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War and Virtue, full text keynote address OPF conference 2013

WAV 3 papanikolaou at OPF

War and Virtue

Aristotle Papanikolaou, Fordham University

Paper delivered at the annual conference of the Orthodox Peace Fellowship, Washington, DC – October 2013

[The following is the full text of Prof. Papanikolaou’s essay/address. The first half was published as an essay in the summer issue of In Communion, IC69]

Orthodoxy and Secular Rule: Ethics and Politics

Contemporary discussions of just war theory in Christian ethics focus on whether Christians should be in the business of defining criteria for the decision to go to war and for the proper engagement in combat. There is very little attention to the way in which, debates about just war criteria notwithstanding, combat soldiers are forced to engage in practices, both in training before war and during war, that fine-tune the body to the constant threat of violence—what I term the ascetics of war. If war is seen as fostering a certain ascetics on the body, then the Orthodox notion of divine-human communion (theosis) is relevant to discussions of war insofar as divine-human communion is itself linked to an ascetics of virtue. Understanding the human as created for communion with God shifts the focus of the discussion from just war versus pacifism to the effects of war on the human person and the practices that undo such effects. After briefly discussing the current debate within contemporary Orthodox theology on just war theory, I will draw on the work of Jonathan Shay to illustrate the effects of the ascetics of war on the body. I will then argue that the ascetics of virtue that involves the particular ascetical practice of truth-telling has the power to undo the traumatic effects of war on the combat veteran. Insofar as this undoing is an embodiment of virtue, it is also an embodiment of the divine—theosis.

Forgetting Virtue

When it comes to the question of war, the Orthodox are probably most well known for asserting that there is no just war “theory” in the Orthodox tradition in the form of distinctions between jus in bello and jus ad bellum, and their respective criteria; there is also consensus that within the tradition there has been discussion about the need to go to war even if such discussion never resulted in a just war “theory”; the current debate centers on how going to war is characterized: For Fr. Stanley Harakas, it is always a necessary evil; for Fr. Alexander Webster, there has existed a justifiable just war tradition within Orthodoxy that identifies under certain conditions when war is virtuous and of moral value. What is remarkable about the entire debate is that there is little attention to what is arguably the core and central axiom of the Orthodox tradition—the principle of divine-human communion. Webster speaks of war as “virtuous,” and yet absent is any attention to the tradition of thinking on virtue in either the ascetical writings or in such thinkers as Maximos the Confessor; in both cases, the understanding of virtue is inherently linked to one’s struggle toward communion with God—theosis. How exactly is claiming to have fought in a virtuous war, or to have killed virtuously consistent with this tradition of thinking on virtue in light of the principle of divine-human communion? Is it really the case that being virtuous in war means moving toward a deeper communion with God? Webster does not give an answer to these questions. Although Harakas does argue for the patristic bias for peace, approaching the issue from an eschatological perspective, his emphasis is still on how to label the action to go to war, or the conduct during war, and there is no attention to war from the perspective of the Orthodox understanding of creation’s destiny for communion with God.

The Vice of War

One result of understanding war from the principle of divine-human communion is attention to the effects of war on those who live through it, no matter what side one is on. Discussions of justifiable war may create the impression that as long as one is on the morally justified side of war, then that should be enough to mitigate the existential effects of war and violence. There is plenty of evidence to indicate that the “side” one is on makes absolutely no difference to the non-discriminatory effects of violence in war.
There is no shortage of stories of the traumatic effects of war from soldiers who fought in the Vietnam War, or the most recent wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. What stories from veterans of war reveal is that violence becomes embodied—its insidiousness seeps into the physiological infrastructure of the human person. If creation is created for communion, and if humans are the center of this divine-human drama, then divine-human communion itself is the presencing of the good into the deep recesses of the body—it is an embodied experience. Violence opens up the body not to God, but to the inhabitation of the anti-God.

This absence of the divine is evident in the staggering statistic that at least “one-third of homeless males are [Vietnam] veterans, with 150,000-250,000 veterans homeless on a given night and at least twice that number homeless at some time in the course of a given year.” It is also apparent in the study that showed that “35.8 percent of male Vietnam combat veterans met the full American Psychiatric Association diagnostic criteria for PTSD at the time of the study, in the late 1980s . . . This is a thirty-two-fold increase in the prevalence of PTSD compared to the random sample of demographically similar civilians. More than 70 percent of combat veterans had experienced at least one of the cardinal symptoms (‘partial PTSD’) at some time in their lives, even if they did not receive the full syndrome diagnosis.” This high rate of the experience of PTSD symptoms among Vietnam veterans demonstrates that the effects of war linger in the body long after a soldier’s tour of duty. This lingering is in the form of “(a) hostile or mistrustful attitude toward the world; (b) social withdrawal; (c) feelings of emptiness or hopelessness; (d) a chronic feeling of being ‘on the edge,’ as if constantly threatened; (e) estrangement.” Those who suffer from combat trauma often experience flashbacks to traumatic events, in which the primary image that is governing their emotional state is one of violence and impending threat to life. One would hope that sleep would give respite to such suffering, but combat trauma often leads to recurring nightmares; and, the lack of deep sleep leads to other inevitable emotional disturbances, such as increased irritability and tendency to anger. Beyond the recurring nightmares, combat veterans often simply cannot sleep because they trained themselves for the sake of survival to be hyper-alert and to react to sounds that may, in combat situations, be life-threatening; as any good ascetic would know, such training of the body is simply not undone by returning home. Add to all this “[r]andom, unwarranted rage at family, sexual dysfunction, no capacity for intimacy, [s]omatic disturbances, loss of ability to experience pleasure, [p]eripheral vasoconstriction, autonomic hyperactivity, [s]ense of the dead being more real than the living.” What is most damaging to combat veterans who suffer from symptoms of PTSD is the destruction of their capacity to trust, which inevitably renders impossible any forms of bonding with others that are meaningful. If Jesus’ greatest commandment was to “love the Lord your God with all your hear, with all your soul, and with all your mind” and to “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Mt 22:37-39), then experiencing PTSD symptoms simply makes that impossible. What is most demonic about the violence of war is its power to debilitate the capacity to experience love—both in the form of being loved and loving another.

Most frightening of the diverse forms in which PTSD is manifested in combat soldiers is that which is called the “berserk state.” The state of being berserk also poses a formidable challenge to Christian conceptions of the spiritual life, and, in particular, the notion of deification. Berserk is an extreme state of PTSD that is triggered by such events as “betrayal, insult, or humiliation by a leader; death of a friend-in-arms, being wounded; being overrun, surrounded, or trapped; seeing dead comrades who have been mutilated by the enemy; and unexpected deliverance from certain death.” Shay elaborates that “I cannot say for certain that betrayal is a necessary precondition. However, I have yet to encounter a veteran who went berserk from grief alone.” The characteristics of the berserk state are: “beastlike, godlike, socially disconnected, crazy, mad, insane, enraged, cruel, without restraint or discrimination, insatiable, devoid of fear, inattentive to own safety, distractible, reckless, feeling invulnerable, exalted, intoxicated, frenzied, cold, indifferent, insensible to pain, suspicious of friends.” Soldiers who go berserk in combat are often those who put themselves in the greatest danger and, if they survive, are deemed, ironically, the most heroic. There is growing research that indicates that the berserk state entail “changes in the parts of the brain that process incoming sensations for signs of danger and connect sensation with emotion.” Even after combat, a veteran can go berserk, and often have no recollection of it, as was the case with John, and Iraqi war veteran, who cut his fiancée and her mother with a knife after an argument over bus schedules, and after a long stretch in which John was showing progress through treatment. After cutting his fiancée and her mother, John then cut himself, telling the police as they walked in, “see, it doesn’t hurt.” John could not immediately recall the event; he had to be told what had happened; and, on being told, he was afraid that he had killed his daughter, which he did not.

What’s most troubling about the berserk state is that violence can imprint itself on the body—and, thus, on the soul—in ways that could be permanent: “On the basis of my work with Vietnam veterans, I conclude that the berserk state is ruinous, leading to the soldier’s maiming or death in battle—which is the most frequent outcome—and to life-long psychological and physiological injury if he survives. I believe that once a person has entered the berserk state, he or she is changed forever.” He amplifies that “[m]ore than 40 percent of Vietnam combat veterans sampled in the late 1980s by the congressionally mandated National Vietnam Veterans Readjustment Study reported engaging in violent acts three times or more in the previous year.” The spiritually challenging question is, what meaning could speaking about theosis possibly have for someone whose physiology has been permanently scarred by violence?

In addition to PTSD, a new category is emerging in order to distinguish a certain state of being that is effected by the combat veteran’s participation in war and that is no longer thought to be identical with PTSD, even if many of the symptoms are similar. This state of being is being called “moral injury,” which is distinguished from PTSD in the sense of not being induced through a fear response. Moral injury refers to the state of being when a combat veteran experiences a deep sense of having violating their own core moral beliefs. It may occur as a result of killing, torturing prisoners, abusing dead bodies or failing to prevent such acts; it may also ensure even if there was no way for the combat veteran to avoid doing such acts. In the experience of moral injury, combat veterans may judge themselves to be worthless, unable to live with an act he or she committed that is a never erasable act. Symptoms are similar to those as PTSD, such as isolation, mistrust of others, depression, addiction, emotional detachment, and negative self-judgments. There are countless stories that I’ve heard of combat veterans who admit that they are afraid to speak of all that they did in combat situations for fear that the one to whom they speak will deem him or her unlovable. In the situation of moral injury, the Christian concept of forgiveness is extremely relevant. Moral injury points to the need for self-forgiveness, which I would argue is impossible without some sense of transcendence. The necessity for some form of transcendence in order to enable self-forgiveness of an act committed that can never be taken back and never forgotten but is integratable in a personal narrative through an intuition of one’s narrative being a part of a larger cosmic and divine reality, in my mind points more powerfully to the existence of God than any other philosophical argument, whether it be the cosmological, ontological or teleological arguments.

It is very disturbing to hear the stories of combat veterans, which include: not sleeping with their spouses for fear that a nightmare may lead them to physically harm their spouse; not being able to sleep in the middle of the night because of hyper-vigilance; not wanting to be outdoors for fear that a sound, such as a bird chirping or water running, may trigger combat mode; not being able to enter public spaces, such as grocery stores or elevators; having dreams of mutilating one’s children; alienating friends and families; not being able to hold a job, or even get a job for fear of public spaces. These and many such similar stories reveal that there is an ascetics to war: either through the training received in the military, or through the practices that one performs in the midst of war to train the body for survival against constant threat of violence, war is the undoing of virtue in the sense that impacts negatively a combat veteran’s capacity for relationship with family, friends and strangers. War does not simply cause “lifelong disabling psychiatric symptoms but can ruin good character.” From the perspective of the principle of divine-human communion, the ruin of good character is not limited to the “soul” of the combat veteran; “character” is a relational category and the ruin of character is simultaneously the ruin of relationships.

What does theosis have to do with war?

On the surface, it would seem that for those who suffer from PTSD as a result of combat, or any trauma, talk of theosis or divine-human communion seems like a luxury. To some extent, the Orthodox have contributed to this perception of the irrelevancy of theosis to those who are in the midst of perpetual suffering by predominantly linking deification to the monk in the monastery, the desert, on a stylite or in the forest; add to this the tendency to describe theosis in supernatural terms of being surrounded divine light, battling demons, or eating with the bears. In order to have any relevancy for the experience of trauma, theosis must expand the boundaries of the monastery and be made more worldly.

This more mundane form of theosis is rendered possible in the Greek patristic tradition in its linking of divine-human communion to virtue, which can illuminate what Shay means by the “undoing of character” that occurs as a result of war. In the writings of Maximos the Confessor (d. 662), communion with God, which is an embodied presencing of the divine, is simultaneous with the acquisition of virtue: Virtue is embodied deification. To say that the human is created with the potential to be god-like should not conjure up images of Greek mythology; within the Greek patristic texts, it simply means that if God is love, then the human was created to love, and this love is simultaneously a uniting oneself with God, since God is love. In Maximos the Confessor, deification is the acquisition of love, the virtue of virtues, and his Centuries on Love is a treatise in which Maximos discusses a trajectory of the acquisition of virtues toward the acquisition of the virtue of virtues—Love. For Maximos, the human is created to learn how to love, and is in constant battle against that which weakens the capacity to love.

Virtue, for Maximos, is not a building of character for character’s sake; it is not a state of being where one displays one’s virtues like badges of honor; it is not simply the basis for proper moral decision making. The acquisition of virtue is the precondition for enabling the human capacity to love: “Scripture calls the virtues ways, and the best of all the virtues is love” (4.74). Virtues are necessary for the learning and acquisition of love: “All the virtues assist the mind in the pursuit of divine love” (1.11). Maximos does not restrict himself to only the four cardinal virtues—prudence, courage, temperance, and justice—but, consistent with the Eastern Christian patristic tradition, gives a wider catalogue of virtues and vices that correspond to the three parts of the soul: sensible, irascible and the rational. Particular virtues correspond to particular vices, insofar as each virtue is meant to neutralize a particular vice. The hermeneutical key to Maximos’s complicated detailing of the relation of virtues and vices to the inner life of the human person and to human agency is “progress in the love of God,” (2.14), which is measured ultimately by how one relates to others, especially those to whom one feels hatred or anger (1.71). This particular definition of virtue, then, illuminates the full force and terrifying implications of Shay’s idea of war leading to the “undoing of character.” What is being undone is the human capacity to love and to receive love. When something like the berserk state “destroys the capacity for virtue,” this destruction is not simply an evacuation of a “sense of being valued and of valuing anything,” as Shay defines it; according to the description of how combat veterans relate to their family, neighbors, friends and strangers, what is impaired is the capacity for authentic relationships marked by intimacy, trust, depth—love.

If virtues are embodied deification, the precondition for the learning of the virtue of virtues, which is love, then vice impairs the capacity for love. Maximos explains that “[t]he purpose of divine Providence is to unify by an upright faith and spiritual love those who have been separated in diverse ways by vice” (4.17). He elaborates that the “vice that separates you from your brother” includes “envying and being envied, hurting or being hurt, insulting or being insulted, and suspicious thoughts” (4.18-19). Maximos is also astute to know that vice breeds vice; i.e., that it is not simply the doing of vice that harms the capacity for love, it is being “viced upon”: “The things which destroy love are these: dishonor, damage, slander (either against faith or against conduct), beatings, blows, and so forth, whether these happen to oneself or to one’s relatives or friends” (4.81). Vices produce and are such affective emotions as anger, hatred, and fear. Thoughout this treatise, Maximos is attempting both to advise and exhort a form of training that can overcome what are ultimately corrosive emotions, no matter how justified.

Also relevant to illuminating the “undoing of character” that war and violence potentially effect on a combat veteran is Maximos’s discussion of the relation of images to the cultivation of vices and virtues. According to Maximus, what often incites and reifies a vice are images or thoughts that present themselves to the human person. Maximos explains that “Love and self-mastery keep the mind detached from things and from their representations . . . The whole war of the monk against demons is to separate the passions from the representations (3.39, 3.41). He adds that the “virtues separate the mind from the passions (3.44). Maximos also warns when “insulted by someone or offended in any matter, then beware of angry thoughts, lest by distress they sever you from charity and place you in the region of hatred” (1.29). “Detachment,” for Maximos, “is a peaceful state of the soul in which it become resistant to vice” (1.36). In terms of images that incite vice, this resistence is not a removal of the image, but disabling of its power to evoke such feelings of anger or hatred. To be virtuous is to experience in the face of images the emotions and desires that cultivate authentic relationships.

The problem that veterans with PTSD often face is that the images they confront, whether real or imaginary, trigger the emotion of impending fear, which leads to other negative emotions, such as anger-turned-to-rage and hatred, which then lead to a withdrawal from the other. The relation between images of impending threat and certain emotions and desires is reminiscent of Saint Anthony the Great’s encounter with images of the demonic; Anthony’s struggle was against those images and their potential impact on the passions. In this sense, the acquisition of virtue, has something to do with the affective response to certain images, either real or imaginary. Virtue is not the elimination of images—how could one forget a friend’s head being blown off—but, rather, an attenuation of the power of demonic images on the landscape of one’s emotions and desires, which forms the basis for the shape of relationality. In combat trauma, the redoing of virtue does not mean forgetting one’s friend’s head being blown off; rather, healing is about acquiring a new kind of memory of the events. The acquisition of virtue would be an affective response to the images of war and violence that do not destroy relationships but open the path for a breakthrough of love.

If the ascetics of war is an undoing of good character, which is the destruction of the capacity for authentic relationships, then the challenge for combat veterans is to engage in the tasks that lead to a redoing of virtue, which would increase their capacity for such relationships, and for the embodied presence of the divine—theosis. Maximos discusses the virtues in terms of the power to counter particular vices. Insofar as virtue is related to love, then virtues build relationships of intimacy, trust, compassion, empathy, friendship, sharing, caring, humility, and honesty: all that is apparently threatened by the experience of vice. Insofar as virtues build proper relationships while vices destroy such relationships, then the ascetics of theosis must be relevant to those attempting to undo the ascetics of war. According to Maximos, the acquisition of virtue is a training realized in and through certain practices that forms both the body and the inner life (soul) of the human person; virtue is a wiring of the self as openness to love. Thinking about the healing of combat trauma along the lines of practices and virtues provides a way for intersecting the psychological literature on trauma and the ascetical/mystical tradition on the formation of virtue. The connecting category is that of practices, since the combat veteran must engage in a new kinds of ascetics, one that replaces the ascetics of war in order to combat the demonic images impacting his relationships to self and others.

Although there are many practices that enable the acquisition of virtue, and thus, the capacity for relationships of trust, intimacy, depth and love, I will restrict my focus to one that is key to any redoing of virtue in both the psychological and the ascetical/mystical literature—the practice of truth-telling or confession. In the Christian tradition, truth-telling is primarily associated with the sacrament of Confession understood forensically as fulfilling a contractual obligation to tell a priest one’s sins before forgiveness is granted; or, with the moral obligation not to lie. When speaking about truth-telling as a practice that enables the capacity for love through the acquisition of virtues, I am not referring strictly to either a forensic understanding of the Sacrament of Confession, or the moral obligation to tell the truth. Speaking certain truths in the midst of another or other persons has the power both to reconfigure the relationships in which such a truth is spoken, and to produce an affective effect on the landscape of one’s emotions and desires. Truths spoken hover in the midst of a relationship with the power to affect both the speaker and the listener(s). It is not uncommon to think that one can protect oneself from a traumatic experience by simply attempting to forget it, or by not verbalizing it to others. The irony is that only through a verbal acknowledgement or recognition, which cannot be revoked, can the power of the traumatic image be mitigated. It is also the case that the affective result of truth-telling as an event depends on the listener, who can use the spoken truth either to iconically presence the divine toward mitigating the power of the effects of violence, or can image the demonic by adding violence to violence. In short, the event of truth-telling to another is a iconically charged event, that can potentially presence either the divine or the demonic.

Both Jonathan Shay and Judith Herman in their experience with trauma victims attest to the basic truth that healing cannot occur until the trauma victim can begin to speak about the traumatic events. Truth-telling in and of itself is not sufficient for healing, but it is absolutely necessary. Also, truth-telling of trauma cannot begin until a safe and secure environment is established for the trauma victim, what Herman refers to as stage one of recovery. Once such a secure and safe environment is established, it is absolutely essential that the victim of combat trauma speak about the truth about the traumatic event and reconstruct a narrative of the event itself.

To even speak the truth about the trauma of war can be interpreted as an embodiment of the virtue of humility, in the sense that making oneself vulnerable is requisite to opening the self to loving and being loved. The sixth-century Syriac Christian ascetic, Dorotheos of Gaza, analogizes the Christian life to building a house, “[t]he roof is charity, which is the completion of virtue as the roof completes the house. After the roof comes the crowning of the dwelling place . . .[i.e. railings around the flat roof] . . . The crown is humility. For that is the crown and guardian of all virtues. As each virtue needs humility for its acquisition—and in that sense we said each stone is laid with the mortar of humility—so also the perfection of all the virtues is humility.” As Shay declares, “the fact that these veterans can speak at all of their experience is a major sign of healing.” The reconstruction of the narrative must also be in the context of other persons, in the form of a community. Shay argues that the “healing of trauma depends upon the communalization of the trauma—being able to safely to tell the story to someone who is listening and who can be trusted to retell it truthfully to others in the community.” The mitigation of the demonic, thus, depends on truth, even if such a truth has to do with the experience of the demonic; and this truth needs to be “communalized” told and listened to by others.

Over the years, Shay has discovered that such communalization is most effective when the community itself consists of those who know, either directly or indirectly, the effects of combat trauma. Much like Alcoholics Anonymous, the healing power of truth-telling depends not simply on telling the truth, but on who is listening. The rebound effect of truth-telling depends on the symbolic/iconic significance of the one listening. In the end, the veterans heal each other. Theologically, the veterans are iconically charged to presence the divine to each other, even in the midst of, and because of, their shared suffering.

The affective effect of truth-telling might also require a listener beyond a community of combat veterans. Shay’s “clinical team has encouraged many of the veterans we work with to avail themselves of the sacrament of penance. When a veteran does not already know a priest he trusts to hear his confession, we have suggested priest who understand enough about combat neither to deny that he has anything to feel guilty about nor to recoil in revulsion and send him away without the sacrament.” What this need for a form of truth-telling beyond the community of combat veterans reveals is that the experience of forgiveness needs another kind of listener other than the empathetic combat veteran. Although the same ascetical practice, truth-telling to distinctive listeners does different kinds of work on the landscape of one’s emotions and desire. The chances are very high that the ascetics of war will lead some to engage in practices in which there is a felt need for forgiveness. Tom Mathews’s father felt this need, as did John, who could barely speak about how combat in Iraq lead to killing of kids whom he realized “could be your kids.” On the cosmic scale, other combat veterans cannot iconically symbolize that forgiveness; cannot be a kind of listener that enables the realization of that forgiveness as an affective event in the combat veteran. Someone like a priest is iconically charged to perform that role.

The importance of truth-telling in the redoing of virtue only highlights how the military culture of denial and repression of the combat experience is corrosive. When mistakes were made and innocent people were killed rather than the “enemy,” the military thought it was helping by covering for the solider(s), who were told that it would be “all right.” Shay relays one story in which the soldiers involved in such a mistake were actually given medals as a way of covering up for the mistake. When friends are lost, soldiers are told to “stuff those tears,” or “to get even.” Whereas in ancient cultures, dead bodies, including those of the enemy, were treated with respect, the US military had no mechanism in Vietnam for memorializing the dead. Ancient cultures also had rituals for reintegrating soldiers back into society after battle. Such rituals did not depend on whether the battle was just or not. American soldiers return from war with little to no fanfare, trying to figure out what to do next. What’s especially egregious is how the US military has not provided sufficient enough resources for combat veterans showing symptoms of PTSD, often making difficult the availability of such resources because of budgetary constraints. Although improvements have been made, what pervades military culture, and American culture in general, is a pelagian-like “suck it up” attitude, with no realization at all of how a combat veteran is ultimately in the grip of the demonic until engaging in ascetic practices that undo the effects of war and violence.

It is both encouraging, ironic and a little troubling to contemplate how an ascetics of virtue in the form of fostering a community of people who learn to trust each other, who form bonds of affection through telling personal stories, who become friends, has the power to mitigate the effects of the ascetics of war. Beyond the debates over whether Christians should think about criteria for judging decisions to go to war, which this essay has not necessarily dismissed as illegitimate, the formation of communities of virtue both before and after combat has the power to mitigate the effects of violence on any one of the members in the community itself, especially if that community of virtue presupposes an open space for truth-telling.

There is an even deeper theological significance to the necessity of truth-telling as part of an ascetic of virtue that undoes the ascetic of war. First, it reveals that God meets someone in the truth of her concrete, historical situation. In the case of combat trauma, it is not a matter of first undoing the effects of war and then going off to the desert to achieve theosis; undoing the effects of violence is itself the desert in which the combat veteran finds himself in his struggle to (re)experience the presence of the divine. The ascetical struggle toward divine-human communion is entrenched in a particular history and a particular body, which then demands the virtue of discernment on the part of the community of combat veterans, the mental health professional, the priest, even family and friends in order to extricate the combat veteran from the grip of the demonic. As Shay argues, “Modern combat is a condition of enslavement and torture.” The formation of communities of virtue, which presuppose truth-telling, mitigates and breaks the cycle of violence. Second, sin committed and sin that is done to us cannot be forgotten, repressed or denied. It is part of the fabric of the universe that the truth must be recognized, otherwise it will haunt us in other forms. It is only by integrating the truth of sin into our narrative that it can then be neutralized in its effect. In the end, God is the God of truth, which includes the unique and particular truths of our narratives; if God is truth, then God is found in the verbal recognition of the truths of our narrative, no matter how horrific those truths may be. Although “neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor power, nor things present nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39), to love and be loved by God and neighbor depends ultimately on the practice and virtue of honesty, which includes the courage to acknowledge and accept the truths of our own narrative.

Suggestive Conclusions

In sharing these ideas with a colleague it was pointed out to me that perhaps I am confusing therapy with morality. I think that what I have presented here today is, in part, attempting to trouble the waters between too easy a divide between, to use a different word, spirituality and ethics. It is clear that in Maximos the Confessor that whatever virtue is it has to do with what humans are meant to be, which for Maximos was creatures built to learn how to love. In so far as the arena of war, which extends as far back as military training to post-deployment life, involves engaging in a set of practices that are constitutive of the self, then what happens to the combat veteran is as much an ethical concern as are the decisions about whether or not to go to war, and by what means should war be waged.

My discussion today did not in any way intend to undermine just-war ethics; nor am I advocating a pacifist position. Christian ethics still needs to discuss when and by what means violence is legitimate, or whether these are the right questions to ask. I do think, however, that an ethics of war that focuses simply on these questions is missing other dimensions in the ascetics of war which a Christian virtue ethics can illuminate and offer resources for reflection. There may, in fact, be just uses of violence, which are also motivated by courage, temperance, justice and charity, but such a use of violence is not the end of the ethical story. Ethics needs to consider the effect of inflicted and inflicting violence on the human person and the formation of virtue that could potentially mitigate or reverse such effects, the most damaging being the capacity to love and be loved.

Finally, this interrelation between violence and virtue that I am presenting today could also be extended to areas of ethics beyond the ethics of war, such as issues related to social justice. The effects of violence on the human is also clearly visible in the poor neighborhoods in the big cities of the United States (and I’m sure of Europe), where the threat of violence is constant. One teenager who lived in a poor neighborhood of Chicago, which is infested with violent gangs, described his neighborhood as a daily war zone. Related to this, one of the most difficult questions confronting educators in the United States is how to educate children in poorer neighborhoods, who are consistently underperforming in comparison with children in more middle-class or affluent neighborhoods. Paul Tough has recently reported on approaches to this problem that focus on character, such as the recent work and studies of the Nobel-Prize economist from the University of Chicago, James Heckman. Tough describes how educators for decades were focusing on improving what are called “cognitive skills,” which have to do with such things as reading and mathematics. Studies have shown that the skills correlated with success in such things as college graduation, or well-paying job are what are called “non-cognitive skills.” It is the development of non-cognitive skills that allow for the development of cognitive skills. Examples of non-cognitive skills are self-control, impulse control, anger management, delayed gratification, or thinking before making a bad decision. If you have not noticed already, these sound a lot like St. Maximus’s virtues.

What they have also discovered is that the stress from adverse experiences in childhood, such as the experience of violence or the threat of violence, can prevent non-cognitive skills from developing properly. If a child has experienced four or more adverse effects as a child, she is thirty-two times likely to develop learning problems. If a child is experiencing the constant threat of violence in the home, the stress that such a threat generates can prevent the development of the part of the brain responsible for non-cognitive skills. Another way it was explained is this: if one is in the forest and is confronted by a bear, then the part of the brain responsible for aggression will activate and that part of the brain responsible for reading and writing will deactivate in order for the person to prepare for an emergency response. Such an emergency response, however, is meant to be infrequent. For some children living in a family home situation in which the threat of violence is constant, the brain responds as if facing a bear every single day. If the emergency response of the brain is activated repeatedly, the brain forms pathways that get increasingly ingrained. In day-to-day situations, this means that it is difficult for such children to learn reading and mathematics in class when the brain is constantly on emergency response mode. It also explains why such children are plagued with two of the vices that St. Maximus says get in the way of love—fear and anger. It is not uncommon for such children to have behavioral problems in school that often manifests itself in rage. Being surrounded by or experiencing violence can actually form the brain in such a way as to form the vices of fear and anger (again, not necessarily self-love as much as self-loathing). These vices are impairing the ability to be in the kind of relationships that would not simply allow for love to occur, but to allow for learning to occur.

What was also interesting about these studies is that it is being shown how proper attachment to a parent or parents can help a child manage the stress of adverse situations. In other words, the development of proper relations through the virtues can counter the vices formed through the experience or threat of violence. What’s most hopeful is that these non-cognitive skills can be learned even throughout adulthood; in other words, the human was created in such a way that these non-cognitive skills can be learned no matter what the age of a person. What is really remarkable about all this, at least for me, is the connection between all that these studies are showing with all that St. Maximus says about the interrelation between the manifestation of the virtues and contemplation.

What I have attempted to suggest in this paper is that St. Maximus’s account of virtue can disrupt the current status quo in both philosophical and theological virtue ethics, as well as just war and social ethics, by offering a thick understanding of the human telos as one that entails learning how to love. St. John Chrysostom once said that even the poor need virtue. St. Maximus helps us to understand this comment in the sense that what is distinctive about an Orthodox war and social ethics for today goes well beyond simply congratulating the solider for his or her service, or helping the poor during a time of need, or advocating for systemic change. By never wavering in its understanding of the human being as being created to learn how to love, a Christian war and social ethics offers the very wisdom of the practices needed to form the human being in the virtues that would allow the human to mitigate the effects of poverty and violence, and enable the person to learn how to love, which is nothing less, according to St. Maximus, than the experience of God. If poverty and violence potentially depersonalize and render the human being faceless, then the ascetical practices that manifest the virtues and that enable the capacity to love are essential for the realization of the person as a eucharistic being in the world that is free (ekstatic) and irreducibly unique (hypostatic).

Three Faiths Meet at OPF Conference

By Teresa Peneguy Paprock

Not your usual Orthodox Christian gathering: Daniel Spiro, left, and Haytham Younis

Above: Not your usual Orthodox Christian gathering: Daniel Spiro, left, and Haytham Younis

An imam, a priest and a rabbi walk into a bar, and the bartender says, “What is this? A joke?” It’s not often you see Muslims, Christians and Jews in conversation. But at the 2010 Orthodox Peace Fellowship North America Conference, representatives of the three Abrahamic faiths talked together, laughed together, broke bread together and discussed the challenges of interfaith dialogue in today’s fear-charged world. The conference was held the first three days of October at St. Paul Greek Orthodox Church in Irvine, California.

The stage was set Friday evening by keynote speaker Dr. Ben Campbell Johnson, executive director of the Institute of Church Renewal and the author of more than a dozen books, including Beyond 9/11: Christians and Muslims Together: An Invitation to Conversation. Johnson, a former evangelical, taught at Columbia Theological Seminary from 1981 to 2000. “Nothing in my life,” he said, “would have predicted that someday I would be standing here [at an interfaith event hosted by Orthodox Christians].”

At the age of 75, Johnson had an epiphany. He realized that the 21st century would be all about Christians and Muslims “and I didn’t know anything about Islam.” After reading and research on Islam, he found himself sitting across from a Muslim woman having a heart-to-heart conversation. He thought to himself, “This woman believes in the same God that I do. I began to see the world differently.”

Johnson admitted that for most of his life, he had been afraid of engaging people of faiths other than his own variety of Protestant Christianity. But the more he learned about different religions, and the more time he spent with people of other faiths, the deeper his own faith became.

“I'd Like to Buy an Enemy” – Ted Swartz on the right

Above: “I’d Like to Buy an Enemy” – Ted Swartz on the right

After dinner in the parish hall, the conference participants gathered for some comic relief from Ted & Company Theaterworks. Ted Swartz, a Mennonite, had planned to become a pastor, but fell in love with theater in college and has been performing ever since. His satiric play, “I’d Like to Buy an Enemy,” exposed the ironies of American society as it relates to peace, justice, and fear. “War is such an eclectic endeavor,” he sighs with a smile. “Sooner or later you get to play it with everybody.”

The next morning, three concurrent dialogue sessions were held: Jewish-Muslim (Daniel Spiro and Hytham Younis, co-founders of the Jewish-Islamic Dialogue Society in Washington, DC); Catholic-Orthodox (Fr. Steven Tsichlis, pastor of St. Paul’s, and Fr. Al Baca of St. Cecilia Catholic Church in nearby Tustin); and Orthodox-Mennonite (OPF’s Alexander Patico, Fr. Alexander Goussetis of Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and Swartz).

Ms. Jahan Stanizai, a Muslim who is president the Interfaith Alliance in Culver City, then participated in a community dialogue with Fr. John-Brian Paprock, of Holy Transfiguration Orthodox Church, Madison, Wisconsin, and creator of Wisconsin’s Interfaith Awareness Week, now in its 12th year.

Stanizai is from Afghanistan – the “old” Afghanistan, before most of the country was seized by extremists. “We were a secular country that was 99 percent Muslim,” she said. “We were the Switzerland of Asia. We had women in power, we had excellent education. Now they say you can’t find a wall more than a foot high without a bullet hole in it.” As a result of the current power structure and the war, she says, “many opportunities have been lost. Educated people are under attack – killed, imprisoned or have left the country. Afghanistan has lost a generation.”

Stanizai, a psychotherapist who works in family therapy, senses peoples’ discomfort when they find out she is a Muslim. “People hold back. I can see their reaction,” she said.“I learned more about my religion in the US than I did in my own country. I analyzed the Koran here and I see how many Muslim cultures are wrong. [But hatred] is contradictory to the Koran.”

Fr. John-Brian Paprock, a priest and hospital chaplain, said he deals with interfaith issues all the time, especially at the hospital, where more than 90 percent of the people he sees are non-Orthodox. While serving in the Madison Urban Ministry, involved in issues such as homelessness, he worked with an all-white group of clergy. “We were talking about race relations and I thought, ‘There’s a problem here,’” he said. But when the group became more diverse, conflict arose – not between people of different races, but between people of different religions: specifically a Baptist and a member of the Nation of Islam (both African-Americans). “I realized the biggest issue we deal with is not race, but faith,” he said. Dealing with interfaith issues can be uncomfortable, “but it’s the struggle. When you are most uncomfortable, that is when you meet God.”

Like others at the conference, Paprock noted that, in becoming more involved in interfaith dialogue, “I’ve gone deeper into my own faith. And I realized that God is bigger than all religions. God doesn’t need religion; we do. God allows us to be separate.”

The author of several books, including Neighbors, Strangers and Everyone Else, Paprock believes that Orthodox Christians “can honor the goodness in others even if those others are deceived.… I do not believe there is more than the one Way to get to the Father. At the same time, we cannot judge anyone outside of our own community – for they may have a relationship with God we may not fathom.”

After lunch and into the evening, conference participants watched three films.

Arranged tells the story of the friendship between an Orthodox Jewish woman her Muslim colleague, both new teachers at a Brooklyn school. The young women both respect their family traditions, which include arranged marriage, but must also deal with modern frustrations.

The second film, Out of Cordoba, is about inter-religious harmony in the ancient Spanish city of Cordoba. Director Jacob Bender attended the conference to comment on the film. The film takes Bender, an American Jew, on a post 9-11 journey to Spain, Morocco, France, Italy, Egypt, Palestine, and Israel. He found that conflict between Judaism and Islam is not inevitable.

Ruth Broyde Sharone presented God and Allah Need to Talk. Sharone is a film maker, interfaith pro-activist, community organizer and motivational speaker. The film portrays both the Islamic Center of Southern California, which welcomes visitors of other faiths, and Temple Kol Tikvah, which holds an annual Muslim-Jewish Seder of Reconciliation. Before and after the film, Persian singer Mamak Khadem performed some haunting melodies with Israeli musician Yuval Ron.

The conference presented all the participants with an amazing opportunity to live the biblical text: “When a stranger sojourns with you in your land, you shall not do him wrong. The stranger who sojourns with you shall be to you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” [Leviticus 19:33-34]

Teresa Peneguy Paprock is a writer and a member of the Orthodox Peace Fellowship. She is married to Fr. John-Brian Paprock of Holy Transfiguration Orthodox Church, Madison, Wisconsin. Next years’s OPF conference, on the theme of forgiveness, will be held in Madison.


The Annual North American Conference of OPF, Irvine, CA 2010

North American Conference of OPF 2010

Flyer OPF 2010 North American Conference PDF

The Annual North American Conference of OPF will take place in Irvine, CA, October 1 through 3, 2010.  The unifying theme is “Interfaith Dialogue.”  Speakers will come from the Orthodox tradition, as well as Jewish, Muslim, and others.  The program will be a mix of talks and discussions, music, comedy, award-winning films and one-on-one conversation.  Though differences exist and need to be acknowledged, we can learn from one another and create a more peaceful world in the process. Non-members are welcome — this conference is not to be missed!

“Registration can be done by returning this form to Alex Patico at [email protected] in advance, or onsite at the conference venue in Irvine.”

Registration Form in Word.doc for DOWNLOAD↓↓↓

Registration Form in PDF for DOWNLOAD↓↓↓




Conference Theme:  “Interfaith Dialogue”

Friday, October 1

1:00 – 5:00 pm    Registration, St. Paul’s Greek Orthodox Church, Irvine, CA

3:00 – 5:00 pm     Meeting of Conference Staff (Church Conference Room) or: Free Time

5:00 – 6:00 pm     Conference Opening/Keynote: The Interfaith Conversation:
A Talk with Ben Johnson, founder of Interfaith Institute

6:15 – 7:15 pm     Dinner in the Church Hall

7:30 – 8:30 pm     I’d Like to Buy an Enemy – Ted & Company

8:30 – 9:00 pm    Discussion of issues related to the show

9:00 pm         Transportation back to hotel

Saturday, October 2

7:30 – 8:30 am     Breakfast at hotel (or elsewhere)/ Transportation to Church

8:00 – 9:00 am    Registration/Conversation

9:00 – 10:15 am     Concurrent Sessions

A    Jewish-Muslim Dialogue
Daniel Spiro and Hytham Younis
Co-founders, The Jewish-Islamic Dialogue Society (Washington, DC Area)

B    Catholic-Orthodox Dialogue
Fr. Steven Tsichlis, St. Paul Greek Orthodox Church (Irvine, CA) and
Fr. Al Baca, St. Cecilia Roman Catholic Church (Tustin, CA)

C    Orthodox-Mennonite Dialogue
Alexander Patico, OPF Secretary (North America)
Fr. Alex Goussetis, Annunciation Gr. Orthodox Cathedral (Lancaster, PA)

10:15 – 10:30 am    Break/ Refreshments

10:30 – 11:45 am    Community Dialogue
Fr. John-Brian Paprock, Interfaith Awareness Week (Madison, WI)
Ms. Jahan Stanzai, Culver City Interfaith Alliance (Culver City, CA)

11:45 am – noon    Break

12:00 – 1:00 pm     Lunch in the Church Hall
Remarks by Attillah Kahveci, Pacifica Foundation (Los Angeles, CA)

1:00 – 2:00 pm     Free Time for conversation or meditation, or
OPF Organizational Meeting (optional)

2:00 pm – 3:15 pm    Film:  Arranged

Note:  This film concerns arranged marriage in the Muslim and Orthodox

Jewish communities and dealing with modernity and tradition.

3:15 – 3:45 pm    Film discussion

3:45 – 4:00 pm     Break

4:00 – 5:22 pm    Film:  Out of Cordoba: Averroes and Maimonides in Their Time and Ours.”
Note:  This film shows the rich tradition of inter-religious harmony and
synergy in the ancient Spanish city of Cordoba.

5:30 – 6:00 pm    Discussion with filmmaker Jacob Bender

6:00 – 6:45 pm     Vespers at St. Paul’s Sanctuary

6:45 – 7:45 pm    Dinner at area restaurant

8:00 – 10:15 pm     Workshop and film:  God and Allah Must Talk
Ruth Broyde Sharone (Los Angeles, CA)
Note:  Ms. Sharone will be leading conferees in an energetic examination of             what we each might do to increase understanding and promote peace.

Sunday, October 3

Note:  please complete your check-out in the morning, or make alternate arrangements

8:00 -9:00 am        Breakfast at hotel (for those not fasting in preparation for Liturgy)

9:00 am        Orthros Service

10:00 am        Divine Liturgy

Serving:  Fr. Steven Tsichlis, other clergy

11:45 – 12:45         Luncheon in the Church Hall

Closing Remarks:  Fr. John-Brian Paprock
Note:  regarding 2011 Conference OPF-North America on “Forgiveness.”

1:00 pm         Conference Close

OPF’s Vocation: Witnessing to the Peace of Christ

Several meetings held as a part of the recent OPF-North American conference in Maryland focused on the road ahead. These notes grew out of those discussions.

Education: Taking education to mean both educating ourselves and helping to educate others, we have begun to develop a more active engagement. There is interest in providing formal and informal experiences for OPF members to advance their development as peacemakers, while also giving of our own knowledge and understanding of Holy Tradition to others within the larger community.

One way will be to promote learning from others who are further along on that particular journey, such as the Christian Peacemaker Teams, acknowledging that what matters most is how effectively we facilitate the growth of Christ’s peace among His people, rather than parochial concerns of jurisdiction.

OPF Conference: For the 2009 Conference, David Holden suggested focusing on health, including mental health, possibly doing it as a joint conference with the Orthodox Association of Medicine, Psychology and Religion. Topics within this area in which members have evinced interest include: PTSD and suicide (as manifested by returning troops who must cope with what they have seen and done in war), schizophrenia and other maladies that require much of family and care-givers, counseling that recognizes and draws upon spirituality, and asceticism in the past, present and future of the Church. Two venues have been discussed for 2009: the Antiochian Village in Ligonier, Pennsylvania, and a location in the Minneapolis area. We hope to get back to the western part of the continent, if not in 2009, then 2010.

Collaboration: Educating others begins at home with Orthodox Christians. In higher education, we have begun a new collaboration with the Orthodox Christian Fellowship to provide a way to bring an awareness of OPF and the search for peace to many more young people. An earlier OPF publication, For the Peace from Above, will be used, with editing and revision, in this new context.

Children’s curriculum: In elementary/secondary education, Renee Zitzloff suggested we develop a children’s curriculum on relevant topics; she has been joined in this project by Sally Eckert. Synaxis, an Orthodox publishing house, has offered to support us with low-cost publishing of texts we develop for these projects.

Adult education: In Communion articles and original writings by members can gain wider circulation via the web. We will also consider the possibility of an OPF blog using essays based on conference talks as a basis for discussion. The same sort of thing can be done through Ancient Faith Radio, using audio versions.

Making OPF better known: Mother Raphaela proposed a special mailing of In Communion to non-members who may be interested in joining. Elaine Patico suggested establishing an “OPF Sunday.” Participating parishes would be provided with a Presentation Kit from OPF, which might include an outline for a talk or discussion, back issues of In Communion, OPF brochures, the resource book we are developing for OCF, and OPF mini-posters with patristic texts on peace and reconciliation.

Web presence: Michael Markwick is preparing to open a new section of that will serve as a North American sub-site, to cover events and developments in our region, and report on conferences and chapter happenings. We would like to see it be truly North American, with contributions from the US, Canada and Mexico. We will be soliciting contributions of event notices, articles or essays by members to populate this new sub-site.

Local groups: Renee Zitzloff and others started on OPF group in Minneapolis which she hopes to revitalize during the coming year. Members in Portland, Oregon and Los Angeles have expressed interest in starting local groups.

Extra-Orthodox contacts: Alex Patico has been working with the Decade to Overcome Violence, a World Council of Churches project, and Olive Branch Partnership, an interfaith group that sprang out of the Christian Witness against the War in Iraq.

Future contacts might include a project designed to aid and train clergy who work with returning veterans, which is being organized by the Center for Justice and Peacebuilding (Eastern Mennonite University); Heeding God’s Call: A Gathering on Peace – a meeting of the Atraditional peace churches” (Quaker, Mennonite and Brethren), which will take place in January in Philadelphia (OPF has been invited to participate); and Consistent Life, an “International Network for Peace, Justice and Life,” which emphasizes a consistent ethic opposing abortion, assisted suicide, capital punishment and war.

Peacemaking Services: It has been suggested that OPF develop a capability to assist parishes or Orthodox organizations in resolving intractable conflicts. This may seem an impossibly ambitious aim, but if a sufficient number of members were to make a serious commitment, it could be an important contribution to the life of the Church.

As the concept has taken shape thus far, OPF would assemble a team that would include persons with a background in conflict analysis, conflict resolution, relationship-building; would be based on high standards of confidentiality, professionalism, and Christ-centeredness; would be done at lowest-possible cost to the inviting group, but with minimum out-of-pocket expense for those taking part; would develop, over time, a body of knowledge that itself could prove useful to other groups confronting antagonism that threatens to undermine the peace and growth of parishes. One existing example of practical peacemaking that is changing lives and communities is Reconciliation Services, an Orthodox-oriented, Kansas-based community organization with a unique mission (

Accountability: In order that members and supporters of OPF be able to know how their donations are being used, and to be able to influence the directions taken, we have resolved to send regular updates to the members of the Advisory Board of OPF, consult with active and experienced members regarding decisions, provide answers, in a timely fashion, to any member who has questions about our dealings, and distribute an annual report on finances that goes to the entire membership.

— Alex Patico, OPF-NA secretary

Fall 2008 issue of In Communion / IC 51

Conferences & Lectures

Sacraments of Healing: a retreat for OPF members led by Metropolitan Kallistos

transcripts of six talks given by Metropolitan Kallistos at a retreat in Vezelay, France:

Annual Conference of the Orthodox Peace Fellowship

Antiochian Village
Conference Center
Bolivar, PA

October 23-25, 2009

Download PDF of Conference

Theme: “Salt of the Earth: An Orthodox Christian Approach to Peacemaking”

The Orthodox Peace Fellowship links Orthodox from different national traditions and jurisdictions. Recognized as an Endorsed Organization by the Standing Conference of Orthodox Bishops in America (SCOBA), OPF is not under the sponsorship of a particular jurisdiction. Membership is open to any Orthodox Christian (and non-Orthodox as associate members). Both members and non-members are welcomed to attend our annual conference. Download sign-up form and info in PDF here! >>

Salt of the Earth, Light of the World…

Living the Similitudes in Our Communities

OPF North American conference

October 29-31, 2004

St. Nicholas Ranch, Dunlap, California

The Similitudes are the words of Christ that immediately follow the Beatitudes in the Sermon on the Mount: “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world.” While the Beatitudes speak of the interior qualities of those who await the Kingdom of God, the Similitudes have particular reference to the way these characteristics are lived out in the world.

The 2004 Orthodox Peace Fellowship North American Conference will be a symposium on ministries of peacemaking, social outreach, and environmental stewardship, featuring lectures and workshops that focus on finding ways of living our Orthodox faith within our local neighborhoods and communities, so that others “may see our good works and glorify our Father in Heaven.”

Featured Speakers:

Jim Forest is secretary of the International Orthodox Peace Fellowship and author of The Ladder of the Beatitudes, Praying with Icons, Confession: Doorway to Forgiveness, The Resurrection of the Church in Albania, etc. His topic is “You are the Salt: an Orthodox understanding of peacemaking.”

Fr. John Chryssavigis is a deacon of the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America. He has served as professor of theology at St. Andrew’s Theological College in Sydney and Holy Cross School of Theology in Boston, and currently serves as theological advisor to Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew on environmental issues. His books include Beyond the Shattered Image; Cosmic Grace, Humble Prayer, and Light through Darkness (appearing in summer 2004).

Fr. John Chryssavgis will speak on the theme: “Icon and Cosmos: Theological and Spiritual Dimensions of Nature.”

Greg and Margaret Yova are founders of Project Mexico and St. Innocent Orphanage. Project Mexico is a ministry that specializes in involving young people in the alleviation of suffering by building homes for Mexico’s poor. St. Innocent Orthodox Orphanage in Tijuana provides a home for teenaged boys who live on the streets. They will speak on “Love Charity, and Sacrifice: There is No Greater Witness in this World.”

Partial list of ministries invited to participate:

Byzantine-Latino Quarter Urban Redevelopment, Los Angeles; Fellowship of the Transfiguration – Orthodoxy and the environment; Martha and Mary House Women’s Shelter – crisis pregnancy counseling; Orthodox Christian Prison Ministry Prison and aftercare ministry; Philanthropia AIDS ministry; Southern California Philoptochos Society Kids ‘n’ Cancer Ministry; Project Mexico Orphanage and home building, Mexico Raphael House Homeless shelter, San Francisco; St. Nicholas House Urban Outreach, Los Angeles; Spiritual Renewal Ministries, Metropolis of San Francisco

The cost of the conference is $199, which includes registration, lodging, and all meals.

St. Nicholas Ranch & Retreat Center is located 38 miles east of Fresno, California, and is accessible by plane via Fresno-Yosemite International Airport, as well as by Amtrak train and Greyhound bus. For those interested, we will be providing round-trip shuttle service to and from Fresno for the conference, for an additional charge of $35.00 per person.

To register for the conference, access

St. Nicholas Ranch

Dunlap, California

Tel: (559) 338-2103, or e-mail: [email protected].

Saint Nicholas Ranch website:

Sacraments of Healing

OPF Retreat in Vézelay, France

 Here are transcriptions of Bishop Kallistos’ six lectures given in April 1999 at the Orthodox Peace Fellowship retreat in Vézelay. Please note that these are not to be published elsewhere without the permission of Bishop Kallistos and the Orthodox Peace Fellowship.

A Healing Retreat

a report by James Chater

VEZELAY-20050896 An Orthodox Peace Fellowship retreat took place in Vézelay, France, from 16-19 April, 1999, the weekend following Pascha. Vézelay rests on the edge of a hill situated on the edge of a national park in the heart of Burgundy, about 120 miles south-east of Paris. It is small, untouched by 20th-century development and off the beaten track, but as a religious center it has considerable importance: since the Middle Ages it has been a stop-over point for pilgrims on the way from northern or eastern Europe on the way to Compostela, and it was the launching-pad for the First and Third Crusades (even if, in this time of war, it is unpleasant to be reminded of this).

The Romanesque basilica is a haven of tranquillity and harmony (the choir sing rather well, and I was agreeably surprised that they incorporate Russian Orthodox texts and melodies in their liturgy). It is dedicated to St Mary Magdalene, preserving a relic of this saint, who according to one legend spent her last years in the nearby Rhone valley, and has exceptionally fine the carvings. Like the island of Iona off the coast of Scotland, where St Columba settled as penance for having been in military service, Vézelay makes a special impression on many pilgrims for its sense of ‘thinness’, through which God’s light passes into this world. Light, music and prayer seem to envelop the place: a more suitable venue for an OPF meeting would be hard to imagine.

The retreat was led by Bishop Kallistos of Diokleia, well-known to many as the writer Timothy Ware, who lectures on Eastern Orthodox Studies at the University of Oxford and is assistant bishop of the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese in Great Britain.

The theme was ‘The Sacrament of Healing’, explored in a series of six talks titled ‘Glorify God with your body: the healing of the whole person’; ‘The passions: enemy or friend?’; ‘Approaching Christ the Physician: the true meaning of confession and anointing’; ‘In peace let us pray to the Lord: peace and healing in the Divine Liturgy’; ‘Let us go forth in peace: healing in the parish and in the world’; and ‘A peaceful end to our life: bodily death as an experience of healing’.

The bishop’s profound insights, leavened with a warm sense of humor and a vast (so far as I could judge) knowledge of both Patristic texts and more recent literature, left me feeling uplifted and greatly heartened, and I felt sure the other participants were similarly affected. His sense of awe and wonder, of sacramental living, was vividly communicated to us. By the time Sunday came round, and we all crammed into the tiny Orthodox parish church to celebrate the Divine Liturgy, there was a renewed, more palpable sense of ‘Christ in our midst’.

At one point the participants divided into two groups, one to discuss the issues of healing raised in the bishop’s talks, the other to discuss how we might respond to the war in Yugoslavia, whose outbreak occurred long after the topic of the retreat had been chosen. A paper outlining the issues raised by the war was prepared by Father Stephen Headley and Jim Forest.

Mark Pearson suggested that OPF members should collaborate in round-the-clock prayer until the war was over. Various ways in which we might pray were considered, and participants were invited to commit themselves to a certain number of half-hour prayer sessions each week. The notion of a ‘just war’ was discussed: it was pointed out that most of the Anglican bishops believed the war to be just (Tony Blair has also stated several times that he believes the bombing to be ‘justified’). The idea of the ‘just war’ was originally developed from Roman Catholic theology; even so, the Pope has called for an end to the bombing. Bishop Kallistos expressed his doubts that the Yugoslavian war met the criteria of a ‘just war’ as defined by Roman Catholic theology.

Our warm thanks to Bishop Kallistos for his leadership, to Jim Forest for his indefatigable organization, to the Franciscan Center Ste. Marie Madeleine and the Jerusalem Community for housing us, to our hosts, the Orthodox parish of St. Germain d’Auxerre and St. Etienne, and especially to their priest Father Stephen Headley and his wife Anne, for their unstinting hospitality, and for keeping us as well-fed physically as we were spiritually.

PS: For those unfamiliar with the Orthodox Peace Fellowship, the transformation of NATO from a defensive alliance into “world policeman” or machine of death and destruction (depending on your point of view) is a defining moment in the history of East-West relations. This might be the right time to consider supporting the work of an organization like the Orthodox Peace Fellowship, which advocates nonviolent ways of resolving conflicts and reconciliation by bearing witness to Christ’s offering of Himself in the Eucharist. Members receive the quarterly newsletter, In Communion.

A few more photos from the retreat…

Please help the Vezelay parish…

In Peace Let Us Pray to the Lord

Peace & Healing in the Divine Liturgy

Orthodox Peace Fellowship retreat in Vézelay, April 1999 / fourth lecture by Bishop Kallistos

This afternoon I spoke about the sacrament of Confession. Tonight, I would like to say something about the Holy Eucharist.

Let me begin with two words. The first is from 19th century Russia, St. John of Kronstadt: “The Eucharist is a continual miracle.” And my second word is from 14th century Byzantium, from St. Nicolas Cabasilas: “This is the final mystery. Beyond this it is not possible to go, nor can anything be added to it.” So, let us reflect together this evening on this “continual miracle,” this “final mystery,” which holds the church in unity, makes the church to be itself, and which is the heart of our life as Christians.

I would like to look at two things: first, what is the meaning of the word “liturgy”?; and secondly, how do we speak about “peace” during the course of the liturgy?

First of all, what is the meaning of the word “liturgy,” the word which Orthodox use above all when referring to the service of Holy Communion. The Greek term “liturgia” is sometimes explained as meaning the “work of the people.” That, I am told, is bad etymology, but it is, in fact, quite good theology, because liturgy indeed means precisely a shared corporate action. Liturgy is something done by many persons in common, something that none of us can do alone. So, if the Eucharist is termed liturgy, that means that, at the service, there are only active participants; there are no passive spectators.

Let us think together about the way in which the corporate, shared nature of the Divine Liturgy is expressed. Throughout the service, except on rare occasions, all the prayers use the plural, not the singular. We say throughout the Liturgy “we,” not “I.” Exceptions are only apparent exceptions. At the beginning of the Creed, it is true, it starts “I believe.” That is because the Creed was originally used in the service of Baptism, and so, the person being baptized as an adult used the singular when making their profession of faith. When the Creed was introduced from the Baptismal Service into the Divine Liturgy, the singular was preserved. If you look at the prayer said before the Great Entrance by the priest during the Hymn of the Cherubim, again you will see that he uses the word “I,” but that is a prayer said secretly by the priest. It was never said aloud. It was introduced into the liturgy at a time after the prayers had come to be said in a low voice so that they couldn’t be heard by the people. As it is a priest’s prayer, it naturally fits to say “I.” Equally, in the Russian use, before communion we use the prayer “I believe, Lord, and I confess,” but that really belongs to the Prayers of Preparation, not to the Liturgy itself, and so, naturally, when a person is saying the Prayers of Preparation alone in their own room, it is appropriate for them to say “I believe and I confess.”

Elsewhere in the Liturgy, the word used is “we.” And in this way the Liturgy reflects the pattern of prayer given to us by our Lord Jesus Christ: the Lord’s Prayer. In the Lord’s Prayer we say “us” five times, “our” three times, “we” once; but never at all do we say in the Lord’s Prayer, “me”, “mine”, or “I.” So, the liturgical pronoun is “we,” not “I.” And that underlines that the Liturgy is a common, shared act.

I often think of the story retold by Dostoevsky in The Brothers Karamazov about an old woman and an onion. You will all know it — how the angel tried to pull her out of the lake of fire, and how the other people in the lake of fire climb on in the hope of being pulled out as well, and how the old woman, alarmed by this, cried out, “Let go. Let go. It is not you who are being pulled out. It’s me. It’s not your onion; it’s mine.” And as we know, when she said “It’s mine,” the onion snapped in two, and she fell back into the lake of fire. And there, so I am told, she still is. If only she said, “It is our onion,” surely the onion would have been strong enough to have pulled them all out together. In saying “It is my onion,” she was being profoundly un-liturgical; indeed, she was denying her human personhood.

As persons made in the image of God, we are made in the image of God the Holy Trinity; and the Holy Trinity signifies mutual love. If we are made in the image of the Trinity, that means we are made to love one another. And if we refuse to love one another, that means we lose our true human personhood. So, there is no true person unless there are at least two persons — better still, three — in dialogue with one another. The doctrine of the Trinity means, in terms of our human personhood, I need you in order to be myself.

So that is the first way in which we see how the Liturgy is always a shared action. Always we say “we.” The Liturgy expresses mutual love. One of the things that I was taught by Nicholas Zernov very early in my acquaintance with the Orthodox Church was how important in the Liturgy is the phrase “Let us love one another, that so we may confess Father, Son, and Holy Spirit — the Trinity, one in essence and undivided.” Without mutual love there is no true confession of the Trinity, and no true Liturgy. I remember when I first became a priest in Oxford, Nicholas say to me, “We must have that portion of the Liturgy in English.” He was very keen on having everything in English, if possible. This was not the view of all the other people in the parish, but evidently he thought the English speakers especially needed to be reminded of mutual love. What a pity, in most of our Orthodox Churches, we do not exchange the kiss of peace among the congregation at that point. I don’t know what you do here in Vézelay. You have the kiss of peace? Well, I would expect nothing less of Father Stephen, but I am afraid that we don’t at Oxford, and that is a sad thing, though the exchange of the kiss of peace among the congregation had already dropped out quite early. By the time of St. Maximus it was only being exchanged among the clergy.

As we continue talking about “we,” let us notice another element in the Liturgy which stresses the importance of mutual love, the importance of communal solidarity at the service. When, as celebrant, I come into the church for the start of the service, before I go into the sanctuary to put on my vestments, I say the Prayers of Preparation in front of the iconostasis. I then venerate the icons. I then turn to the west, away from the sanctuary, and bow. Often nobody else has arrived in the church at that time, so I only bow to the angels, but if there are humans there as well, then they should bow back. A second time, before as celebrant I go to the Holy Table to take the gifts of bread and wine and carry them in the procession of the Great Entrance, once more I bow to the people and they bow back. A third time, before Holy Communion, once more the celebrant turns and bows to the people and they bow back, though in most Orthodox churches at this moment, the doors are closed and the curtain is drawn, so nobody sees that.

What are we doing when we exchange these bows with each other? Is this simply a mutual courtesy? No, it has a far more specific meaning. The priest, as he bows, says aloud, or else in his heart, “Forgive me.” And the people, when they bow back, respond, either aloud or in their heart, in the same way: “Forgive us.” And each may say in their heart, “May God forgive us.” So what we are doing in the exchange of bows is giving and receive pardon — mutual forgiveness. And this, again, shows how in the Eucharist we never come to receive communion alone as isolated individuals. We come as members of a community; and, we come, or we should come, as members of a reconciled community — a community that is at peace with itself. Without the giving and receiving of forgiveness, there is no true celebration in the full sense.

Then, thirdly, let us note another thing in the Liturgy. Before the beginning of the Anaphora, the great prayer of offering, there is an opening dialogue. The celebrant or deacon says, “Let us stand aright, let us stand with fear.” Then the people respond, in the correct text, “Mercy. Peace. A sacrifice of praise.” In fact in most churches they say, “a mercy of peace,” but that does not make very good sense. If we consult the older Greek manuscripts we find, “Mercy. Peace. A sacrifice of praise.”

Notice that we begin by speaking of peace before we begin the Great Prayer. Then the celebrant blesses the people, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God the Father, the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” The people respond: “And with your spirit.” “Let us lift up our hearts.” The people answer, “We lift them to the Lord.” “Let us give thanks to Lord.” The people answer, “It is meet and right.” Incidentally, if we followed the more ancient texts, we shouldn’t go on by singing, “It is meet and right to worship Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the Trinity one in essence” and so on. The meaning of the people’s response is. “It is meet and right to give thanks,” and so it remains in the Greek tradition, but the Russians added other words in order to fill up space while the priest was saying the prayer silently. If you say the prayers aloud, there is no need to do that. It actually obscures the meaning of the people’s response there. (We need quite a lot of liturgical tidying up in our Orthodox churches, but this is the proper critical text of the Liturgy based on the best manuscripts. Perhaps that is something we might get on with as Orthodox in a constructive way instead of arguing about other matters.)

Now what is the meaning of this opening dialogue? Here is the explanation given by St. John Chrysostom in his commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians: “As we begin the actual celebration of the dread mysteries, the priest prays for the people and the people pray for the priest, for the words ‘and with thy spirit’ mean precisely this: Everything in the Eucharistic thanksgiving is shared in common. For the priest does not offer thanksgiving alone, but the whole people give thanks with him. For after he has replied to their greeting, they then give their consent by answering: ‘It is meet and right.’ Only then does he begin the Eucharistic thanksgiving.” So on the understanding of St. John Chrysostom, this opening dialogue exactly expresses our togetherness as we embark upon the central part of the Eucharist. The priest alone says the prayer of the Anaphora, but the people are directly and actively involved in everything that he does. And so, in this dialogue, the unity of priest and people in the shared action of the Liturgy is clearly underlined. The priest greets the people; they respond to his greeting:”The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ” — “And with thy spirit.” This is mutual prayer, as St. John Chrysostom explains it. The priest then invites the people to raise their hearts on high; and the people respond by saying, “That is exactly what we’re doing!” And then the priest says, “Let us give thanks to the Lord,” and that could also be translated: “Let us offer the Eucharist to the Lord.” And the people say: “That is an excellent idea.” Only when they have responded in that way does the celebrant continue. The celebrant is, as it were, asking permission from the people to continue with the Eucharistic celebration. He needs their endorsement. He cannot act on his own. The prayer is theirs as well as his. Their active consent is indispensable. So the Eucharistic Anaphora begins with a dialogue because the Eucharist is, par excellance, the human action. We are eucharistic animals as human beings; and also, the human animal is essentially a dialogic animal — an animal that engages in dialogue. So what that dialogue before the Anaphora is expressing is just what I said a few minutes ago: I need you in order to be myself.

All of this then helps us to understand how the Eucharist, if it is to be properly celebrated, needs to be celebrated by a community that is at least at unity within itself. It is offered by nobody singly, but by all of us in loving fellowship with one another. That is the ideal. Let us all try to make it also the reality.

Now I would like to move to my second point which concerns the meaning of the word “peace.” This is a recurrent phrase in the Liturgy: peace. Here I borrow from the excellent little book by the Monk of the Eastern Church, Fr. Lev Gillet, Serve the Lord With Gladness. Fr. Lev has a great gift for expressing deep truths with remarkable conciseness and simplicity.

[Bishop Kallistos made a gesture imitating quotations marks, then explained:] There was a minister in America some years ago who used to begin and end all of his sermons with a gesture like this. People asked him why do you do that. “My sermons,” he replied, “are not my own. They are actually taken from other people, and those are the quotation marks.” So for this little bit, as I am paraphrasing Fr. Lev, I ought to do this as well.

Let’s reflect for a moment on the text of the Great Litany at the beginning of the service, the Litany of Peace. Three times we speak about peace: “In peace let us pray to the Lord”; “For the peace from above and for the salvation of our souls, let us pray to the Lord”; “For the peace of the whole world and the good estate of the holy Churches of God and for the communion of all, let us pray to the Lord.”

This threefold request for peace is not a superfluous repetition. Each repetition is charged with a distinctive significance.

At the very outset of the public part of the Liturgy, we establish the fact that peace is the spiritual space in which the Divine Liturgy is being celebrated. We start by saying “in peace, let us pray to the Lord.” We cannot enter into the action of the Liturgy or experience the joy of the Kingdom unless we have within our hearts, by God’s mercy, a state of interior peace. So we start by seeing peace as an inner state of our soul. “In peace” — the state of wholeness and of integration. So at the beginning of the Liturgy we are to banish, from within ourselves, feelings of resentment and hostility toward others: bitterness, rancor, inner grumbling, or divisiveness. We are to shed these things; let them go; begin the Liturgy “in peace.” That is Stage I.

Then Stage II: “For the peace from above…” Peace is not just a psychological state produced by my own effort. Peace, true peace, comes from above as a gift from God, a gift of grace. “Without me,” says Christ, “you can do nothing.” (John 15:5) In translating the Philokalia, I have been struck by the surprising frequency with which that text is quoted. “Without me you can do nothing.” We see that peace is not a manufactured article, human made. It is a gift, a charisma. We therefore have to open our hearts to receive Christ’s gift of peace: “the peace from above.” As it says in Ephesians 2:14, “He is our peace.” Notice in this second petition how peace is closely joined with salvation. “For the peace from above and for the salvation of our souls.” Salvation, in the tradition of the Christian East, is not understood primarily in juridical terms, as a release from guilt, although it is that in part. But salvation thought of positively means wholeness, fullness of life. We can’t have that wholeness, that fullness of life without the divine gift of peace.

Then we come to the third petition: “For the peace of the whole world, the good estate of the holy Churches of God, the union of all.” The peace that we seek is not just inward looking, not world denying. It is outward going, active, practical. We seek peace not for myself alone, but for and with others. If I seek peace selfishly, I will not find it. Peace and unity go together.

So then, that is the sequence: “in peace” — “peace from above” — “peace of the whole world.” Peace is not self-centered. It is outward looking, ecstatic (in the literal sense of that word), generous, and practical. In Fr. Lev’s words: “We pray for the peace of the universe. Not only for humans, but for all creatures: for animals, for vegetables, for stars, for the whole of nature.” So we enter into a cosmic piety. We express our sympathy with everything to which God has given being. But though our prayer for peace is not limited to the human race, that is certainly where we begin. And how urgent at all times, but especially now, is the need for the prayer begging Christ to give peace to this suffering world.

Then we have God’s response to that threefold prayer for peace. It comes a little later in the service when the celebrant says to the congregation: “Peace be with all.” In Slav use, that is said soon after the Little Entrance and the Trisagion. In Greek use and, again, in the Slav, it comes before the Gospel, and repeatedly thereafter. “Peace be with all.” That is not just an empty phrase but is a powerful performative utterance — not just a courteous formality, but the transmission of a reality. Now what the priest is transmitting is not his own peace. He is speaking at this moment in Christ’s name. He is transmitting to the people God’s peace: “The peace of God which passes all understanding” (Phil. 4:7) We think at this point of Christ’s words at the Last Supper: “My peace I give to you. Not as the world gives, give I unto you.” (Jn. 14:27) There is a two-way traffic. Our prayer for peace is the one movement, then the responding movement, God’s gift of peace. The effect of peace is unity with ourselves; unity with God; unity with others round us. Peace and unity in this way are essential marks of the eucharistic celebration.

So then, remembering Plato’s words — “The beginning of truth is to wonder at things” — I ask you tonight to renew your sense of wonder before the final mystery, the great mystery of the Eucharist. I began with the words of St. John of Kronstadt, who was a very profoundly eucharistic priest, so let me end with his words: “In the words ‘take, eat, drink’ there is contained the abyss of God’s love for humankind. O perfect Love! O all-embracing Love! O irresistible Love! What shall we give to God in gratitude for this Love?”

Bishop Kallistos is Spalding Lecturer in Eastern Orthodox Studies at the University of Oxford and leads the Greek parish in the same city. His books include The Orthodox Church and The Orthodox Way. His lecture may not be reproduced without his permission. The transcription was made by Fred Bittle. Our thanks to him.

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