Aphrahat

The conventional  view of western history sees the conversion of Constantine and the end of Roman persecution of Christians in the fourth century as the beginning of a new relationship between church and state which lasted down to the modern era.  However, not all Christians lived in the Roman empire, and many in fact lived in modern Iran, Iraq and other regions of Rome’s bitter political rival, the Persian empire. When the Roman state became Christian in the mid-fourth century, the formerly-tolerant Persian government began to persecute the Church in its own realm.  In this atmosphere of persecution and uncertainty, a Christian writer known as Aphrahat “the Persian Sage” produced a series of twenty -three homilies on various themes which have survived and are known as “Demonstrations.”

The  Fourth Demonstration concerns prayer, and is the earliest Christian treatise on the subject that is not primarily a commentary on the Lord’s Prayer.  In this brief but profound work, Aphrahat has much to say about the proper approach to liturgical prayer,  as is clear from the opening sentence:

“Purity of heart constitutes prayer more than do all the prayers that are uttered out aloud, and silence united to a mind that is sincere is better than the loud voice of someone crying out.”

Aphrahat of course is not saying that vocal prayer is unimportant or inappropriate, but rather that singing hymns or saying responses in itself does not constitute true liturgical prayer. The words we say must be united to what spiritual writers call “mind and heart” for them to become real prayers.  Aphrahat’s comment on the importance of silence is also noteworthy.  Lectors, cantors and celebrants must take special care to ensure that moments of reflective silence are prominent in the Eucharist.  Incidental chatter and unnecessary explanations and announcements on the one hand, as well as rushing from one part of the Mass to the next, can destroy the moments of silence so essential for true prayer. Such moments of liturgical silence prepare us “to listen to every word with discerning, and catch hold of its meaning.”

Prayer is an offering, and it must never be forgotten that it is offered in the presence of God, who sees through all pretensions. Aphrahat takes us all the way back to the prayer of Abel the Just, whose offering was acceptable to God because of his purity of heart.  Turning to Christ, Aphrahat stresses the communal or social aspects of prayer as epitomized in  Matthew 5: 23-24,  where Jesus admonishes that you must first be reconciled with your brothers and sisters before approaching the altar of God.  This reconciliation has two aspects.  First of all, it involves seeking forgiveness for one’s own transgressions. What is perhaps more difficult is the forgiveness of others, but as Aphrahat teaches, if you do not forgive, your offering is in vain.

Aphrahat insists upon a crucial connection between true prayer and love of neighbor .   The requirements of liturgical prayer, important as they are, must never be used as an excuse to avoid helping anyone truly in need of it, for authentic prayer in the end consists in a pure love of God that manifests itself in an unfeigned service to our fellow human beings:

 

“Thus you must forgive your debtor before your prayer; only after that, pray: when you pray, your prayer will thus go up before God on high, and it is not left on earth…Give rest to the weary, visit the sick, make provision for the poor: this is indeed prayer…Prayer is beautiful, and its works are fair; prayer is heard when forgiveness is to be found in it, prayer is beloved when it is pure of every guile, prayer is powerful when the power of God is made effective in it.  I have written to you, my beloved, to the effect that a person should do the will of God, and that constitutes prayer.”

 

*All quotations taken from Aphrahat ˜Demonstration on Prayerˇ Found in ˜The Syriac Fathers on Prayer and the Spiritual Life. Edited and Translated by Sebastian Brock.  Cistercian Publications. 1987.

 

Transfiguration 2017

Sermon on Transfiguration, given at All Saints Church St Andrews, 6 August 2017

“This is my beloved Son, hear him.”

 

Sometimes in reading Scripture, some of the most important conversations happen off stage, so to speak, and I for one wonder what they are saying. You may have your own examples of this, and for me, two stand out. For instance, how about the Disciples speaking with Jesus on the Road to Emmaus after the Resurrection? What exactly did Jesus say, and how did he say it, to make their hearts burn like fire within their breasts? In today’s great mystery, what were Moses and Elijah saying when they stood there in the presence of the Transfigured Christ? Like the 3 apostles present, were they wondering who this Jesus was, who was so clearly resplendent in Glory?

For he was beautiful, and glorious, and awful to behold, shining with the light of divinity, and, significantly, was this way even before he had died and risen from the dead. And Elijah and Moses, the text tells us, also were beautiful in his reflected splendour. We must not be afraid of beauty; we must never feel guilty about gazing upon and resting in admirable awe in the presence of beauty in God’s good creation. For Jesus was transfigured, revealed to us as he truly was at all times, even before his resurrection, for those capable of seeing, whom he briefly allows to see Him thus, and also showing us a glimpse of our own destiny:

As Saint Thomas Aquinas put it,

“At his Transfiguration Christ showed his disciples the splendor of his beauty, to which he will shape and color those who are his: ‘He will reform our lowness configured to the body of his glory.'” 
Now there are many possible things this mystery teaches us.

First and foremost that Jesus Christ is both God and man, and is the beloved of the Father. Secondly, that there is a deep harmony which exists between the Old and the New Testaments regarding Christ, made clear to us by the visible presence of Moses and Elijah.

But in this emphasis on glory and fulfillment of ancient promise, there is even a deeper mystery. Even before the Transfiguration became a feast day in the western church, this Gospel was read on the first Sunday of Lent. It follows in the narrative when Christ has set his face towards Jerusalem, and all that would entail, both for him but also for the disciples, including and perhaps especially Peter who had just ecstatically confessed his belief in Him, and who had also wanted to dissuade Jesus from going to Jerusalem. We must remember this event is a stage to the Cross, as the ancient liturgical cycle and the words themselves teach us; and the Cross, just as it must not be separated from the resurrection which will follow it, must also not be separated from the Transfiguration which preceded it.

As the text indicates, Moses and Elijah were also in splendor as they discussed this very thing, this approaching Passion, with Jesus. And it would be nice to stay on that mountain, basking in the glory of the Lord, nice for Peter, and nice for us, but as real as this light and glory of Mt Tabor was and is, it is not separated, for either Jesus or for us, by the reality of Calvary. As Archbishop Michael Ramsey put it, in the midst of a world too easily dominated by the shadow of Calvary, we must ever look for signs of God’s ability and power to transform even the ugliest of the realities of sin and despair into moments for a more powerful light to break though and transform all around us, right here and now:

“Confronted with a universe more terrible than ever in the blindness and the destructiveness of its potentialities, men and women must be led to Christian faith, not as a panacea of progress or as an otherworldly solution unrelated to history, but as a gospel of Transfiguration. Such a gospel transcends the world and yet speaks directly to the immediate here-and-now. He who is transfigured is the Son of Man; and as he discloses on the holy mountain another world, he reveals that no part of created things, and no moment of created time lies outside the power of the Spirit, who is Lord, to change it from glory to glory. “

 

As Archbishop Ramsey continues to tell us in his famous book on the Transfiguration, the Eastern Church has always been much more comfortable with this language, of keeping Transfiguration always before us, the transforming presence of the light of Mt Tabor, present already in our lives here and now, perceptible for those with eyes to see, than in the West.

But if we look to the earliest days of Christianity in Scotland, the life of St Columba, we find this language wonderfully present in several stories about Columba handed down by his disciples. One story tells us that while Columba presided at the Eucharist, a visiting saint noticed a shining ball of light around Columba’s head, and a column of light surrounding him until the Eucharist ended. Another story relates directly to the Transfiguration, as it focuses on opening up the meaning of Scripture. A fellow monk, who admitted he was terrified afterwards until Columba consoled him, witnessed the following:

“On another occasion when St Columba was living in Hinba, the grace of the Holy Spirit was poured upon him in incomparable abundance and miraculously remained over him for three days. During that time he remained day and night locked in his house, which was filled with heavenly light. No one was allowed to go near him, and he neither ate nor drank. But from the house rays of brilliant light could be seen at night, escaping through the chinks of the doors and through the keyholes. He was also heard singing spiritual chants of a kind never heard before. And, as he afterwards admitted to a few people, he was able to see openly revealed many secrets that had been hidden since the world began, while all that was most dark and difficult in the sacred scriptures lay open, plain, and clearer than light in the sight of his most pure heart.”

 

We may not be granted such moments very often, and, like St Columba’s disciple, perhaps we would not always know what to do with them if we were! But we do experience humbler visions all the time when we see people around us, through acts of love and charity and forgiveness manifest purity of heart, and truly are transfigured into angels of light. When one has the grace to sense a strong experience of God, it is as though seeing something similar to what the disciples experienced during the Transfiguration: For a moment they experienced ahead of time something that will constitute the happiness of paradise. In general, it is brief experiences that God grants on occasions, especially in anticipation of harsh trials. However, no one lives “on Tabor” while on earth, and we must acknowledge this. But as Pope Benedict XVI recently wrote in a talk given on this very feast, we do have a sure way to nourish the light within us, and this is by learning how to listen to the word of God:

“Human existence is a journey of faith and, as such, goes forward more in darkness than in full light, with moments of obscurity and even profound darkness. While we are here, our relationship with God develops more with listening than with seeing; and even contemplation takes place, so to speak, with closed eyes, thanks to the interior light lit in us by the word of God.”

When I think back to my first memories of this story, I remember that it made me want to know much more about who Moses and Elijah were, and how what they were saying and doing pointed to Jesus. This Transfiguration story points us to the Scriptures, encourages us to ponder them again, Old Testament along with the actual words of Jesus. I have come to feel that this feast among many other things that it represents, is also a celebration of the Word of God, and the act of pondering it, praying over it, and listening to what it tells us to do and how to be. As we are but a few days from Lammas, the celebration of the first loaf made from the harvest, I would like to share a lovely quotation from the fourth century theologian Ephraim the Syrian, which employs this harvest imagery, significantly as the opening of our oldest preserved full sermon on the Transfiguration:

“The harvest comes joyfully from the fields, and a yield that is rich and pleasant from the vine; and from the Scriptures teaching that is life giving and salutary. The fields have but one season of harvest; but from the Scripture there gushes forth a stream of saving doctrine. The field when reaped lies idle, and at rest, and the branches when the vine is stripped lie withered and dead. The Scriptures are garnered each day, yet the years of its interpreters never come to an end; and the clusters of its vines, which in it are close to those of hope, though also gathered each day, are likewise without end. Let us therefore come to this field, and take our delight of its life giving furrows; and let us reap there the wheat of life, that is the words of Our Lord Jesus Christ.”

 

 

If we desire enlightenment, ponder the scriptures; ponder the prophets, ponder the law, ponder the proverbs and psalms, all in light of the teaching of Jesus Christ; do all in our power to be open to this light and illumination, and listen in serious delight to Jesus over and over again; ponder who he is, the Transfigured One who yet humbled himself to die on a cross, and who then rose again, and let his words sink into the very depths of our being, allowing us to be transfigured in his image and likeness; as an old American hymn that I learned in my childhood put it, describing Jesus: “In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, with a glory in his bosom which transfigures you and me”. The Father’s testimony is meant to raise us up and strengthen our own infirmity of Spirit, and help us remember the implications of what it truly means to be brothers and sisters of Jesus, made in the image and likeness of God.

As Pope Leo the Great concludes his sermon on this great mystery, the oldest sermon on the Transfiguration we have in the Western church, he dwells upon the command of the Father, “Listen to Him”.

“Without delay therefore hear Him Whom in all things I am well pleased; in preaching Whom I am made known; in whose lowliness I am glorified; for He is the Truth and the Life, He is my power, My wisdom. “hear ye Him” whom the mysteries of the Law foretold; whom the mouths of the prophets proclaimed. “hear ye him” Whose Blood has redeemed the world; Who has chained the demon, and taken from him what he held; Who has blotted out the deeds of sin, the covenant of evildoing. “hear ye him” Who opens the way to heaven, and though the humiliation of the Cross prepared for you a way to ascend to his kingdom. “ Amen.

Responding to Eucharist:Peter, Judas and John

The events of Holy Week, the betrayals of Judas and Peter, the failure of all the apostles except John to stand by Jesus, bring to mind many things. I think these lessons of Holy Week tie in very closely with the Eucharist, instituted on that first Maundy Thursday. One of the greatest of the Greek Fathers, Bishop John of Constantinople (c.347-407), helps us think about this. Known as “Chrysostom” (golden-mouthed) for his eloquence in the pulpit, John traveled a path from monk, to deacon at Antioch, and finally to the prestigious post of bishop of the eastern Roman capital of Constantinople. Eventually he fell afoul of influential members of the imperial court, and despite the love in which he was held by his own people and the support of the pope, John died as a lonely prisoner in a brutal exile. His prolific writings stand as some of the most profound and accessible monuments of the whole patristic period. John is sometimes referred to as the “Doctor of the Eucharist,” and the most commonly celebrated liturgy among the churches in the Greek tradition gradually became known as the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom in his honor. John’s reputation as a preacher was only matched by his skill as an exegete. The esteem in which his writings were held in the West is reflected in an anecdote related in the life of the thirteenth century friar Thomas Aquinas. When Thomas and some of his brethren were approaching the city of Paris, one of them marveled at the spires of the town and remarked to Thomas how wonderful a sight it was. Thomas responded that it was indeed, but he would trade it all for Chrysostom’s commentary on the Gospel of Matthew.

John’s views on the Eucharist are summarized in his Homily 82 on the Gospel of Matthew. In commenting upon the description of the Last Supper in Matthew 26:26-28, John beautifully develops themes found throughout his writings. The reality of the transformation of the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ is linked to the concept of Christ as the fulfillment of Israel, who has undergone a new Passover for our spiritual benefit. This sacrament instituted by Christ on the eve of his passion suggests hope to us, and is meant to strengthen us to bear our own suffering. The serious and awesome nature of what occurs during the Eucharist is repeatedly emphasized:

“Consider with what sort of honor you were honored, of what sort of table you are partaking, that which when angels behold, they tremble, and dare not so much as look up at it without awe on account of the brightness that comes thence; with this we are fed, with this we are commingled, and we are made one body, and one flesh with Christ.”

Perhaps the most poignant passages in the sermon concern the apostles Peter and Judas. With regard to Judas, John laments the degree of his blindness. Judas came to the Lord’s Supper with a disposition to betray Jesus, and he left the room unchanged in his sinful intention. Jesus did not prevent Judas from receiving that first Eucharist, but receiving the Eucharist, by itself, did not keep Satan from entering the heart of Judas. As John puts it:

“Even partaking of the mysteries, he remained the same; and admitted to the most holy table, he changed not.”

John goes on to stress that even Peter, the leader of the apostles, failed to respond to that first Eucharist. Feeling confident that he himself was not the traitor, Peter in his pride assured Christ that he could never betray him. In his pride Peter set himself above all others, even to the point of contradicting the prophecy of Christ. And the same night Peter received the first Eucharist, he also betrayed Christ. The subsequent denial of Christ by Peter, John argues, should teach us several lessons. Peter was wrong both because he thought he was incapable of betrayal, and also because he thought he was better than Judas. John feels that Christ allowed Peter to fall in order to teach Peter to trust in God, and not in his own imagined strength. When Christ encounters Peter after the Resurrection, Peter has come to rely on grace, and is now willing to follow. Having been humbled by his own unfaithfulness, Peter can love more.

John Chrysostom warns that before we pass judgment on Judas and Peter, we must take a long hard look at ourselves, and determine with what disposition we approach our own opportunity to receive the Eucharist. Do we come with our own agenda, trusting in our own imagined righteousness, or, Chrysostom asks, like the Apostle John, who reclined on and rested in Christ’s presence at the Supper, do we approach the chalice of salvation with the innocent trust and absolute need which an infant brings to its mother’s breasts?

The Last Supper, by Andrea del Castagno. Peter and John flank Christ, with Judas in the foreground.

 

All quotations taken from Homilies of St. John Chrysostom. Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Series I. Volume X. Edited by Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson.

 

Rejoice, Tabernacle of God the Word

Some years ago when I was a doctoral student at Cornell University in upstate New York, needing a break I drove several hours to visit the Russian Orthodox monastery of the Holy Trinity in Jordanville, NY. I had begun to develop a deep appreciation for Russian spirituality ever since reading Russian Mystics by Sergius Bolshakoff, with its marvelous preface by Thomas Merton. I enjoyed the beauty of the church and grounds, and then spent time in their large shop.

Holy Trinity Monastery in Jordanville, NY

Among the books and icons was a little pamphlet with a photo of a lovely icon of the Virgin and Child. In it was the text of the great prayer known as the Akathist to Our Most Holy Lady, Mary the Mother of God. An “akathist” refers to any prayer recited or sung standing, but this particular one is the most famous of all in the Byzantine tradition. I began to use it myself in private devotion. In exuberant and rich phraseology, it guides the worshipper through the story from the Annunciation through the familiar events of the Infancy Narratives, presenting in its way an incomparable theological reflection on the meaning of these events. Each section of the hymn, known as a Kontakion and Oikos, contain endless food for devotion, as in this example:

Kontakion 12

When the Absolver of all mankind desired to blot out ancient debts, of His Own will He came to dwell among those who had fallen from His Grace; and having torn up the handwriting of their sins, He heareth this from all: Alleluia!

Oikos 12

While singing to thine Offspring, we all praise thee as a living temple, O Theotokos; for the Lord Who holdeth all things in His hand dwelt in thy womb, and He sanctified and glorified thee, and taught all to cry to thee:

Rejoice, tabernacle of God the Word: Rejoice, saint greater than the saints! Rejoice, ark gilded by the Spirit: Rejoice, inexhaustible treasury of life! Rejoice, precious diadem of pious kings: Rejoice, venerable boast of reverent priests! Rejoice, unshakable fortress of the Church: Rejoice, inviolable wall of the kingdom! Rejoice, thou through whom victories are obtained: Rejoice, thou through whom foes fall prostrate! Rejoice, healing of my flesh: Rejoice, salvation of my soul! Rejoice, O Bride Unwedded!

Rejoice, O Bride Unwedded!

Despite what retailers might say, this feast of the Nativity is the beginning of the Christmas season, not the end! Might I suggest that one way to keep this season of Christmastide is to pray this great hymn every day, or parts of it each day? Like the beloved Litany of Loreto, more familiar to Catholics in the western tradition, it provides profound and endless depths for prayerful reflection. But if this ancient hymn is new to you, let me suggest on this Christmas morn it can provide fresh perspectives on stories that can grow in some ways too familiar. It can guide us through ancient but joyful pathways to new appreciation of how the splendid variety of the Christian tradition can renew the hearts at Christmas and help us approach the Mysteries with a childlike wonder.

Syriac Fathers

Most modern Christians tend to view the early centuries of church history in terms of the two great traditions of the Latin West and Greek East. This approach is incomplete, however, as it neglects the great Coptic, Armenian and Syriac churches, all of which developed unique theological, artistic and liturgical traditions. The Syriac tradition in particular, from its centers in modern day Syria, Iraq and Iran, extended as far as India and China. Although influenced by Byzantine culture, the Syriac church has always maintained its direct connections to the earliest Christian Aramaic communities of New Testament times. The unfortunate divisions in the church following the Christological controversies of the fifth century, followed by the Muslim conquest, left Syriac Christians isolated from the Greek and Latin churches for many centuries. Sadly, over the past quarter century, the homelands of these Syriac Christians in the Middle East have become devastated by armed conflict, and they are often in the news as refugees and victims of war, but with little reference to or understanding of their ancient culture. In recent years, the rich patristic Syriac heritage, epitomized by authors such as St. Ephrem and St. Isaac of Nineveh, is fortunately becoming better known. Besides these two authors, whom I hope to talk about in future posts, there are many others whose writings can contribute important insights to the relationship of the Eucharist to prayer and the Christian vocation.

St. Isaac of Nineveh

One such figure is Bishop Philoxenus of Mabug, who lived in the sixth century. In a letter to a friend, he considered the question of whether sinners despite their faults still retain the presence of the Holy Spirit. Philoxenus answers the question with reference to the Eucharist, which he refers to as the Holy Mystery. Our baptism bestows upon all Christians an indelible “sonship,” which our sinful actions do not erase. The Holy Spirit remains within us, and moves us to repentance. The words of the liturgy make this abundantly clear. Neither priest nor people are without sin, which is exactly why they need the Eucharist. All Christians are imperfect, but nevertheless are still temples of the Holy Spirit and children of God, a fact which enables us to dare to pray the Lord’s Prayer before approaching the Holy Mystery. Philoxenus argues that it is imperative we remain confident that despite our sinful tendencies and actions, God is still with us, and that the healing action of the Eucharist deepens this bond:

“ Now, in as much as a sinner receives our Lord’s Body and Blood in faith, he is in our Lord, and our Lord is in him, as our Lord himself says; and where the Lord dwells, there is his Spirit too.”

St. Philoxenus

The relationship of the Eucharist to all forms of prayer is brought out very well by the sixth century monk Sahdona, sometimes known by the Greek name Martyrios. In his most important work entitled The Book of Perfection, Sahdona describes how prayer “polishes away the rust of the mind.” Prayer is not merely a vocal or even mental activity, but to use imagery central to Syriac spirituality, an interior offering of the heart. Such a movement towards God of our whole being results from the descent of the Holy Spirit into our hearts:

“ The fire of the Spirit will consume our sacrifices and raise up our mind along with them to heaven; then we shall see the Lord, to our delight and not to our destruction, as the stillness of his revelation falls upon us and the hidden things of the knowledge of him will be portrayed in us.”

This action of the Spirit on our heart parallels the descent of the Holy Spirit on the bread and wine during the Eucharistic prayer. At this moment, our own prayers and personal sacrifices become perfectly united to those of Christ, and Jesus is more accessible to us than at any other time. Such an encounter with the Trinity cannot leave us unchanged. The key to living the Christian vocation is to extend this liturgical union with God into every aspect of our daily lives. As the eighth century ascetic Joseph the Visionary states in this excerpt from a prayer for use before holy Communion, the Spirit of God must become as important to us as the very air we breathe:

“And now, when your Spirit descends from heaven upon your Mysteries, may I ascend in spirit from earth to heaven. At this time when your power is mingled in with the bread, may my life be commingled with your spiritual life. At this moment when the wine is changed and becomes your blood, may my thoughts be inebriated with the commixture of your love….Create in me a pure heart so that your holy power may reside within me, so that, through the power of your Spirit I may in a spiritual fashion inhale your salvation.”

 

All quotations taken from Sebastian Brock, The Syriac Fathers on Prayer and the Spiritual Life (Cisterican Publications, 1987).

 

 

 

 

Maximos the Confessor and the promise of Advent

An important theme in ecumenical thought is the eternal union we hope to have with God and one another, whatever the differences between churches and individual Christians here and now. For God, to whom past, present and future are all one moment, in a mysterious sense Christian unity already exists, despite our painfully apparent schisms and personal estrangements. The season of Advent, with its ancient meaning of preparing us for the Second Coming of Christ, and the unity that will follow, is a good time to reflect on this. The eschatological unity of the faithful is expressed symbolically and made into reality by the transforming power of the Holy Spirit in the celebration of the Eucharist. Perhaps the most profound expression of this thought in the Greek Christian tradition can be found in the Mystagogia of Maximos the Confessor (c.580-662).

The Mystagogia is essentially a work on the Church and the liturgy, and their effect on human life. In this complex text, Maximos describes the liturgy as a sublime reflection upon the unity of Christians, and the hope of recalling those to Christ who for whatever reason have fallen way. The Church is conceived to be an “icon of God,” in which God is truly present to the community, never more so than when the church comes together to celebrate the Eucharist. In this context individual Christians experience an increase in faith, hope and ultimately charity, and it is the latter which brings about the deepest level of union with God. For Maximos, it is this union with God which allows individuals to overcome differences and grow near to other people. Simply put, the liturgy exists to make us more Christ-like:

Therefore let us not forsake the holy Church of God. By the sacred arrangements of the religious rites it contains such great mysteries filled with meaning for our salvation; through these mysteries she fashions each of us living, each in his own way, as much as possible like Christ, and brings into open manifestation through Christ-like behavior the gift in the Holy Spirit given once by holy baptism, of adoption as sons.

It is this very process of divine adoption which Maximos feels is the central purpose of human life, and the Mystagogia is a detailed discussion of how this transformation takes place in every human being who is open to full participation in the liturgy. Maximos describes how the progression of the liturgy leads the participant on a spiritual pilgrimage from attachment to carnal things at the outset to a recognition of the primacy of God in our lives. The physical structure and images in the church, the prayers of penance and praise, the readings from scripture and of course the eucharistic prayer and rites of communion, all hold great symbolic meaning for Maximos, and are means of receiving grace:

“Each person who is found present there grace transforms, remolds, and truly remodels into a more divine image, conformed to the Spirit Himself; it guides him into the mysteries celebrated, even if he himself may not notice it . . . grace also effects the particular grace in him signified by each of the divine symbols of salvation enacted, leading in regular sequence and order from what is immediately present on to the final consummation of everything.”

The structure of the liturgy mirrors our common spiritual journey. We acknowledge our need for penance and seek knowledge of virtue from listening to the scriptures proclaimed in the assembly. In a spirit of growing joy and enlightenment, we profess the faith which unites us despite our acknowledged weaknesses, and join with the angels in hymns of praise and thanksgiving. As we pray we are changed by the Holy Spirit, just as the bread and wine are changed. The reception of the risen Christ in communion represents not only a physical assimilation of the consecrated elements, but also our complete identification with Christ on a higher level. This final union Maximos expresses in terms of divine adoption, and also with the even more provocative term of the soul’s deification.

 

All of this of course does not happen immediately, and our appreciation of what the Eucharist means to us deepens over time. But the goal is clear, and the destiny of the Christian faithful is nothing less than total transformation and transportation to an eternal realm where, our differences long forgotten, we will join the angels in eternal praise of the Triune God:

“As the final end, the imparting of the sacrament comes: transforming into itself those who receive it worthily, it makes him, by grace and participation, similar to Him who is good essentially, in no way inferior to Him, as far as that is humanly possible and attainable for man. Consequently, by adoption and grace, it is possible for them to be and to be called gods, because all of God completely fills them, leaving nothing in them empty of His presence.”

 

All quotations taken from St. Maximos the Confessor. The Church. the Liturgy and the Soul of Man: the Mystagogia of St. Maximus the Confessor. Translated with Historical Note and Commentaries by Dom Julian Stead, OSB. St. Bede’s Publications, 1982.