forever, once the root cause has been cured. In the sacrament of healing, we are reminded that Jesus has defeated death via the cross. Therefore sickness and death have lost their power, have lost their sting, and are able to exert no more than a fleeting hold on God’s people. In Christ, every illness and every death becomes a martyrdom, a testimony to the triumph of the cross. “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs, bestowing life!”

Healing is the Gospel.

The Ladder of Divine Ascent

Theosis is man’s union with God, wherein we participate in the uncreated energies of the Trinity.  We do not become what God is in his essence, but we are invited to participate in his energies. This is the purpose and goal for which we were created.  Theosis can only be attained in Christ, through the working of the Holy Spirit, as we freely cooperate with the Father’s unmerited grace.  The path to theosis involves participation in the sacraments, participation in the ascetic struggle, and culminates in the vision of the uncreated light of God.

In the Beginning:
Theosis as the original purpose for man

God’s glory and power are manifested by all of creation (Ps. 19; Rom. 1:20).  Yet from the very beginning, man—as the pinnacle of creation—was intended to manifest God’s glory in an intimate and unique way.  In addition to attributes such as holiness, wisdom, personality, and intelligence—attributes applicable even to angels not made in the imago Dei—additional qualities were granted to man, setting him apart as a unique ikon of God.  As God has dominion over the cosmos, man was given dominion over the earth.  And since God (though a single substance) exists in community (Trinity), so the original human couple was of a single substance (Adam’s flesh) which existed in community (male/female).  Out of all creation, God chose man to be made in His own “image” and “likeness” (Gen. 1:26-27).  We were created in community, and we were given dominion.  We were granted both relationship and rule (Gen. 1:27-28).

"You shall be as gods . . . "

The serpent told Adam and Eve that they could “be as gods” (Gen. 3:5).  Ironically, he was telling the truth.  The sinful temptation was to pursue theosis in the wrong way.  The forbidden tree provided special “knowledge”, but knowledge alone is not sufficient for deification.  Nor can we attain unity with God by rebelling against Him.  The serpent suggested that self-will and self-exaltation were the appropriate methods for scaling the heights of divinity.  But the opposite is true.  Humiliation leads to exaltation.  The true path to theosis is kenosis (self-emptying).  One must go down, in order to go up.

Of course, Christ alone displayed kenosis in the ultimate sense.  Man can only participate in kenosis in a derivative fashion, as we imitate the humility and self-emptying sacrifice displayed by Christ.  The kenosis of Christ is referenced in Philippians 2:7-8, where we read that Christ “made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men: And being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.”  In the same passage, the followers of Christ are instructed to imitate him (Phil. 2:5).  Thus I use the term “kenosis” in reference both to Christ and to his followers.  When spoken of Christ, “kenosis” refers to the ultimate humility and self-emptying which Christ displayed. When spoken of Christians, “kenosis” refers to their imitation of his humiliation and self-emptying.  Christ’s kenosis was necessary to bring about the theosis of man.  And man’s imitative kenosis is required—through the humility of the ascetic struggle—in order to attain theosis.  Thus kenosis and theosis are two sides of the same coin.  Humility leads to deification.

Theosis in the Old Testament:
deification illustrated at Eden, Sinai, and in the Psalter

We see the first shadows of kenosis/theosis in the first two chapters of Genesis, prior to the fall.  Adam possessed holiness, personhood, and dominion over the earth, yet was still only partially able to show forth the imago Dei as intended, because he did not yet have a companion made from the same substance as his own body.  Adam, without Eve, could not reflect the community-in-unity of the Trinity.  Adam’s path to completion was not found through an autonomous ascent, but instead was found through humble submission to God, submitting to a state which prefigured death and bloodshed.  Adam sacrificed consciousness to go into a deep sleep, and he sacrificed the very integrity of his body, as he underwent a divine surgery which may well have involved the shedding of blood.  Adam gave of himself so that Eve might have life.

The First Adam was wounded in the side so he could have a bride (Gen. 2:21).  Similarly, the Last Adam was wounded in the side so that he could have a bride (John 19:34).  Thanks to Adam’s kenosis, Eve was able to live with him as a community-in-unity, and they were thereby able to manifest the image of God.  Thanks to Christ’s kenosis, the Church is able to live with him in unity, and we are thereby able to participate in the divine life of the Trinity.  Christ’s kenotic humiliation was prefigured in Eden, as was man’s reward of theosis.

"So when Aaron and all the children of Israel saw Moses, behold, the skin of his face shone, and they were afraid to come near him." (Exodus 34:30)

We again see a picture of kenosis/theosis in the life of Moses.  Moses was the most humble man on the face of the earth (Num. 12:3).  And this superlatively humbled man is the one whom God chose to exalt over all His people.  God spoke with Moses face-to-face (Ex. 33:11), and thus the face of Moses shone with the uncreated light of God (Ex. 34:30; cf. 2 Cor. 3:13).  Like an iron in the fire begins to glow brightly, as if it were itself made of fire, so did Moses shine forth with God’s uncreated light, as if he himself were made of it.  This is a picture of theosis itself.

In the Psalter, we find some explicit testimony to theosis:  “God stands in the assembly of gods; in the midst of them he will judge gods … I said you are gods, and all of you sons of the Most High. But ye shall die like men, and fall like one of the princes” (Ps. 81:1,6-7).  This text is a locus classicus for the doctrine of theosis (quoted far more often than 2 Peter 1:4 in the majority of extant early patristic writings).  As Jesus points out in John 10:33-36, the phrase “I said you are gods” was spoken “to those to whom the word of God came.”  Thus one of the criteria for becoming “gods” is reception of the word of God.  And this point brings us back to Christ, the living Word of God.  In Psalm 81, the recipients of God’s word reject His word, and thus “die like men”.  But in John’s Gospel, those who accept Christ (the Word) are given “power to become the sons of God” (John 1:12).  Any person created in the image of God has the potential for theosis, but the realization of this goal is in the hands of the individual, because the individual can choose either to accept the word of God or to reject it.  We can accept the Word, or we can reject Him.  God’s part is to actively work in us, and our part is to humbly submit to His work.  Thus God and man both have an operative role in man’s path toward theosis.  This is synergia.

Theosis in the New Testament:
deification illustrated at the Transfiguration and in the epistles

The Transfiguration of Christ

In Orthodox literature, and also within the iconographic tradition, the Transfiguration scene serves as a central image used to convey the doctrine of theosis.  As St. John Chrysostom said in regard to the Transfiguration of Christ, “It means he allowed a brief glimpse of the Godhead and showed them the indwelling God” (Selections from Various Homilies, 21).  Perhaps more clearly than anywhere else in Scripture, we see the veil between heaven and earth lifted, as the disciples of Jesus see Him shine with the uncreated light of God’s glory.  Moses and Elijah are seen shining, too, as a reminder that even mere men (not just the God-man) have the potential for deification.  This scene also reminds us that the law and the prophets themselves (typified by Moses and Elijah) only find their full glory and meaning when interpreted in the light of Christ’s Incarnation.  Thus, in a sense, the Mount of Transfiguration illustrates not only the theosis of men, but also the divinization and glorification of the entire Old Testament economy.

St. Maximus the Confessor and many other Orthodox theologians have noted that the Transfiguration may have had more to do with a change in the viewers, than with a change in that which was being viewed.  Jesus (and presumably Moses and Elijah) were already permeated with the uncreated light of God . . .  the mount just happens to be the place where the three chosen apostles were permitted to see this reality for the first time.

The ecclesial dimension is also important.  The Transfiguration was not a solo experience.  Three were shining with the uncreated light, not just one.  And three witnessed the Transfiguration, not just one.  This is a reminder that the path to divinization is not just for isolated individuals, but is for the Church as a whole.  We are saved in community.

In modern Orthodox writings, one of the most frequently referenced texts is 2 Peter 1:4, where we are told we can become “partakers of the divine nature”.  (A few prominent Church Fathers in the first five centuries discussed this text as well, namely Origen, Athanasius, and Cyril of Alexandria.) The extended passage, especially as translated in the Jerusalem Bible, highlights the necessity of synergia in the process of theosis:

By his divine power, he has given us all the things that we need for life and for true devotion, bring­ing us to know God himself . . . you will be able to share the divine nature and to escape cor­rup­tion in a world that is sunk in vice.  But to attain this, you will have to do your utmost your­selves, adding goodness to the faith that you have, understanding to your goodness, self-control to your understanding, patience to your self-control, true devotion to your patience, kind­ness towards your fellow men to your devotion, and to this kindness, love. (2 Peter 1:3-7, emphasis mine).

The reality of synergia cannot be stated much more explicitly than it is in this passage:  “you will be able to share the divine nature . . . But to attain this, you will have to do your utmost yourselves”.  The possibility of deification is clear, as is the individual’s personal responsibility for attaining it.  The importance of the upward ascetic struggle is paramount.  Theosis is a gift, but it is only given to those who fervently seek for it.

Theosis in Practice:
our participation in Christ

Christ is God, so being Christ-like is being God-like.  Thus our path to deification is synonymous with our participation in him and our conformity to him.  We are incorporated into Christ by the sacraments, and we are conformed to Christ through ascetic struggle.  The ultimate culmination of theosis is finally realized in the eschaton, when “we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is” (1 John 3:2).

"For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ." (Galatians 3:27)

Baptism is how we first “put on Christ” (Gal. 3:27).  Baptism incorporates us into Christ, uniting us with both his death and resurrection.  This dual aspect of baptism reminds us that the path to theosis is kenosis.  The cross comes before the crown.  These aspects are brought together concisely in Paul’s epistle to the Romans:

Know ye not, that so many of us as were baptized into Jesus Christ were baptized into his death? Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life. For if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection: Knowing this, that our old man is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin. For he that is dead is freed from sin. (Romans 6:3-7)

In this passage, we are explicitly told that baptism connects us to the death of Jesus, and thereby to the resurrection of Jesus.  And since our baptismal death in Christ brings us to a place where “the body of sin might be destroyed” so that “we should not serve sin”, the ascetic struggle is implied as well.  Baptism is the first step of deification.

Our baptism is completed by chrismation.  In the water, we were baptized into the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  In chrismation, we receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.  And to receive the Holy Spirit is to receive God.  The Spirit prays within us, sanctifies us to make us holy, and works constantly to conform us to the image of Christ.  The Holy Spirit supplies the power which fuels our path to theosis.

"We all are one body, for we all partake of the one bread." (1 Corinthians 10:17)

The Eucharist is our participation in Christ par excellence.  In Holy Communion, we eat the flesh and drink the blood of the Lamb who takes away the sins of the world.  Since the blood of Jesus is the blood of God (Acts. 20:28), we actually partake of God whenever we come to the chalice.  We are the body of Christ, because we all partake of the body of Christ (1 Cor. 10:17).  We are what we eat.

Participation in the sacraments is necessary, but not sufficient.  In addition to dying with Christ in baptism, and partaking of Christ in Holy Communion, we must also imitate Christ in our daily ascetic struggle toward holiness.  If baptism is how we first “put on Christ” (Gal. 3:27), then holy living is how we continue to “put on Christ” on a daily basis:  “But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the
lusts thereof” (Rom. 13:14).

If we humble ourselves under the mighty hand of God, in time He will lift us up (James 4:10).  To follow Christ is to follow a willing path of humility, and the more we follow him, the better we see him.  To see him is to know him in his humility and in his sufferings.  Thus “we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord” (2 Cor. 3:18).  To be like God is to be like Jesus.  And to be like Jesus involves suffering.

Norman Russell has written a helpful introduction to the Orthodox doctrine of theosis.

In the Incarnation, Christ transformed humanity itself.  By taking on human flesh, the Second Person of the Trinity became the Second Adam, uniting deity and humanity perfectly within a single Person.  Theosis is our appropriation—through Christ—of this transformed humanity.  He became what we are, so that we might become what He is.

And since man is the pinnacle of creation, man’s theosis results in the redemption of the entire created order:

For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God. (Rom. 8:20-21)

The mystery of theosis is contained within the mystery of the Incarnation.  The infinite gap between the created and the uncreated has been bridged in the person of Christ.  We do not become what God is in his essence, but we are invited to participate in his uncreated energies.  As St. Athanasius said, “God became man, so that man might become a god.”

~740 AD - A coin showing Emperor Leo III with his wife. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

The imperial leader of the initial iconoclastic outbreak was the Roman (Byzantine) Emperor, Leo III, who put forth a series of official decrees in opposition to icons.  Officially, it was in the year 726 that “Leo III introduced iconoclasm” (Andrew Louth, Greek East and Latin West,   p. 82).  Leo, however, was not a theological trailblazer.  While he was a political official who propagated iconoclasm throughout the empire, he was not the formulator of iconoclastic ideology.  To identify the sources of the iconoclastic outbreak, we must look a little deeper.

The ideology of iconoclasm may be likened to a number of isolated muddy streams, converging into a river of heresy.  Iconoclasm sprang from multiple anti-Christian sources, and found their nexus in the person of Emperor Leo.

In the 8^th century, the religion of Islam supplied one of the major forces in favor of iconoclasm.  A notable example of this pressure came from the caliph Iezid II (720-724), who “ordered the destruction of all pictures in Christian churches within his dominions” (Edward James Martin, A History of the Iconoclastic Controversy, p. 23).  Considering the warring relations consistently endured by nations bordering the Muslims, it is not difficult to imagine why an unscrupulous state official (such as the Emperor) might think it advantageous to proactively destroy certain elements likely to cause friction with neighboring aggressors.

A second source of iconoclastic heresy was of Monophysite origin.  As early as the 5^th century, a Monophysite bishop of Hierapolis had forbidden his diocese to have images of either saints or angels.  And in the late 6^th century, the case of Serenus of Marseilles provided examples of icon-destruction which fueled the controversy-to-come over a century later.

A third bastion of pre-Leo iconoclasm was the Nestorian church, though their relative exclusion from the Roman (Byzantine) Empire make them unlikely candidates for influencing Leo.

Perhaps one of the strongest sources of Leo’s iconoclasm was the Paulician sect, a strongly iconoclastic group which flourished “in the very region of South-Eastern Asia Minor from which Leo’s family sprung” (Martin, p. 24).

An additional source of iconoclastic tendencies was found within a puritanical section of the Orthodox Church itself, among clergy who anticipated the iconoclastic controversy’s second-commandment objection against icons-as-idols. Episcopal examples of this iconoclastic tendency were Constantine of Nacolia in Phrygia, and Thomas, bishop of Claudiopolis, both of whom were reprimanded by the Patriarch in the early 8^th century.

Dura Europos Synagogue ~ 244 A.D.

This puritanical section of the Church exemplified a thread of thinking which had various adherents ever since early Christianity had severed its ties with Judaism. Even though Jewish synagogues were covered with icons of saints and angels, they denied the Incarnation of Christ, and they were therefore opposed to making any images of the Deity.  This strand of thought did find some traction among pre-Nicea-II Orthodox clergy.  As Dr. Martin suggests, “What the Emperor [Leo] did in 725 was to make a public declaration of policy on a question which had long been agitated” (Martin, p. 26).

All of these influences, whether Muslim, Monophysite, Nestorian, Paulician or puritanical, to a greater or lesser extent, coalesced to form a heretical underground zeitgeist which eventually came to a head in the infamous Isaurian Emperor, Leo III.

In 726, Emperor Leo III made a public declaration of his opposition to icons.  “He followed this action with the symbolic gesture of destroying an image of Christ” (Williston Walker, A History of the Christian Church, p. 231).  This action provoked outrage and rioting, as well as condemnation from the Patriarch Germanus of Constantinople.  Leo responded to the rioting harshly, though “none were executed” among this initial iconophile resistance (Martin, p. 32).

St. John of Damascus wrote three treatises which continue to be the Orthodox Church's definitive exposition of the theology of icons.

Over the remainder of Leo’s reign, the theological polemic matured on both sides.  This development was significant, because prior to the 8^th century, “the Christological argument for and against icons was not really developed” (J.M. Hussey, The Orthodox Church in the Byzantine Empire, p. 34). Initially, the iconoclast’s arguments predominantly centered on iconophiles’ alleged violation of the second commandment. The Orthodox position, on the other hand, was multifaceted, and was preeminently articulated by St. John of Damascus.  Around the years 726, 730, and 732, he composed a series of three treatises “On The Divine Images”.  St. John presented the Orthodox position so clearly and thoroughly that “every subsequent writer repeated his arguments and authorities” (Martin, p. 35).  In fact, the question of idolatrous worship “is examined by St. John of Damascus so thoroughly and so finally that the argument about idolatry was felt by the Iconoclasts themselves to lack conviction and was practically replaced by a new one based on Christology” (Martin, p. 116). This is a point often overlooked by iconoclastic Protestants, who too quickly assume that their reservations regarding the second commandment were shared by most 8^th/9^th century Iconoclasts … when in fact even many Iconoclasts largely bent under the force of St. John’s arguments.  Not only throughout the iconoclastic controversy, but even down to the present day, St. John’s Three Treatises remains a definitive work.

- Emperor Constantine V "Copronymus" - His "lust confounded the eternal distinction of sex and species, and he seemed to extract some unnatural delight from the objects most offensive to human sense." (Gibbon, Decline & Fall)

Leo’s son, Emperor Constantine V Copronymus, carried iconoclasm to a new level.  He circulated among the bishops a number of theological papers called “Inquiries” or “Peuseis” (Louth, p. 55). Constantine argued against icons both negatively (claiming that they were a violation of the second commandment), and positively (suggesting that the Eucharist served as a true image of Christ, as an alternative to icons).  After this initial iconoclastic propaganda storm, a synod was called in 754, in the palace of Hiereia.  This synod anathematized the veneration of icons, and deemed itself an “Ecumenical Council”, despite the fact that the synod was neither attended nor ratified by a single patriarchal see.  “The see of Constantinople was vacant,” and the patriarchs from Alexandria, Jerusalem, Antioch, and Rome were “not present either in person or by deputy” (Martin, p. 46). Reminiscent of the heretical Second Council of Ephesus held in 449, Hieria’s claims to ecumenicity were groundless assertions lacking any substantial evidence. Notably, many of the bishops in attendance at the synod of Hieria later recanted, and supported Nicea II.

Constantine’s iconoclastic theology was fueled by his defective view of the Incarnation. As Dr. Martin notes, “[Constantine’s] Christology . . . is Monophysite, sublimating Christ” (Martin, p. 43).  Additional evidence of Constantine’s faulty Christology is his rejection of the word “Theotokos” (Martin. p. 49).  Indeed, it was rampantly faulty Christology which necessitated the calling of the first Six General Councils. And the same issue raged in the Church’s anticipation of the Seventh.  As Dr. Martin has noted, “We may, indeed, go so far as to trace the whole Iconoclastic movement at least indirectly to Monophysite influences” (Martin, p. 127).

Saint Stephen the New of Mount Auxentius

During the controversy, the monasteries proved to be particularly strong bastions of Orthodoxy, and their heavy resistance incited Constantine’s wrath upon monks.  Beginning with the martyrdom of Stephen of Mount Auxentius, a concerted persecution of the iconodule monks proceeded for a full decade, only coming to an end upon the death of Constantine V.

In 775, Constantine V’s throne was succeeded by his son, Leo IV.  Leo continued the iconoclastic policies of his father.  Five years later, Leo IV died, leaving behind the young child Constantine VI, under the regency of Empress Irene.

The Empress Irene

With Irene the first wave of iconoclasm ended. “In the first year of her regency she restored the images and the monks” (Martin, p. 86). Her pinnacle came in 787, with the convocation of the Seventh Ecumenical Council in the city of Nicea. The Patriarch Paul had abdicated, and had suggested an Ecumenical Council was needed to heal the iconoclastic rift. The Empress Irene “wrote to the Pope requesting a General Council” (Martin. p. 88), and she chose a layman named Tarasius—the chief Imperial secretary—to succeed Paul. He became Patriarch on Christmas day, 784.  He corresponded with the bishop ofRome, and with the three eastern Patriarchates of Antioch, Alexandria, and Jerusalem, calling for a Seventh General Council.

Nicea II - The 7th Ecumenical Council

The Second Council of Nicea was held in 787, and was presided over by Patriarch Tarasius.  Two Eastern monks were in attendance as delegates of Antioch, Alexandria, and Jerusalem.  And Rome had two delegates in attendance as well.  Thus the Seventh Ecumenical Council was far removed from the synod of Hieria, which had enjoyed no Patriarchal support whatsoever.  Nicea-II officially anathematized iconoclasm, and directly employed many of the same Scriptural proofs and historical arguments which St. John of Damascus had penned in his Three Treatises.  Among the chief declarations of the Council was that icon veneration involved no idolatry, because the honor paid to the image is passed on to the original. The Council determined that icon veneration was not merely permissible, but was in fact mandated for all.  The Council’s definition was approved and signed by 309 episcopal delegates, and the session “closed with the traditional applause” (Martin. p. 104).  Orthodox Christology had won the day.  The Seventh Council was “the logical sequel to Chalcedon” (Martin. p. 108).

In 802, the Empress Irene was “deposed by a court coup” and was replaced by Nikephoros, who “did not turn out to be much of an improvement” (Louth, p. 119).  In 811, Nikephoros was killed in the Bulgar campaign.  In 812, Michael acceded to the throne, only to be deposed the following year by Leo V “the Armenian”.  In 815, the second wave of iconoclasm struck the Empire, when Leo V reintroduced iconoclasm as imperial policy.

Emperor Leo V

Initially, Emperor Leo V did not utterly ban the use of all images.  He proposed to “remove the pictures in positions low enough to permit gross acts of adoration, accepting those in higher positions as useful illustrations of Christianity” (Martin, p. 165).  The Patriarch Nicephorus, however, stood firm and would not budge.  After encountering consistent resistance from the iconodules, the Emperor forbade the monks to meet together, and he ordered them to stop preaching.  Leo V eventually deposed the Patriarch, as well.  He replaced him with a married layman named Theodotus, who inaugurated his Patriarchate with “games, laughter, quips, and buffoonery”, and also with a banquet where he encouraged bishops and monks to violate the canons by consuming flesh meat (Martin, p. 170).

Theodotus was so odious to the clergy that he was soon deposed.  After his replacement was enthroned, a new local church council was called.  A number of monastic leaders were invited, but they protested any attempt to reverse the decision of Nicea II.

As iconoclastic resolutions go, the decision of this council was of the mild variety.  While affirming iconoclastic sentiments and practices, the council’s definition conceded, “We refrain from speaking of them [icons] as idols” (Martin, p. 173).  The charge of idolatry, as well as the utter prohibition of images, had been discarded.

For the most part, the theological acumen of the Iconoclasts was vastly lower during the second wave of iconoclasm, than it had been during the first wave.  The notable exception was John the Grammarian, who was an avid iconoclastic apologist.  From a theological perspective, “The doctrine of the Incarnation continued on both sides to be the central subject of the controversy” (Martin, p. 189).  The iconodules espoused Orthodox Christology, while the iconoclasts frequently displayed a Monophysite bent.

Empress Theodora and the Triumph of Orthodoxy - 843 A.D.

In 820, Leo V was assassinated, and Michael II ascended the throne.  Nine years later, Michael was succeeded by Theophilus. After years of iconoclastic decline, the Emperor Theophilus died in 842, leaving behind his three-year-old son, Michael.  Theodora, the Empress-mother, acceded the throne.  She had been a fervent iconodule for years, and had taught all of her children accordingly.  Over the next year, she set the stage for another local council, which overturned iconoclasm for good, and upheld the decision of Nicea II.  On the first Sunday in Lent, 843, the restoration of Orthodoxy was celebrated.  To this day, we celebrate this “Sunday of Orthodoxy” every year, in remembrance of Orthodoxy’s triumph over the iconoclastic heresy.

Justin Bieber

Yahoo Voices just approved my first article
for publication on their website . . .

http://voices.yahoo.com/if-justin-bieber-was-shakespeare-fan-10908367.html?cat=47

Fathers of the 7 Ecumenical Councils

For many centuries, the worldwide Church consistently recognized man’s free will throughout Scripture. In the year 680, the doctrine of free-will was authoritatively defended by the Church in the Sixth Ecumenical Council.

Then, over 800 years later, the Protestant Reformation erupted. Men like Martin Luther and John Calvin convinced many followers that man’s free will was an illusion. They cited a number of Scriptures out of context, attempting to support their views. One of the passages frequently used was the 9th chapter of Romans.

Ironically, when Romans 9 is interpreted in its full biblical context, it actually proves to be a positive argument in favor of man’s free-will.

There are many impressive connections between
the Biblical books of Jeremiah and Romans:

1. Jeremiah and Paul were both prophets born to the tribe of Benjamin.
2. Both were prophets who wept over the unfaithfulness of the Jews, and over the judgment which came to them as a result.
3. Both used very similar concepts and similar terminology in their books. For example, consider Paul’s “Olive Tree” terminology in Romans 11, which closely parallels Jeremiah’s “Olive Tree” terminology in Jeremiah 11.

Similarly, Romans 9 closely parallels Jeremiah 18.

Paul was an Old Testament scholar. He knew the OT backwards and forwards, including the book of Jeremiah. Plus, Paul was a Benjamite prophet, just like Jeremiah. So it is not surprising that Paul’s writings echo the writings of Jeremiah so often.

In Jeremiah 18, the prophet Jeremiah likens God’s grace & judgment to the way a Potter works with clay. The Potter makes some vessels for honorable uses, and other vessels for destruction.

In Romans 9, the prophet Paul likens God’s grace & judgment to the way a Potter works with clay. The Potter makes some vessels for honorable uses, and other vessels for destruction.

In Jeremiah 18, Jeremiah is explicitly clear . . . The clay determines whether or not the Potter will make it into this sort of pot or that.  If the Potter makes the clay into a vessel of mercy, but then the clay rebels, then the Potter changes course and remakes the clay into a vessel of wrath. If the Potter makes the clay into a vessel of wrath, but then the clay repents, then the Potter changes course and remakes the clay into a vessel of mercy.

In Jeremiah 18, the Potter molds the clay of the nations.  Faithful nations are molded into vessels of mercy, and rebellious nations are molded into vessels of wrath.  And through repentance, any nation can influence the hand of the Potter.

In Romans 9, the Potter molds the clay of the Jews and Gentiles.  Those who are faithful are molded into vessels of mercy, and those who are rebellious are molded into vessels of wrath.  And today, as always, the Potter’s hand is influenced by man’s genuine repentance.

Jeremiah 18 is in agreement with the theology of man’s free-will.
And Romans 9 was written in light of Jeremiah 18, even using similar terminology.

When these passages are viewed side-by-side, the close parallels are easy to see.

"Let my prayer arise ... as incense" (Psalm 141:2)

Throughout Scripture we see the inward and outward aspects of worship offered to God in unity with one another. For example, Scripture tells us to lift our hands and our hearts to God. The hands are outward, and the heart is inward. God is glorified by both, and He commands us to worship Him with both. We rightfully advocate both the lifting of our hearts and the lifting of our hands to God. They are complimentary to one another.

Incense and prayer work the same way.
They are two halves to the same coin:

“Let my prayer arise in Thy sight as incense.
And let the lifting up of my hands be an evening sacrifice. ”
(Psalm 141:2)

In the New Testament, Jesus teaches us to pray the Lord’s Prayer. In that prayer, we pray, “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” God wants to be worshiped on earth in the same way He is worshiped in heaven. Heavenly worship includes incense, in both the Old Testament (Isa. 6) and the New Testament (Rev. 8). If heavenly worship includes liturgy, robes, and incense, then our earthly worship should include the same.

Scripture is literally filled with references to incense for the worship of God.
For example:

My name shall be great among the Gentiles; In every place incense shall be offered to My name" (Malachi 1:11)

Exodus 25, 30, 31, 35, 37, 39, 40
Leviticus 4, 16
Numbers 4, 7, 16
Deuteronomy 33
1 Samuel 2
1 Chronicles 6, 9, 23
2 Chronicles 2, 13, 26, 29
Psalm 141
Isaiah 60
Jeremiah 17, 41
Malachi 1
Luke 1
Revelation 5, 8

By considering all of these passages, we should be able to discern the usage of incense which would please God in the context of worship.

One of my favorite incense passages is Malachi 1:11. He prophecies of the New Testament Church age, during which time God expands His blessings to the Gentiles in the world at large:

“For from the rising of the sun, even to its going down,
My name shall be great among the Gentiles;
In every place incense shall be offered to My name,
And a pure offering;
For My name shall be great among the nations,”
Says the LORD of hosts.

And here is a helpful passage from the New Testament:

And I saw the seven angels who stand before God, and to them were given seven trumpets. Then another angel, having a golden censer, came and stood at the altar. He was given much incense, that he should offer it with the prayers of all the saints upon the golden altar which was before the throne. And the smoke of the incense, with the prayers of the saints, ascended before God from the angel’s hand.
(Revelation 8:2-4)

According to the New Testament, our prayers actually ascend to God with the smoke of incense. Pretty cool, huh?

The Lord says He wants unity and no schism in His Church,
yet each “church” contradicts the others about doctrines and faith and works;
If I spent my life researching interpretations, I know I’d lose all hope,
Because with over 25,000 denominations, I’d be at the end of my rope.

I swear all this confusion is the work of Satan and his minions,
Because three people can read the same Bible and give you four opinions!
Now, for a while I thought the problem was most people just don’t study hard enough,
So I dove into lots and lots of books until I thought my mind was tough.

But then I realized that even brilliant people disagree,
and so my outlook started looking grim,
because even if they’re checking up on me,
who’s checking up on them?

“Sola Scriptura!” they all replied, as the cure to every woe . . .
“If you consult the Bible, and the Bible alone, you’ll learn all you need to know.”

So let’s test this theory with a real life doctrine like prayers for the dead . . .
are they evil, or are they good?
Yet, this Bible does not say whether I should pray for the dead,
While this Bible says that I should.

Faced with this critical doctrinal question, will Sola Scriptura crumble, or will it thrive?
Should I accept the Bible that has 66 books?  Or the Bible that has 75?

Now this is no small question of esoteric education,
especially for Christians who claim the Bible as their very Faith’s foundation;
The books found here, that are missing from here, contain prophecies of Christ,
encouragement to pray for the dead, and to give alms to rescue one’s life.

So should we accept these doctrines? or just cast them beneath our feet?
It depends which Bible is the true one, and which Bible is incomplete.
But this doctrinal point is just the place where Sola Scriptura fails.
This critical doctrinal question takes the wind right out of its sails . . .

For you can search the Bible from front to back, inside out and upside down,
Yet from Genesis to Revelation, a list of books cannot be found;
Protestants around the world have studied, searched, and inquired,
and to this day they all agree the Bible’s table of contents is not inspired.

So to answer this doctrinal question,
there are men’s opinions which Protestants quote,
But the Bible has not one chapter, not one verse,
to reveal which books the Holy Spirit wrote.

So it seems that maybe Protestants
are on a rather ironic mission;
They say their doctrines are based on the Bible alone,
yet their Bible is based on Protestant Tradition.

So the next time a Protestant asks you to become a “Sola Scriptura” guy,
Just ask him whether you should use your Bible or his . . . and why?

When he presents an argument not straight from Scripture,
you can invite him to cease his talks,
For if his faith leans on Church Tradition,
then it’s time for your friend to become Orthodox!