Jesus entry into Jerusalem is not merely the fulfilment of the prophecies of Zephaniah and Zechariah – nor is this procession purely symbolic, an Adventus if you like. The entry into Jerusalem is the commencement of the last phase of God’s campaign to save his people. This next week, is a time of liminality; that builds in its intensity as the week progresses, and we await with expectation the resurrection.

You might find it odd that I am not using historic tense here – but the fact is, while we commemorate the historic events of Christ’s life and teaching, we are also living them, we are true witnesses of the resurrection; a moment that shapes our way of seeing the world in which we live, and the relationships we enjoy.

Today is just the beginning of the feast, the moment we cross the threshold and take our first steps towards hope and life. Today we commemorate the King of Glory riding on a humble beast, preparing for the battle ahead, when he shall use you, and me “as a warrior’s sword” (Zech. 9.13) to defeat the darkness that oppresses us (Zeph. 3.19). Today we celebrate that the judgement against us has been lifted (Zeph. 3.15), and “none may recount [our] disgrace” (Zeph. 3.18). Today we are “renewed” in his love, as he dances jubilantly with us (Zeph. 3.17). Today is the beginning of our victory with Christ.

During this time of liminality we can see how the disciples’ perception of Christ is not yet fully formed, and would not be until they emerged, crossing the other threshold whole and enlightened. During this time of liminality things appear to be suspended – perception, understanding, even our own sense of self, as we observe the events unfolding, knowing that the narrative tension is building, but to what, and to what end we cannot immediately see. Unlike the first disciples, we have the benefit of knowing the outcome, yet we still, through our liturgies, and through our chosen Lenten disciplines, share in their experience, bear witness to what they bore witness to, and are thus able, if only for a brief moment, to capture their sense of wonderment at the events unfolding before them.

The first disciples did not yet fully understand – indeed they would not, until after they too had witnessed the resurrection, as the Evangelist writes of the entry into Jerusalem (Jn. 12.16): “His disciples did not understand this at first, but when Jesus had been glorified they remembered that these things were written about him and that they had done this for him.” While we enjoy the benefit of historical knowledge of these events, the fact remains that our understanding and perception of Christ is constantly being formed – we have not (as some would argue) understood the whole of revelation. While we are confident in our salvation, we inhabit a liminal space throughout our life as we seek to uncover, and to understand more deeply who God is, and our relationship to him. Thus, for us, sacramental disciples of the Master, every week, every day begins with us stepping over the threshold on one side of a moment, and emerging reborn, and renewed in his love, on the other.

O Lord, wishing to give to your disciples an assurance of your resurrection, you came to the tomb of Lazarus and called to him by name. Then was Sheol despoiled, and released the one that had been four days dead, as he called upon you: ‘O blessed Lord, glory be to you’.
– stichera, vespers

Parallel and foreshadowing are two features of sacramental theology, which emerged very early on. The writings of the Apostle describe Christ as the Second Adam (x), the second century apologists understood Mary as the Second Eve, both working together to restore the fullness of humanity, and our relationship with God. The thinkers of our tradition have historically perceived in the Old Testament images which point to, or foreshadow persons and events that are fulfilled in the Gospels; the burning bush foreshadows the incarnation; the golden serpent, the crucifixion; the closed temple gates through which God alone enters and exits the Temple – the Virgin birth.

Today, we see both foreshadowing and parallelism in the raising of Lazarus; but not between the Old and the New Testaments, rather within, and among the witnesses of the events of the Gospels. The resurrection of Lazarus is a sign of things to come, a token of reassurance for the time when Christ himself would die and be resurrected – a metaphor of hope.

Lazarus fell ill, and died. His sisters were in mourning when Jesus arrived. He and Martha have the following exchange:

Martha – ‘Lord if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you.’

Jesus – ‘Your brother will rise.’

Martha – ‘I know he will rise in the resurrection on the last day.’

Jesus – ‘I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?’

Martha – ‘Yes Lord, I have come to believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.’

What follows is Jesus astonishing order to open the tomb, and his calling Lazarus forth by name. The story then, is not just about Jesus death and resurrection, but our own. Just as with the resurrection of Lazarus we find a token of hope for Christ’s imminent victory over Death, so too we find a token of hope and expectation for our own resurrection because we have come to believe that Jesus is the Christ, and that because of his teaching we understand that we too will rise on the last day. We are Lazarus, his experience foreshadows our own, which is yet to be fulfilled.

That one extended his hand towards the tree and harvested Death; this one stretched out his hands on the cross and embraced the world; and he declares in the gospels: “when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself.”

Many of you reading this will be wearing a piece of jewellery in the shape of the cross, or have a cross somewhere in your home. Aside from the Eucharist the cross is “the” symbol that identifies us sacramental Christians.

We make the sign of the cross, in prayer, in blessing, and as a means of protection. The cross, along with water, and the Eucharist, is one of the most powerful symbols of our faith.

The cross is also an icon of paradox. On the one hand it is the image of death, an instrument of horror, used as much as a means of terror as of execution; on the other hand it is the “tree of life” through which Life himself having embraced our nature championed our cause, liberating us from the darkness that oppressed us.

Because it is such a ubiquitous image in the daily comings and goings of our faith, it is very easy to take for granted this symbol without being mindful of its value in our theology and spirituality. Lent is a traditional time of re-connecting with our praxis, and our theology, it is therefore, fitting that during this season we set aside a day to remember the power and value of the cross in our life of faith.

It is easy to forget that Christian theology is not merely the realm of academics; that it is necessarily balanced by the experience of the community. I have often heard our faith described as a dry collection of dictums that must be followed precisely if one is to both avoid condemnation from within, and be “considered” a true Christian. To my mind, this is either another form of legalism, or dualism where the activity of the intellect, the spirit, is given precedence over, and is deemed naturally “better” than the experience of the body.

During Lent many of us often endeavour to undertake some form of asceticism. Asceticism – naturally – involves the body, the experience of the body; and in this context that experience is closely linked to our personal search for wisdom and a better understanding of God, and his presence in our life. Theology necessarily includes the activity and experience of the body.

A quick survey of the biggest feasts of the liturgical year demonstrates the theological value of the body in our faith. The feast of the Nativity is our celebration of the Incarnation itself. In becoming the Incarnate One, the Logos demonstrates that our whole self, our “person” is composed of spiritual and material intimately woven together to form a whole cloth. The suggestion – which he later demonstrates at the Resurrection – is that in order for our salvation to be complete, the whole person must be saved, and not merely the spirit.

At Theophany we commemorate the institution of baptism, and the reconstitution of the entire created order – symbolised not just by Jesus’ own body, but ours as well; for as we have been baptised into Christ, we are baptised into his body, as well as the Will and Reason of God.

We are now approaching the feast of Pascha, the death and resurrection of Christ – in the flesh. The resurrection is an important point of reference for our theology; indeed it is our central point of reference. Here Christ completes the demonstration of the fullness of our salvation began at the Nativity. It is not just our soul that is saved – had it been so, there would have been no need for the Incarnation. We were created as whole persons, that wholeness, that . . . “personhood” is intimately bound up in our material, finite existence. Our bodies – constituent parts of our “person” must therefore be included in the mechanics of salvation. It is for this reason then that he became incarnate, suffered, and died.

Christ’s victory over Death was not just accomplished because of the overwhelming power of his divinity – Death (according to our traditional mythic imagery) is a powerful, primordial figure in his own right, cunning and strong, he would not have been so easily defeated hat it not been for the Divine Deception. Through the Incarnation, the Logos offers Death a treat he cannot possibly turn away, whole human-ness, the entirety of perfected humanity – the “price” demanded for our freedom. Our body then – Christ’s body – is the weapon of our liberation. Through it he reveals himself as God, overwhelms Death, liberates those held since the beginning, and returns with his own body (no-one ever enters Sheol and returns) as proof of his victory.

Through experience of the activity of, and encounter with the Incarnate One the first witnesses of our faith “knew” Christ as God. Today’s Gospel (Mk. 2.1-12) is but one example of this. The crowd, having witnessed Christ’s healing the paralytic, is “astounded and glorified God, saying ‘We have never seen anything like this’.” Through the body of the Paralytic and their encounter with the Logos Incarnate, the crowd came to “know” God. Theology is an incarnational experience, as much as it is the musings of the intellect.

It was St. Gregory of Palamas (1296-1359) who we commemorate today, that developed and defended this seemingly natural link between the experience of the Incarnation, our experience, and our ability to access, understand, and know God not exclusively through the workings of the intellect, but also through the experience of living our faith, and the spiritual disciplines, such as heschyia that we undertake.

St Athanasius writes of Mary’s asceticism: “Her words were calm’ her voice, moderate; she did not cry out. And being glad in her heart, she did not slander anyone, nor did she willingly listen to slander. She did not grow weary in in her heart or become envious in her soul. She was not a braggart, but completely humble” (Brakke, 278).

St. Thalassios says of speech: “The tongue of a back-biting soul is three pronged: it injures the speaker, the listener and sometimes the person being maligned” (Philokalia, 321)

+John Plummer wrote an excellent post today called “Blessing & Cursing” highlighting the value of the “asceticism of speech”. John writes: “We all know the creative and destructive power of the word (mirroring the Logos in miniature) in our lives.”

Asceticism – the discipline of cultivating the fullness of our own individual character in light of our relationship to God – is, as Athanasius and others have pointed out – our struggle to mirror the example of Christ.

The power of the “word” to create is evident when we consider that it is the Logos himself who is the active agent of creation (Jn. 1.1-4); likewise, we see the power of the “word” to destroy as in the curious case of Jesus cursing the fig tree (Mk. 11.12-14;20-26).

In the latter, Jesus reminds us that speech has power – the power to achieve, and the power to forgive (and seek forgiveness). Naturally something this “powerful” demands wisdom and care of the user – if it is to be used so as to mirror the example of Christ.

Christ’s example is clear to see – speech can bless, console, encourage, chastise, it can forgive, teach, and yes – it can curse. In all of these – Christ’s example is one of thoughtfulness, each word has been considered, each turn of phrase intended to build up the body, as well as prune.

Here in our indie blogs, on our web sites, and in our various chat groups we have an opportunity to be Christ to one another, and thus collectively to the wider community – just through the power of our speech.

A word – asceticism in discourse – through thoughtful use of reason and speech we can best reflect the image of Christ in the World.

Male or female, straight or gay, you’ve no doubt seen pornography at some point in your life. If the statistics are correct, 90% of internet users view porn on their computers, included in that percentage is at least a proportion of those 64% of users who use the net for religious and spiritual purposes. Does pornography clash with our indie-Christian ethos; if so, how?

I fall into the wide grouping of indie folk who maintain a positive body theology. This is not to say that anything goes (there is such a thing as responsible “use” and accountability), but it is to assert that I (believe) that I am free from the pseudo-ascetic teaching that sexual intimacy is strongly connected with sin, corruption, and even the Fall of Man, that first emerged in the late fourth century – and in some communities has become a cornerstone of their religious anthropology.

Because I don’t begin to explore the issue of pornography with a carte blanc assertion that sex, and in particular sex outside of marriage/union is sinful – I’ve got to ask other questions; look at it from different angles.

A few months ago the Guardian published an article on the sex trafficking industry, just a week or so ago, they published another article this time focussing on how for purely financial gain, young Russian conscripts are farmed out to businessmen for sex. Eastern & Central Europe, Asia: These are places where the economies are weak, corruption is rife, and protection for vulnerable people is minimal if it exists at all. These are also the places where large amounts of porn are produced. Young people of both genders are attracted to “domestic” and “clerical” jobs by the promise of money, and find themselves trapped, alone, abused, and forced into the sex industry. Because of the shame, and even legal issues, no one talks about it.

In more “developed” states, such as the US where the porn industry rivals that of Hollywood, there is still cause for concern. Here, where image consciousness is at its height, exaggerated cosmetic surgery, drugs, and economic insecurity are an integral part of the production of both gay and straight pornography – and has resulted in numerous, needless deaths of porn “actors”.

Pornography causes the suffering of others.

As we approach Pascha, we are more conscientious of the purpose of the Incarnation – through his life and ministry, his death and resurrection, Jesus taught us to do as he did; to bring relief to the suffering of others (e.g. Mt. 25.35ff; Lk. 10.29-36). Conversely we ought not to be the cause of suffering for others.

Buying pornographic DVDs and purchasing access to pornographic web sites, is actively, consciously, supporting the suffering of others. In choosing to hand over our cash to view pornography we support the economy of the sex industry (an estimated £30bn globally, £1bn. in the UK alone, and £2.5bn. in the state of CA – app. £4.3million in internet sales alone). The economics alone demonstrates how the suffering of others is fuelled by demand; more people are drawn into, or forced into being bought and sold, filmed and trafficked providing “sex” for others.

Viewing the “free” pics and video clips on pornographic sites, is not as “free” as you might think. Not only are those who are filmed not “free”; but thanks to “cookies” and other tracking methods, porn producers, know you were there, and are able to better target their audience, thus, increasing their profits. An increase in profit means that more people are drawn into, or forced to remain in the porn, and associated sex industries – more people suffer.

The ease with which porn is now accessed online has other side effects. A recent documentary here in the UK showed how teenage boys are swapping porn via the net, and blue-tooth on their phones. They are even using the video function of their mobiles to film themselves having sex – then distributing these clips to their friends, and posting them on the net. None of the half dozen or so young men interviewed saw any problem with this.

There is another – related factor here – in the UK, for example it is thought that 80,000 people work in the sex industry – advertising on the net, and filming and being filmed having sex with strangers and posting these to subscription web sites. How does this link in with the rise in the spread of STDs (or STIs – to use the newer term)? Sex workers are both infecting and being infected others – likewise those who are filmed with them. The demand for video porn, and its associated industries is contributing to the suffering of others, as well as a growing, largely silent, national health crisis here in the UK.

Finally, there is the even more devastating effect of pornography and that is the death of personhood. I think this comes in two forms the death imposed by the audience, and the death suffered by the sex workers.

The viewer of pornography no longer sees the reflection of the divine in the other; as I think is demonstrated by the documentary cited above. Rather porn “actors” are objects of desire, purveyors of pleasure. That they have a name, a spirit, a unique identity is not acknowledged – and indeed even surpressed. It seems to me that this has an effect on how the viewer then goes out into the world and relates to others. If it is easy to suppress, even “kill” the personality of another in order to acquire one’s own pleasure – how does this spill over into other “relationships”?

The death of personality is also exhibited in the fact that “famous” porn actors and actresses undertake extensive cosmetic surgery to be more like the improbable, inhuman, fantasies of their audience. The fact that many of the “famous” porn actors and actresses are afflicted with addiction is another reflection on how they have suffered the death of personality. How much more this suffering for young Russian conscripts, Polish girls promised a job, or Philipino and Thai girls promised domestic work in another country – not only are they nameless (often illegal), but they also suffer silently even when they escape – because of the shame.

Asceticism – which we are more aware of during Lent – is about cultivating the fullest expression of our own personhood. Is it therefore just, that we through viewing pornography, contribute to the death of personality of others? Jesus taught us to approach the other with compassion, and to bring relief to the suffering of others, and not to be the cause of that suffering.

We indie folk largely represent a community of people who have been liberated from the false, often unhealthy, body theologies of other churches and traditions. We are, and historically have been, more comfortable exploring, and ministering in areas related to body theology, and sexuality than those in “other places”. I think it is safe to say that a majority of our communities are open to, and in some cases lead by those often classed as “sexual minorities”. This sometimes leads to the criticism that we are merely rebelling against the sexual norms and related theologies of other churches. While I do not accept that this is true – it is the case that we are in a position to constructively contribute to a wider dialogue.

Collectively we can urge our members, our friends, and those we are in dialogue with to speak out about how pornography causes suffering in others and is therefore not compatible with being faithful to the teachings of Jesus, and sacramental theology. Our web sites and blogs are visited, searched, and linked to sometimes by hundreds of people a month. A well written essay on a topic related to body theology, and the theology of sexuality (though not directly speaking to pornography) would certainly encourage reflection and consideration. As a community, we can come together to debate, discuss, and build concensus on positive body theologies – then make it known that many of our bishops and theologians were/are a part of this process, and agree with its findings.

We can, in short, but theology – the voice of the church – in action to make a positive change both in the behaviour of our own membership, and those who visit us, but also by putting a dent in the industry where it matters – economically. If enough of us were to do it collectively and individually – we could contribute to building a momentum that while it may not eradicate the problem, would certainly go a long way towards ending the suffering of many affected by it. To remain silent, when all that is needed to end the suffering of others, is a well argued word, and a good example . . . . is not in keeping with our heritage.

Asceticism is about discipline, and organising one’s way of life in such a way as to cultivate a beautiful character. Ought this not also extend to collective organising for a just cause – to end the suffering of others – especially when so little effort on our part is needed?

This Sunday (the first Sunday of Lent) is the traditional celebration of the “Triumph of the Church” over all heresies. Originally established in the 9th century, as a commemoration of the end of iconoclasm, by the 12th it had been extended to include the victory of “orthodoxy” over all heresies.

I’ve long been fascinated with the idea of “faith” – how do we define it, what does it entail. I cannot say that as yet I feel I have a well formed, concise “definition” of faith. Recently I’ve been reading Robert Wilkin’s The Spirit of Early Christian Thought, in it he includes an interesting discussion on faith and reason, in which citing Origen, and Augustine, he explores elements of “faith” – some of which I’ll play with below. Monday’s G2 section of the Guardian (26 Feb) includes an equally interesting article on the growing divide between believers and secularists in British society. Both texts have raised for me what seems to be a seminal point with reference to “faith” – and that is that faith must have the capacity for doubt. Why?

Wilken, citing Augustine again, demonstrates how for example historical knowledge and scientific knowledge differ. There is a certainty about scientific knowledge, because of the way in which we arrive at it – through demonstration, measurement, and proofs. Historical knowledge on the other hand will always have an element of doubt – because it relies heavily on the veracity of witnesses. Historical knowledge then is . . . indirect. . . dependent on the authenticity of someone’s word. Scientific knowledge on the other hand is direct – you can (theoretically) conduct the experiment, take the measurements, work out the mathematical proofs, yourself and thus “see” the evidence laid out before you.

Christian thinking, is grounded in historical knowledge, as such it begins with the collective memory of the community – from the personal witness of those who have gone before whose account, and experience are held in our consciousness as authoritative. The Gospels were written decades after the life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Christ, yet we receive and accept these accounts as authentic witnesses to the life and teaching of Christ. Christian thinking begins not with the proof, or demonstration, the measured result, or mechanical experiment, but with the reception of the witnesses’ accounts believed to be authentic. St. Paul emphasises this point when he wrote to the Corinthians (1Cor. 15.3): “. . .I handed on to you as of first importance what I also received. . .” Paul then continues developing his theological themes and ideas firmly grounded in that body of knowledge that he received, and now passes on to (reminds) the community in Corinth.

The letters of St. Paul were quickly circulated and appropriated by the community as an authentic voice bearing witness to the teaching of Christ. The Gospels too are associated with the names of the Apostles: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Their names, their witness was deemed authoritative – even if they did not pen their eponymous texts. What these examples seem to indicate is that, at least in the emergence of Christian thought, the question of whom to trust, was more important than what one should believe.

We learn to trust Paul as we read his writings, and consider and reflect upon his themes and expansions of “that which he received” and subsequently handed on. It is a process that invites us to be analytical, to doubt and to question; to seek to understand, to know the truth about what he has written – and over time to trust his witness, his account of Christian thought and events. Just as we come to trust Jesus – and are confident in his promises, and the value of his teaching, we come to trust Paul, Ignatius, Athanasius, Gregory of Nyssa, Proklos, and others up to and including the witness of contemporary theologians.

Reflecting on this Sunday’s feast – the triumph of Orthodoxy – we should see it’s value not in a list of doctrines to be believed, that have merely been approved by the ecumenical councils – rather we ought to celebrate the wider personal witness of those whose voices who invite us to engage with, even struggle with ideas and issues that contribute to our understanding of God.

Today is “Clean Monday”, the first day of the Great Fast. Over the past two weeks we have prepared for the fast by gradually removing “heavy” foods, meat, and dairy from our diet, in preparation for the traditional Lenten discipline.

But “Clean Monday” does not only refer to the start of the annual ascetic experience, where we “lighten” our physical bodies, as a means of also “lightening” and “quickening” our spiritual and mental state; for yesterday was the commemoration of Adam’s expulsion from Paradise, and “Forgiveness Sunday”.

During Vespers, we approach one another and ask forgiveness for offences we have caused, which remain unresolved from the previous year. Asking of, and extending to one another forgiveness, we remove the burden of anger, resentment, guilt, and hurt, “lightening” one another’s spirits, just as the asceticism of food lightens our bodies, improving the agility of our minds.

Asceticism is not about suffering. Rather it is about peeling away the cares, worries, resentments, desires and emotions that “weigh” us down, make us sluggish to respond to grace, and the calling of God in our life. Each week during the Liturgy we are reminded of the need to approach the divine presence free, and open, ready to receive what God has to offer, when we sing the Cherubikon: . . . let us now lay aside all earthly care, that we may receive/welcome the King of All, invisibly escorted by angelic hosts. Alleluia!

During Lent, we each in our own way, take this opportunity to dig a little deeper, to be that little bit more aware of the process of peeling away those distractions that anchor us to points of suffering; in so doing, we prepare to enter the Great Feast open, un-burdened, and free, ready to receive all that the grace of the Resurrection has to offer.

Lent us upon us. During this period before Pascha each year many people “give up something” as a token, others “take on something”, some of us still follow the traditional fast, still others don’t even bat their eyes at Lent ignoring it all together.

The “logic” behind many of our Lenten practices is asceticism – the spiritual discipline that emerged just before Christianity, and found its “home” within the lives of the holy men & women of the first four centuries of the church. Asceticism, contrary to popular perception, at its core is about developing the fullness of a beautiful personality, and not repentance, or hatred for the material world.

Asceticism was seen as cultivating a healthy life and a balanced personality. Thus, it is often cited in the texts of the fathers that talk about well-being, health, and even medical matters.

Asceticism was not solely the practice of, monks, hermits, and holy men. St. Athanasius for example encouraged everyone to live a life of discipline – describing the life of an “ascetic” as the “advanced life of virtue” everyone else could benefit, he argued from cultivating a moderate asceticism in their day to day affairs. Again, the logic of asceticism was to cultivate the fullest possible expression of one’s personality, one’s . . . “personhood”.

Starting from the fourth century when Lent began to take on the features we are now familiar with – it has been intimately linked with asceticism. Lent became a time of “re-awakening” to our relationship with the divine, peeling away the things of this World that weigh down our ability to fully “be” icons of the Living Christ – in preparation for the feast of the Resurrection.

Asceticism affects more than just our approach to, and understanding of Lent. It affects other areas of our historic theology – for example attitudes towards the “body”, sexuality, and thus to marriage – and even Lesbian and Gay relationships.

Finally, one reason this season is often called “Great Lent” or the “Great Fast” is because it is the longest in a series of other “lents” preceding or forming a preparation period for the other major feasts of the year. Originally, they all lasted about a week.

Pascha is the time when people were baptised. The preparation for baptism in the late antique church was more involved, and took more time than unfortunately it does today. Catechumens underwent a period of ascetic discipline (prayer, study, fasting) for about a month before their baptism at Pascha. The length of “Great Lent” increased out of the custom of the rest of the community – in solidarity with their catechumens – undertaking the same discipline.

During this Lent I would like to invite you to play with me and explore two questions:

What is the “value” of asceticism in our contemporary OC/IC community?

Assuming that we wish to re-claim that “value” would it not be more constructive if we restored the practice of little “lents” throughout the festal year – and thereby offering a greater opportunity for our folks to consciously cultivate the skill of asceticism? Would doing so mean that “Lent” could/should be restored to about a week before Pascha; why or why not?