I have just finished reading Crisis of Confidence: Reclaiming the Historic Faith in a Culture Consumed with Individualism and Identity, by my friend Carl R. Trueman. Dr. Trueman is professor of Biblical and Religious Studies at Grove City College, and a member of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church (which, despite the title, has no connection with our own Eastern Orthodox Church).

Every so often one encounters something that breaks the head as well as the heart. By that I refer to things that not only wring the heart with grief, but also confound the head because they are so perversely stupid. One such thing is the recent conversion of a Tasmanian Orthodox priest by the name of David Gould who had been Orthodox for 45 years and who then converted to Islam two years after becoming a priest. He now goes by the name of Abdul Rahman.

I am told that during a very interesting and well-run radio show about deaconesses, it was agreed (or at least widely thought) that Phoebe, mentioned famously in Romans 16:1, was a deaconess. But was she?

I have just read two fascinating pieces about Pope Francis’ recent and controversial document Fiducia Supplicans, which officially allows Roman Catholic priests to bless persons in same-sex relationships, one by an Orthodox and the other by a Roman Catholic.

I note with no surprise whatsoever the news out of England, which is that the Church of England has decided to bless homosexual partnerships. This came after a compromise was struck last February following five years of debate about the church’s position on homosexuality and the inevitable apology offered for the church’s failure to welcome homosexuals.

The feast whose season we now in is called “Theophany” or (in many places) “Epiphany”. This latter is not so much an English word as it is a transliteration of a Greek word, epiphaneia. It is often rendered “appearance” in the English versions, though this rendering can be misleading. One can have a small or insignificant appearance. For example, a person can have a brief cameo appearance in a movie (such as Alfred Hitchcock famously did in his movies), appearances so brief and insignificant as to be missed by inattentive eyes.

I forget, in the course of my long life as a Christian, how many times I have heard people assure me that “God will never give you more than you can handle”. By this they seemed to mean that God knows my emotional limits and capabilities, and will make sure that no disaster befalls me that will tax me emotionally beyond my present strength. Sometimes they affix a Bible verse from 1 Corinthians 10:13 to it to make their case: “No temptation has overtaken you but such is common to man, and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, that you may be able to endure it”. I must report however, on the basis of my long life as a Christian, that the assuring notion that God will never give anyone more than they can handle is nonsense.

I am told on good authority that it is offensive to invite people of other religions to convert to Christianity. Thus it is offensive to say to a Jew, “Jesus is the Messiah and the Son of God and so you should be baptized and become a Christian”. It is similarly offensive to say to a Muslim, “Jesus is the divine Son of God and Muhammad was not a true prophet, nor is Qur’an His Word, and so you should be baptized and become a Christian”. It is also offensive to say to a Hindu, “Those whom you worship as Gods such as Vishnu, Shiva, and Krishna are not true Gods, but idols, and so you should be baptized and become a Christian”.

A quiet confession between us: Nostalgic freak that I am, I still like listening to old songs from the Christian folk group Children of the Day. The group is one of the earliest Jesus People music groups and consisted of four young people, headed by Marsha Carter. They were famous for the song "For those tears I died" - also known as "Come to the waters:, written by Marsha shortly after her conversion to Christ at the age of 16. The song contains the sort of emotionalism that often characterizes young 16-year-old evangelical girls, with tears being cried in the dark, as well as that bit of latent calvinism which often characterizes evangelicals. The song begins with the lines "You said you'd come and share all my sorrows, you said you'd be there for all my tomorrows. I came so close to sending you away, but just like you promised - you came here to stay. I just had to pray."

Today we begin a series on Old Testament saints in their context: surveying major figures of the Old Testament to better understand their lives, their words, and the lessons they can teach us - for, though dead, they still speak. We begin with Abraham: the father of the faithful, and the friend of God.

There are stupider things to do than arguing with a culty fundamentalist. As the late great Jim Croce reminded us, you don’t tug on Superman’s cape, you don’t spit into the wind, and you don’t pull the mask off the ol’ Lone Ranger. Arguing with a culty fundamentalist is, I admit, not as stupid as any of these things, but it is pretty stupid nonetheless, for it is a waste of precious time and utterly futile.

There are stupider things to do than arguing with a culty fundamentalist. As the late great Jim Croce reminded us, you don’t tug on Superman’s cape, you don’t spit into the wind, and you don’t pull the mask off the ol’ Lone Ranger. Arguing with a culty fundamentalist is, I admit, not as stupid as any of these things, but it is pretty stupid nonetheless, for it is a waste of precious time and utterly futile.

The Church has the same task in whatever land it takes root and finds itself, namely that of making disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the Name of the Trinity, and of teaching them to observe all that Christ commanded. How it goes about fulfilling this task, however, varies with time and place.

A wise man once said "what we believe always remains intellectually possible, and never becomes intellectually compulsive. I have an idea," he said, "that when this ceases to be so, the world will be ending."

I sometimes tell inquirers at St. Herman’s when they ask that I began my Christian life in earnest as a Jesus People—which usually results in blank stares, since most of them are too young to have heard of the cultural phenomenon known as the Jesus People Movement. The movement has recently come up again for notice in a film called “Jesus Revolution”, based on the true events of the founding of Calvary Chapel in California under Pastor Chuck Smith (d. 2013) and his long-haired hippie protégé Lonnie Frisbee. The film, a well done and positive presentation of the events, stars Kelsey Grammer and features the role of Greg Laurie (played by Joel Courtney) as a new convert to Christ at Smith’s Calvary Chapel, and as someone who would go on to found Harvest Christian Fellowship Church, with campuses in California and Hawaii. Harvest Ministries is the group which released the film.

Recently I heard a very dark and serious song about the judgment of God and His wrath against sinners. It was the folk song “Great God Almighty’s Gonna Cut You Down” (accessed here). I was not aware of the song before; apparently it is an American folk song. The oracular Wikipedia informs me that it was first recorded by the Golden Gate Quartet in 1946 and issued in 1947 by the Jubalairies, and since then has been covered by a variety of singers in country, folk, electronic, and black metal genres, including such singers as Johnny Cash, Tom Jones, and Elvis Presley. It takes some imagination to contemplate someone singing both about blue suede shoes and the wrath of God, but that’s America for you.

I cannot be the only one who has had the experience of visiting a non-Orthodox church service and finding it stunningly empty and plain. After long familiarity with Orthodox worship with its icons, incense, candles, vestments, Gospel books, and crosses, attending such services produces a kind of sensory deprivation, rather like sensory overload in reverse. Entering those churches and experiencing their services left me looking around almost madly for something focus and feed upon—some cross or image. But there was nothing: the walls were barren and empty, with not even a plaque with an inscribed Bible verse to relieve the sensory monotony. It is like bringing to your lips what you expected to be a cup of wine and finding it to contain tepid water: it’s okay, I suppose, but disappointing to the point of surprise and irritation.

Over two millenia there have, of course, been many papal claims, many of which Orthodoxy has always accepted. The claim to be the Patriarch of the West has proved unobjectionable to the East. The claim to be the primate of the Church is also unobjectionable, though this one requires some historical context. It is the claims explicated in detail at the First Vatican Council of 1870 that have proved the sticking point. But let us proceed slowly and carefully.

One would not have guessed that the question of whether to receive a person into the Orthodox Church by baptism and chrismation or by chrismation alone would be a hot issue given the history of reception into the Church. Both methods have been widely used in the ancient and recent past and continue to be used in the present.

There is today in the Orthodox Church a cult of personality—or, more precisely, of personalities, in the plural. That is, there are a number of men, mostly monastics and wearing the badge of “elder” who have set themselves up as judges and arbiters of Orthodox praxis. Most of the hubbub is over matters of ecumenism. Drawing upon the Fathers (often ripped from their historical context) these men declare that outside the Orthodox Church there is little or no grace and salvation. Accordingly, everyone who comes to Orthodoxy from another Christian confession must—not should, but must—be received by baptism, so that those who were received by chrismation must “correct” this “error” and be again baptized.

We conclude our series examining St. Matthew’s citations of the Old Testament. Today we look at his citation of Isaiah 40:3, which reads, “A voice cries, ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of Yahweh! Make straight in the desert a highway for our God!”

We continue our series examining St. Matthew’s citations of the Old Testament. Today we look at his citation of Jeremiah 31:15. It reads, “A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are not.” The LXX renders it more or less the same way, though the order of the chapters is different. In the LXX the text is found in Jeremiah chapter 38, not chapter 31. But the meaning of the text is the same.

We continue our series examining St. Matthew’s citations of the Old Testament. Today we look at his citation of Micah 5:2. “In the Masoretic Hebrew it reads, “But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, who are little to be among the clans of Judah, from you will come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days.” The LXX reads similarly: “And you, Bethlehem, house of Ephrathah, you are very small to be in the thousands of Judah, from which for me will come out to be for a ruler of Israel, and his goings out are from the beginning, from the days of eternity.” It is all the more surprising therefore that St. Matthew’s version reads a little differently from either the Hebrew or the Greek. It reads, “And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you will come a ruler who will govern my people Israel.”

Today we begin a series on the use of the Old Testament in the early chapters of the Gospel of St. Matthew. We will examine his citations in his narrative of Christ’s birth, childhood and adulthood up to the time He settled in Capernaum, bringing a great light to the tribes of Zebulun and Naphtali and to all the world. St. Matthew (either the actual author of the Gospel or the one under whose blessing and authority it was first disseminated) took care to present Jesus as the fulfillment of the Hebrew Scriptures, the Old Testament, and by examining the use of the Old Testament in this Gospel we can see how deeply and creatively the Church used those Scriptures.

G. K. Chesterton wrote that he once left fairy tales lying on the floor of the nursery and hadn’t found any books so sensible since (from his Orthodoxy, “The Ethics of Elfland”). I suggest that Christianity is one such fairy tale, and also that it is a myth. But it is a fairy tale come true, and a myth that became a fact.

I have been reading liberal theology since my college days—i.e. theologies which deny many, most, or all of the major tenets of the traditional Christian Faith. The theologies are as many and as varied as their authors, but they all share a conviction that Jesus of Nazareth didn’t say and do all the things which the New Testament recorded that He said and did, that the Gospels are not to be trusted as history, and that therefore the basic dogmas of the historical Church are wrong. The late Bishop John Spong (inset) is a modern and sterling example.

In my previous piece, “Why I Am a Christian (Part 1)” I examined the question of why one should believe in the physical Resurrection of Jesus from the dead. I looked at the essential historical reliability of the Gospels portraits of Jesus and His claims to be God. I concluded that given the number and audacity of those claims, there were only three live options on the table: either He was a liar, a lunatic, or the Lord. I suggested that His many miracles made sense of and supported the third option.

Many years ago, when I was tucking my eldest daughter into bed, she asked me a question: “Dad, why do we believe in the Resurrection?” I have always taught both my daughters to be strong and to think for themselves, and so I was happy to hear the question, and I answered it as best as I could, giving the historical evidence. At the end of it all, she said, “Oh, good. I was afraid you were going to say that we should believe in it because it was in the Bible.” No chance of that; Dad is not a fideist, nor a fan of circular reasoning. The case for Christianity is a strong one, and can withstand historical scrutiny. Here I would like to set out the case for Christianity in somewhat fuller terms than I did that night so long ago.

I know a man in Christ who prays for Marilyn Monroe every day as a part of his prayers for all the departed. He doesn’t pray for her under her stage-name of “Marilyn” though. He prays for her under her real name of “Norma Jeane”, the name given her by her mother and under which she was once baptized by (of all people) the evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson while under the foster care of a very fundamentalist family.

The story of Cain and Abel is the story of the human race. It is tragically timeless, for it is tirelessly enacted over and over again in every generation. As Larry Norman once queried (as aged historians may remember from his song “Nothing Really Changes”), “Will Cain kill Abel—with a bayonet?” Regardless of the choice of weapon, somewhere and some place that murder is happening even now as you are reading this.

Some heresies never seem to die, but have a disconcerting tendency to pop up in every generation, rather like the emerging heads of the whack-a-mole in the children’s game one sees in Chuck E. Cheese: whack them down as hard and often as you like, but they will pop up again someplace else.

Like many Orthodox clergy, I have lost track of the number of times my Protestant brethren have objected to the priestly title (in my case, “Father Lawrence”), citing the Bible which commands that they “call no man ‘Father’”. They are, of course, thinking of our Lord’s words in Matthew 23:9. If I am feeling puckish and mischievous, I sometimes respond with a simple denial, insisting, “No, the Bible doesn’t say that” just to wind them up and make the final riposte more satisfying. It is not particularly sanctified, but it is fun. What is the difference between “call no man ‘father’” and “call no man your father”? The difference is the difference between a title or form of address and a relationship.

In my Protestant days, I had no problem with anyone talking about Mary—so long as it was Christmas. On Boxing Day, that was it. Over. No more talking about Mary. What are we anyway, Catholics? It was understood that when we packed away the Nativity set, all talk of Mary got packed up along with it. And my proof that Bible-believing Christians should not talk about Mary? The New Testament never did. Well, hardly ever did—just long enough to narrate the Christmas story. Was she in the Acts of the Apostles? Not really. Was she in the Epistles? No. So there you go: no talking about Mary or calling her blessed.

I would like to share with you an easy technique for avoiding moral accountability. Whenever you are caught and called to account for doing something wrong (that is, when you are “busted”), you simply invoke the figure of the Pharisee. Tell your accuser that he is being judgmental and Pharisaical, and that he has no right to judge you. After all, the Lord says, “Judge not”. It works almost every time, functioning as a moral Get Out of Jail Free card.

Recently I listened to a podcast in which Larry Chapp (a universalist Roman Catholic) interviewed Dr. David Bentley Hart. In the course of the interview Dr. Hart asserted that, unlike Roman Catholicism, Orthodoxy does not have an official and authoritative Magisterium. By this he meant that Orthodoxy possesses no institutional organ (such as the papacy and the episcopate dependent upon it) that can routinely and authoritatively declare what is or is not the official teaching of the Church when consulted.

Everyone presumably acknowledges that there is nothing wrong with children dressing up as fairies, Disney characters, Marvel superheroes, and (my own favourite when I was a child) black cats in order to go door to door with their friends after dark to collect candy. The argument against Halloween is that it also glorifies violence, gore, and death, so that it is unsuitable for Christians to participate in Halloween. Collecting candy is fine; it is the frightening stuff that comes afterward that is the problem. Halloween trades in things like graveyards and corpses and ugly witches on broomsticks and bats and cobwebs and Frankenstein monsters. So, the question arises: why do people delight in such scary stuff?

In 1956 an American game show debuted called “To Tell the Truth”. Each round of the game introduced three people all claiming to be the same person, and a team of panelists would ask them questions. Those pretending to be the real (usually famous) person would make up answers, while the real person would answer truthfully. The inquiring panelists would then guess which was the real person. The host of the show would conclude by saying, “Will the real (name) please stand up?” and he or she would then stand up thereby revealing their identity and the accuracy of the panelists’ guesses.

Those familiar with old-time Pentecostalist liturgy will identify the title of this piece as a part of that liturgy. Not, of course, that tongue-speaking Pentecostalists of the old school would admit to having liturgy. Liturgy, for them, is what the Catholics have (along with their step-children, the Anglicans) because they do not have God or the Holy Spirit. Liturgy is usually described by them as “dead liturgy” because the people using the liturgical book are spiritually dead and need such substitutes for true Spirit-led worship.

I have just finished reading Diarmaid MacCulloch’s Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years. It is a thoroughly enjoyable read, comprehensive, and engagingly written. It is also a great doorstopper of a book, so large a hardbound tome that unless one has hands like those of the Incredible Hulk one finds it hard to hold the book in one hand while drinking coffee with the other. The title (“the first three thousand years”) refers to the fact that the author begins his tale in 1000 B.C. to take account of Greek culture and Hebrew history. Such a comprehensive sweep takes many pages: 1016 to be exact, not counting notes, bibliography, and index.

In the baptismal prayer in which the priest blesses the baptismal water, there is a line that baptism will bestow upon the candidate the loosing of bonds, the remission of sins, the illumination of the soul and “the gift of adoption to sonship”. The phrase “adoption of sonship” is a reference to the words of St. Paul, who used the word to describe our salvation in Christ in Ephesians 1:5. There he sums up our salvation by saying that God “predestined us to adoption to sonship [Greek υίοθεσία/ uiothesia] through Jesus Christ to Himself”. Given that this adoption to sonship serves to encapsulate and summarize our entire salvation, we must pay it closer attention and to what it all means.

On September 8, the Church sings that the Nativity of the Theotokos has “proclaimed joy to the whole universe”. It is easy enough to sing, but somewhat harder now for us to understand. Why, we may ask, did the birth of a baby girl in around 18 B.C. or so proclaim joy to the whole inhabited world?

In the late Metropolitan’s Kallistos Ware’s classic The Orthodox Church, he describes the Church as “a continued Pentecost”. This is true, but it is important not to misunderstand his meaning.

It seems to be commonly held among scholars that the so-called monarchical episcopate (i.e. the system of having one bishop governing a city church with presbyters working with him) was not apostolic and did not come to Rome until the late second century or even later. That is the opinion of scholars such as Alistair Stewart (in his commentary Hippolytus: On the Apostolic Tradition), Brent Allen (in his Hippolytus and the Roman Church in the Third Century), and others such as the late great J.N.D. Kelly. By this figuring the Christians in Rome had no one leader who spoke for all of them, but were divided into a number of self-governing communities with different leaders described by various titles. A single leader who could speak for all the communities in Rome only arose in the late second century (with Bishop Victor) or the early third century (with Bishop Pontianus). Writers such as Irenaeus who asserted there were such singular leaders and bishops in Rome from the days of the apostles were, according to this theory, anachronistically projecting back a later system into an earlier time. It also follows therefore that the document known as the Apostolic Tradition, ascribed to Hippolytus and dating from the early third century, cannot be taken as evidence of a monepiscopate in Rome at that time, but must be regarded as the result of extensive redaction. What are we to make of this? Need we dump that section of Irenaeus’ work?

Fr. Lawrence laments the pervasive lessons taught today on gender and hearkens to the Song of Solomon.

Who were these who doubted in Matthew 28?

Despite his often being stigmatized by later generations as “Doubting Thomas” there is nothing in his past record to indicate such a defect of character.

Fr. Lawrence Farley comments on a discussion that takes place each year during Holy Week.

As as we journey through Great Lent, Fr. Lawrence Farley looks at the Prayer of St. Ephraim.

Fr. Lawrence Farley comments on the Anaphora, which is a Greek word meaning “offering.”

Fr. Lawrence Farley speaks at Daniel Chapel at Furman University on February 6, 2018. Fr. Farley explores the nature and end of humankind from an Eastern Orthodox Christian perspective.

Fr. Lawrence Farley talks about his new book A Song in the Furnace, the message of the book of Daniel.

Fr. Lawrence Farley is convinced that his culture knows absolutely nothing about the true meaning of Christmas.

How the concept of punishment in the world to come was understood at the time of Christ.

North American popular culture, as brought into your home and heart by the North American media, is a very powerful force, and it seems that we too easily underestimate its transforming power.

Fr. Lawrence says it is safe to say that the allegorical method has fallen upon hard times in the scholarly world.

We Christians share certain external similarities with the religions, but these external similarities can mask the inner meanings of the things we seem to share. In reality, everything in Christianity is different from the religions.

Fr. Lawrence continues his series and examines the correlation in the Scriptures between that which is clean and that which is unclean.

Do the words “God is love” mean God could never be wrathful?

The Feast of the Elevation of the Cross could also be called The Feast of Byzantium.

It is easy to misinterpret Christianity as a religion like any other but Fr. Lawrence maintains it is unique.

I sometimes cannot help asking myself three liturgical questions whenever I visit churches which serve the Liturgy in the “classic” pattern I learned in seminary—all of those questions quite rhetorical.

In the Gospel reading Christ even now stands in our midst to speak to our hearts.

We regard it as “Scripture”, a holy text, and of course it is. But it is also a personal letter addressed and written to people other than ourselves.

In the original usage, the Trisagion was sung as a refrain to Psalm 80. The cantor would chant verses of the psalm as all walked in procession and the people sung the Trisagion hymn as its refrain after every verse.

The decrees and canons of the Provincial and Ecumenical Councils today often sound odd in our modern ears.

Fr. Lawrence continues his commentary on the Divine Liturgy with a focus on the Antiphons.

Fr. Lawrence offers commentary on the Divine Liturgy with a focus today on the Great Litany.

The so-called “Holy Fire” is the name given to the fire that appears on ends of the candles of the Patriarch of Jerusalem and others every Holy Saturday.

What does the Orthodox Church think about gay sex? The official answer is not hard to find.

Fr. Lawrence talks about is just released Ancient Faith book "Unquenchable Fire."

How important is it for the people to be there when the Divine Liturgy starts?

Fr. Lawrence asks if we should be trying to convert those of other faiths or not faith to Christianity.

Fr. Lawrence talks about the societal lies that Pascha reveals.

Fr. Lawrence reflects on the questions that must be asked to determine if someone is preaching "another Jesus." He suggests that the blessing of same-sex activity by some churches raise the same questions as in St. Paul's day.

Where would you find yourself on that day when our Lord road into town on the seat of a foal?

Fr. Lawrence says that any sensible discussion of the moral legitimacy of capital punishment must center on the Scriptures and the Tradition of the Church, not on one’s subjective feelings

How do we spend our Sunday mornings? At a thrift store? On a golf course? Before the television set? And if we choose any of these options, what are we teaching others by these choices?

Fr. Lawrence says the Nicene Creed was created to exclude which goes against the grain of our modern secular society, where the word “inclusive” has become a magic word, conjuring up warm feelings of virtue, righteousness, and goodness.

So, what’s the deal with clerical dress and monastic habits? Do they really matter?

Fr. Lawrence suggests there are problems involved in declaring that only Orthodox may be commemorated if no further details are provided, for this sets up the liturgist to be a judge over the souls of men. But who then can be included?

In a recent blog post entitled Altar Girls, Fr. Lawrence raised concerns over considering this practice. In this podcast, he now looks at Altar Boys as well as Sub-Deacons and Acolytes.

With many of the autocephalous Churches meeting in Crete this week, some have wondered if this was another "Ecumenical Council" of the Orthodox Church. Fr. Lawrence Farley helps us understand that term.

On the seventh Sunday of Pascha, we commemorate the holy God-bearing Fathers of the First Ecumenical Council.

Fr. Lawrence explains the modern contempt for belief in the demonic and why it should be challenged.