Orthodox men love church, says Frederica Matthewes-Green. A couple of weeks ago, I stumbled across an article she had written after dialoguing with one hundred Orthodox men who had converted to Orthodoxy as adults to find out what drew them in.

It's no secret that in most Protestant churches, females make up a larger portion of the congregation, often significantly. This was one of the reasons Matthewes-Green decided to find out why Orthodoxy bucks that trend. What she discovered was very interesting. Look at some of the responses below. It is especially noteworthy, I think, that many of the men commented on the challenge of Orthodoxy:

"It's the only church where you are required to adapt to it, rather than it adapting to you."

"Orthodoxy is serious. It is difficult. It is demanding. It is about mercy, but it's also about overcoming oneself. I am challenged in a deep way, not to 'feel good about myself' but to become holy. It is rigorous, and in that rigour I find liberation."

"Guys either want to be challenged to fight for a glorious and honourable cause, and get filthy dirty in the process, or to loaf in our recliners with plenty of beer, pizza, and football. But most churches want us to behave like orderly gentlemen, keeping our hands and mouths nice and clean."

"Christ in Orthodoxy is a militant, Jesus takes Hell captive. Orthodox Jesus came to cast fire on the earth. In Holy Baptism we pray for the newly-enlisted warriors of Christ, male and female, that they may ‘be kept ever warriors invincible.'"

"...‘the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay’ has almost nothing to do with the Eternal Logos entering inexorably, silently yet heroically, into the fabric of created reality."

"Men get pretty cynical when they sense someone's attempting to manipulate their emotions, especially when it's in the name of religion. They appreciate the objectivity of Orthodox worship. It's not aimed at prompting religious feelings but at performing an objective duty."

A lot of the things these men say they like in Orthodoxy could be true of Protestantism as well. The problem, though, is that many churches have changed and have adapted too much to modern culture. But a Protestant church that is true to its heritage and tradition does require you to adapt to it. I mentioned the Book of Common Prayer the other day; worshipping in a church which uses the BCP presents a challenge that you need to adapt to. Protestant faith is serious and difficult and demanding; Jesus said that if anyone was to follow him they needed to first lay down their life (Matt. 16:24-25). We are called to be holy too, and learning to submit to Christ's Lordship over all of your life is a difficult process. Early Protestants saw Jesus as a strong and powerful King; the tender, soft Swedish Jesus is a modern invention. Protestant worship isn't about feelings and emotions and it does require participation.

But it's not difficult to see that in many churches this is not the case anymore. So, maybe we need to change something. Maybe it's not about coming up with new ways to challenge men, but returning to more classical forms of faith and worship. Maybe instead of dumbing everything down, we make men wrestle again with words and phrases that take some work to understand. Maybe instead of making worship as comfortable as we can, we make them kneel once in a while or stand for prolonged periods of time. Maybe we get them thinking hard about being disciples of Christ, as workers, as husbands and fathers, as citizens, as sports fans. Maybe we don't allow them to be passive and train them to teach or to lead in prayer or to mentor young men.

Christianity should be hard work. It should be challenging. It requires us, after all, to surrender everything to Christ. If men are not learning that in our churches, then something is wrong.

I hope that one day some of the wisdom Fr. Stephen posts on his blog will be turned into a book. To have a book on my shelf that says things like this would be great:

I have often read about the 'habit of prayer.' The one problem with this description is that it can be seen as an activity that we ought to do often, when prayer is, in fact, a state of being in which we should dwell constantly. We are not ever truly ourselves when we are not in prayer.

Read the rest here.

By virtue of my heritage, I am profoundly interested in, and an adherent to, Reformed theology. By virtue of the scholarly interests of a former professor of mine, I am also interested in the theology and history of the Eastern Orthodox tradition. Being in school has not afforded me a lot of extra time to do any reading on the subject, but whenever I get an opportunity to do so, I take it.

There are a number of reasons for my interest in the Orthodox tradition, but one of the main reasons is because of the vast, unexplored (in the West, anyway) history that separates our traditions:

For the past fifteen hundred years, the Latin and Greek traditions in the community of Christians have had disparate histories, with widely contrasting experiences to separate and complicate their relations. The formal schism between Rome and Constantinople...is only an outward sign of the deeper schism in the soul of Christendom. Since the seventh century, Byzantine Christianity had to exist first as the state of a beleaguered fortress-Empire and then as the religion of a persecuted minority under the Crescent scimitar. It bears the scars of the ruin it suffered at the hands of Crusaders and Turks alike. For ten centuries it survived without the kind of academic institutions which helped raise the West from barbarism. It lived more by its liturgy than its literature, more by the lex orandi, lex credendi than by the genius of its doctors.

Small wonder, then, that the images of Eastern Christianity in Western manuals of church history are usually uncomprehending--with their phrases about 'theological stagnation,' 'arrested development,' 'traditionalism.' Small wonder, too, that the sporadic efforts at rapprochement between East and West have been so volatile--and so unfamiliar to the generality of Western Christians. Now that the modern ecumenical movement has put Orthodox and Protestant theologians back into dialogue, this ignorance of ours about their history is worse than embarrassing. It turns our conversation into cross-talk.

Even though I am very familiar with the contours of the history of the Church, I remain only vaguely familiar with the history of the Eastern Church. As a result, I often grab on to opportunities to learn more about it. But I am also always interested in learning more of the history of the Calvinist tradition, and in the figure of Cyril Lucaris, I am able to explore the history of both of these traditions as they interacted with each other in a very unique way in the seventeenth century:

One of the most noteworthy chapters in this strange history has to do with the century-long, backstage parley that went on between various Protestants and Greeks in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Many Protestants, uneasy about their breach with the Christian past, saw in Orthodoxy a sounder link than Rome with the church catholic. At least a few Orthodox leaders saw in Protestantism not only an authentic reformatory impulse, but also an ally against the aggressions of Counter-Reformation Rome. The most dramatic episode in this chapter was the brief flowering of Cyril Lucaris, Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople (1620-1638, intermittently), educator, statesman, and Calvinist theologian.

Listening to an Orthodox podcast once, I recall the two men hosting the program stating that they found in Reformed tradition one of the richest expressions of theology in the Protestant traditions. With that said, although I was quite surprised to hear about Lucaris' efforts to introduce Calvinist theology to the Orthodox tradition and am aware that there are some significant theological differences in the respective traditions, there is, it would seem, some sort of commonalities that would foster this sort of interaction.

Since I have not really done any book recommendations here before, and since a good library is essential to living a fulfilling life (and I want that for you), I will begin to do so more often.

My former history professor and chair of the history department at Redeemer University College, James R. Payton, Jr., is the author of Light from the Christian East: An Introduction to the Orthodox Tradition, a book which I highly commend. It is very readable, thorough, and gives a view into Eastern Orthodoxy in a manner which enters into their mindset instead of a compare and contrast with Western Christianity. Payton was recently interviewed on "Come, Receive the Light," a radio program from the Orthodox Christian Network. I encourage you to listen to that as well, to hear some of his insights in Orthodoxy and why he wrote the book. Click here for the interview (you'll need to scroll down a little) or, for the mp3 file, click here.

(HT: David Koyzis)

Slightly in relation to the last post, I want to talk a bit about the notion of the local church. What brings me to mention this is the most recent post from Orthodox priest, Stephen Freeman. I've mentioned him a number of times here on this blog, and that is because I find his thoughts provoking and challenging. And although he focuses primarily on Orthodoxy, I find a lot of what he says to be equally applicable to Christianity as a whole, and especially how it is to function within American and Western culture.

Fr. Freeman describes Orthodoxy in America as a stranger in a strange land. Indeed it is--rooted in Byzantine and Eastern European culture, it seems markedly strange and different to Westerners. He makes the point that Orthodoxy seems to be designed to work best in a small village setting, and that the commuting aspect of American culture has made things difficult. Some of his parishioners travel 75 miles to come to the church. This is problematic for Orthodox believers as the gathering together of that community occurs more frequently than a Protestant church. However, Fr. Freeman is discontent with this commuter mentality, and though within the realm of evangelicalism in America it has come to widely accepted, he issues a warning:

We must, however, recognize the nature of our situation and not suggest that since the Church lives in Babylon it must do as the Babylonians do. I would gladly argue that this would be our worst mistake. Orthodoxy has a life that bears a shape, formed in a crucible, that we should not lightly change in the culture we now find ourselves in...We are strangers in a strange land, and we must assemble ourselves together as Church often. There we are fed by grace and manifest who and what we are to an even greater extent by the goodness of God.

American culture is saturated with the idea of choice. A professor of mine pulled up the statistic that in the average franchise grocery store in the United States, there will be upwards of 50,000 items available to the consumer. Half-mile stretches of road are devoted strictly to restaurants. An advertising campaign for the best selling pickup truck in North America, the Ford F-series, states that it comes in over three million different configurations.

But this aspect of choice has filtered over to the Church as well. The schismatic nature of the American Church is deeply disturbing. The over 30,000 known denominations are evidence of this. There is a proliferation of churches on every corner (especially in the South) and this has done injury to the idea of community and commitment. We choose churches based on our needs and wants instead of being a part of the church in our community so that we can meet the needs of others and contribute with our gifts in our local setting. Some people see no issue in driving thirty miles to attend a church they like, though choosing to go that distance means they will participate far less, often only attending the weekly service. One particular church in my area has members that will commute from southern Georgia weekly to attend services--a three-hour car ride.

This is a difficult question, I realize, especially for those who tend to lay emphasis on the necessity of theological agreement between the individuals in the community, and the individual and the broader community (denomination). How much priority should be placed on aligning ourselves with like-minded believers? Many would argue that for the sake of the gospel and our witness in our communities and the world at large, these distinctions should be played down so as to present a unified front. To be sure, this is a commendable notion. American Presbyterian theologian, J. Gresham Machen, once addressed the question of when one should leave a church by stating that the point at which to withdraw from a church and go elsewhere is when being a part of that community causes you to sin. That, of course, leaves room for interpretation and the judgment of conscience, but I think it also provides something for our current, divisive Protestant landscape to think about.

But this question is not one that the Church in other places has to deal with. Those who have served on the mission field can well attest to that. Small localities in nations where the gospel does not have a significant presence are often blessed to have one church in their area. I think it goes without saying that believers in those settings are more than willing to lay aside their theological disagreements and worship together as a unified community. There are lessons to be learned from this. It involves us stepping outside the boundaries of our culture and seeing things in a different light.

The point is that I think we need to work on reviving the notion of community in our local churches. As strangers in a strange land, we need to be bound together with the unity that comes in being children of God. And that is what I think Fr. Freeman is also getting at. Community is best lived out in a geographically-local setting, whether it is an urban neighborhood or a small town somewhere in the middle of a rural area. A close community will provide the sustenance needed to live as strangers in a foreign land.

Our definition of "church" is important here. We must definitely not use it as a verb, as something we do, but should instead work towards understanding it as a proper noun, a name or title given to a body of people--indeed, an anointed title. Church encompasses so much more than a building or something that happens on Sunday. It is a way of life, a calling. Fr. Freeman makes that clear about Orthodoxy in his post, and I want to stress that point here too. If we understand our calling to be representatives of the Kingdom of God, and the Church to be at the heart and center of that calling, then the importance of the local church and community becomes more evident.

In a way then, what I have said here should precede the discussion I have had with a number of people in the last post (especially in the comments). Once we recognize the importance that the Church should play in the community, then we can begin to talk about how that should be done.

The Church is such an integral part of life in Orthodoxy, and as Fr. Freeman points out, American culture makes it difficult to maintain that understanding. Such is the case for Christianity as a whole. In an earlier post I stated that humans are meant to live in community and our churches should be reflective of that. If the Church (and by extension the Kingdom under the rule of God) is not at the heart of that community, something else will be. And for anything else to be the center of a community is nothing less than idolatry.