I’d read versions that talked about taking grandma fresh butter or fruit before. But in Grimm’s version it’s Eucharistic: cake and wine.

Somehow, the version makes so much sense; it was the only way to bring healing. But it required sticking to the narrow path.

Then [the wolf] said: “Listen, Little Red Riding Hood, haven’t you seen the beautiful flowers that are blossoming in the woods? Why don’t you go and take a look? And I don’t believe you can hear how beautifully the birds are singing. You are walking along as though you were on your way to school in the village. It is very beautiful in the woods.”

Little Red Riding Hood opened her eyes and saw the sunlight breaking through the trees and how the ground was covered with beautiful flowers. She thought: “If I take a bouquet to Grandmother, she will be very pleased. Anyway, it is still early, and I’ll be home on time.” And she ran off into the woods looking for flowers. Each time she picked one, she thought that she could see an even more beautiful one a little way off, and she ran after it, going further and further into the woods.”

And paradise was lost. And the wolf won. And Little Red Riding Hood was eaten.

Until she wasn’t.

So, recently, I’ve been moving from one form of Christianity to another, and I’ve been studying the differences. I’ve also been doing some soul searching and thinking about what’s drawn me to Eastern Orthodoxy and why I’m now in the process of joining the Church.

Admittedly, I’ve always been a little at odds with modernity in churches. I never understood how something so ancient could look so contemporary with keyboards, dogs, and jokes about whose football team had won during the service. It always felt disconnected for me somehow. And so going to a church with ancient liturgy, and purifying incense smoke, and holy fire reconnects somehow.

But is it just about my personal preferences? Or is it something more? The orientation maybe?

I was used to the sermon being central. God’s word was central. A long sermon. Facing the people. But in Orthodoxy the Eucharist is central. Facing the altar. The liturgy is a slow climb to the top of the mountain where God meets man. Before you descend.

So given all the theological differences I’ve been pondering for the last few years here on Substack, I think nothing is as central to the difference between the two traditions as the Eucharist.

And really, I think it’s about the incarnation.

In my Evangelical upbringing, contrary to stereotypes about Protestantism, there was a belief in a presence. It really was solemn. There was a searching of the heart. Remembering the cross. A great reverence. A spiritual reality in the bread and wine that was recognised.

But there is also a real difference.

And here’s the paradigm shift.

I recently asked my Priest a question. I’d been thinking about the divide between the Eastern Orthodox Church and the Coptic Orthodox Church. I asked what would happen if somebody went to a Coptic church. His response seemed to unlock something in my understanding. He didn’t focus on them going there - it appeared that was fine. He said something like: if an Eastern Orthodox person was to take the Eucharist from a Coptic church, they’d have to confess this to their Priest and be received back into their own (Eastern Orthodox) church before being able to receive the Eucharist again.

It clicked.

To my Priest, there was no difference between the body (of believers) and the body (the bread and wine of the Eucharist).

None.

So partaking of the body joins you to that body. I’d never ever seen it that way.

This very thing I’d seen in the preparation for the Divine Liturgy; when the Priest prepares the bread, and after piercing it with the spear, he picks up each crumb whilst he recites the names of each parishioner.

I once told some friends that even though I had been attending an Orthodox church (for over a year by that point), I was still unable to receive the bread and wine. They thought it was strange. At that time I didn’t have a good defence for it.

In my former evangelical church there was no list of who was (or wasn’t) part of the church. There were also no rules about when you could or couldn’t eat the bread and wine. When it seemed right to you, you would do it. But in Orthodoxy, although you’re receiving the Eucharist as an individual, you are the body receiving the body. And the two are not distinguished.

Now, part of this difference between the Evangelical Protestant and Orthodox approaches to the Eucharist relates to where each considers the boundary of the Church to be - who’s in and who’s out. In fact, it helps a little to explain why there can be allegations of exclusivism levied at Eastern Orthodoxy from those who hold an invisible Church paradigm.

The recent exchange between Father Stephen De Young and Gavin Ortlund serves as a good example:

GO: “I genuinely don’t understand why someone would believe that only the Eastern Orthodox Church is the one true Church when the fruits of Christianity and everything I know Christianity to be is so beautifully abundant in other contexts as well.

Orthodoxy currently comprises about 12% of global Christendom. So about 88% of Christianity is outside of the Eastern Orthodox Church. You know, I’d just as soon have to cease believing in Christ altogether as to deny the fruits of this 88%. Which are the doctrinal fruits, the spiritual fruits. So much of Christianity that manifests Christ himself. In my cases for this I appeal to New Testament passages about how we are to measure the tree by the fruits.”

Fr SDY: “It is very clear in the Orthodox teaching: the Orthodox Church is the Church of Christ. It is the Church that Christ founded on this earth. It is the body of Christ. The borders of the Church are co-terminus with the Orthodox Church, and that is the place where God is working salvation. We understand this very much in parallel to the way Israel functioned in the Old Testament. Israel had borders. It was a visible physical institution. That’s the place where he was working. But all through the Old Testament, there’s also this idea that through Israel, God is working salvation for the nations and for the whole creation. That Israel is the vehicle through which he is doing that.

Israel in the Old Testament was of course very small compared to the rest of the world. When we say that the borders of God’s people were co-terminous with the borders of Israel in the Old Testament we’re not saying everyone outside is completely lost, and we’re also not saying everybody inside is in.”

This is a helpful articulation of the two paradigms.

And we all read Scripture through the lens of a paradigm. Myself included.

So I’d disagree when people say that Scripture is self-evident and you don’t need a guide. I mean St Paul, before becoming a Christian, was an avid student of Scripture, to the highest degree, and from it he concluded that the persecution of Christians (to the point of death) was God’s will.

So when I read what St Paul writes to the churches about unity, and the bread, and how these things are one and the same - I now read it differently:

“For we, though many, are one bread and one body; for we all partake of that one bread.”

Spiritual and material realities are not separated things.

The body is the bread is the body.

And when I read things like “we have an altar”, I agree that this altar is Christ and the cross, as I’ve heard many times from pulpits. But I also think that Paul (or the author) is talking to the Hebrew Christians about their physical altar table and contrasting it against the one in the temple. Saying that those who are not of the body have no right to eat from the real altar. We know we have an altar in heaven. But the Church is where we find the “on earth as it is in heaven”:

One bread.

One body.

And St Ignatius, a generation after St Paul. He can help with the paradigm, to show what these very early Christians thought and did:

“For as many as are of God and of Jesus Christ, these are with the Bishop; and as many as have repented, and have entered into the unity of the Church, these, too, shall be of God, that they may live according to Jesus Christ.

Be not deceived, my brethren; if any one follows a schismatic, he does not inherit the kingdom of God; if any man walks in an alien opinion, he agrees not with the passion of Christ.

Be diligent, therefore, to use one eucharist, for there is one flesh of our Lord Jesus Christ, and one cup, for union with his blood; one altar, even as there is one Bishop, together with the presbytery and the deacons, who are my fellow-servants, to the end that whatever ye do, ye may do it according unto God.”

One flesh.

One cup.

One altar.

One Bishop.

It’s the same Unity. Indistinct between Eucharist, body, and episcopate.

For St Ignatius, there wasn’t only a heavenly altar. He knew of a physical altar in the Church just as much as there was a physical Bishop present. And we’re not talking about centuries later.

In the paradigm of the early Church, in St Irenaeus’ words, spiritual and material realities coexisted:

“For as the bread, which is produced from the earth, when it receives the invocation of God, is no longer common bread, but the Eucharist, consisting of two realities, earthly and heavenly; so also our bodies, when they receive the Eucharist, are no longer corruptible, having the hope of the resurrection to eternity.”

So really, the mystery of the Eucharist is about the mystery of the incarnation.

Access to the fruit of heaven, on earth.

And that’s the garden.

That’s the tree of life.

It’s physical food. Real food. Which is why it’s eaten on an empty stomach.

Paradise regained. That’s what St Ephraim the Syrian says:

“Just as it was said to Adam, ‘The day on which you eat of it you will die’, - he did not die however on the day when he ate it, but [instead] received a pledge of his death through his being stripped of his glory, chased from Paradise and haunted daily by [the prospect of] death, - so too, in like manner, with regard to life in Christ, we eat his body instead of the fruit of the tree, and we have an altar in place of the garden of Eden. The curse is washed away by his innocent blood, and in the hope of resurrection we await the life that is to come.”

Access to the bread of life is access to the tree of life.

Ignatius again:

“Breaking one and the same bread, which is the medicine of immortality, and the antidote to prevent us from dying, but [which causes] that we should live for ever in Jesus Christ.“

The Saints of old say this isn’t just a spiritual truth. And this bread of life is no less physical than the tree of life was.

Having strayed from the path, our future hope of resurrection is linked to this bread. Not just a hope for our soul. Not just a hope for our body. But both.

So the story starts and ends with the Eucharist. Just like Red Riding Hood. In the end, the wolf is killed. Little Red comes back from the dead. And Grandma’s health returns with the eating of cake and wine.

Go back far enough in northern Albion, and you’ll find peculiar folk dwelling in the dark woods, inside mountain caves or on secluded islands in the middle of lakes.

Now, by peculiar, I mean Holy.

I’ve taken a couple of trips already to see what remains of their holy habitations and sacred spaces.

There’s a town called St Bees on the West Coast of Cumberland. It’s one of those Saint names that you might hear and never really question it. Like St Mary’s Church or St Thomas’ School. Places and their names.

But names have meaning.

And St Bees is Saint Bega.

If you stand in St Bees and turn back your dial to the 7th Century, you’ll see the houses disappear, and trees shoot up around you until the land is covered by a thick and ancient forest.

You’d be forgiven for thinking you’re alone in that forest.

But you’re not.

A Holy woman lives here.

She is a princess, the daughter of an Irish King who came across the sea by boat.

The story goes that at a very early age she vowed not to be married, and to remain a virgin dedicated to Christ. Despite this, she had many potential suitors whom she rejected one by one until along came the Viking King of Norway who wanted his cruel son to marry her. Her father, desiring this powerful alliance with Norway, locked her in the castle until the day of her wedding.

Now while the wedding guests were getting drunk outside, St Bega was in her room praying. Suddenly she saw an angelic vision and heard a voice. Some tales say the voice told her to run while the guests were drunk; others say she was given a bracelet with the sign of the cross on it by an angel that allowed her to open all the doors in the castle.

The heavenly messenger told her that she’d find a boat waiting for her when she got to the seashore. Finding it, just as foretold, the young girl then set off on the perilous journey across the Irish Sea until she came to the shores of Cumberland, at the place that now carries her name.

So here she is, living in the forest alone, a hermitess or anchoress.

The birds bring her food, and that is how she lives. Or this is how she lived, for many years, until the Viking pirates came.

What she had escaped in Ireland had now followed her here. For St Bega, what she treasured was her virginity, and the looming threat from these pirates meant that she now had to move east to Northumberland.

Her Holy bracelet, she leaves behind; a relic that serves for centuries afterwards in the town to hold people to their word.

Her life continues in Northumberland, where she sets up several monasteries. Her life even continues after death, as many miracles associated with her are attested.

We turn forward the dial now, and the trees are gone. And there are families with their dogs, children eating ice cream and folk sipping coffee at the beach cafe.

My family and I, we’re sitting on this beach and looking at the waves that brought St Bega here. On the way to the sea, we’d passed a metal sculpture that shows her looking up to the heavens next to her boat. A plaque tells her story.

Just behind it is an old church dedicated in her name. We step inside. It’s a Holy place, and the contrast with the outside world of holidaymakers and dog walkers is sudden. It helps you appreciate the solitude of St Bega amongst the trees.

But where is she?

The church seems much like any other Anglican church: An altar. Pews. Children’s Bible stories. Community notices. A table selling trinkets by the door.

But tucked away to the left of the altar are two statues: one of The Mother of God and the other of St Bega.

They look intently at each other. Almost interacting.

These haunting statues, carved by English Sculptor Josefina de Vasconcellos, preserve ancient holiness.

A sign accompanies the statues, which says that after the winds carried St Bega to the Cumberland coast, she knelt on the turf to give thanks for the safe escape. And looking up, she saw a vision of Mary with the Infant Jesus.

These are the Holy places of St Bega.

We buy a bracelet from the table before we go. It felt right to do so. And we walk on to a lesser-known Holy place.

Past the school, down a country lane and up a steep hill and what you’ll see is actually unremarkable. Most will pass it by without a second look. But hidden amongst the brambles and fenced off from the footpath, you can just make out the curvature of stones.

This is St Bega’s well.

Long before St Bega’s church there was another chapel near here, St Michael’s Chapel. Guardian of the Holy place. Folk would walk down to that chapel to the sacred spring, and later pilgrims would pass it on their way to St Bees, casting in trinkets or coins.

But now the chapel is gone. The forest is gone. Her bracelet taken by raiders. Her well almost lost to time.

But England still remembers her Saints.

We still see pilgrims passing that way.

Sometimes we see the hidden and Holy stones when we take the time to trim back the thorns.

And, if we think about it, hers is a familiar story we like to tell our children: The princess who escaped the tyrant, who crossed the chaotic sea, not straying from the virtuous path, who found solace in the dark woods amidst the animals and who, one day, will marry the true King.

Sounded like an old superstition to me.

“You only have certain names you give to babies?”

Sounded like a limitation on freedom of expression.

This was during the in-between years, when I classified myself as in-between churches. In fact, I was probably just pulling at the threads of the worst parts of ‘Christian culture’ that I’d brought with me. It wasn’t really Christian culture though. I wasn’t putting others first and dying to myself. It was just raw entitlement, disconnected from accountability, and with a disrespect for Christian tradition. With that came scoffing at what I didn’t understand.

So, two birthdays. It’s the Polish custom. You have the day you were born, and your ‘name day’ - you celebrate the day when the saint you’re named after is revered. It was odd to me. But really, I didn’t know what these names were.

Deep, deep down, I didn’t understand that there were Saints.

The Holy Ones.

But we’re all saints, right?

St. Paul seems to switch up the language. He writes to those who are saints in one breath, and those called to be saints in the next. Same as how he talks about salvation - those who know salvation and those who are experiencing it.

A child of the 80s, I was named after a prominent actor of the time. I mean, why not? We call them stars, these actors. Like the stars in the sky. And the stars in the sky, they are called the governing authorities. Or they were, until they fell. At least that's what Genesis seems to say. So these Holy Ones who fell gave up their ruling seats. Now, as God became man, man can become god. At least that’s what St. Athanasius says. It’s about Theosis, but it’s also about becoming a Holy One.

Does this mean that the guy, in those in-between years who thought he’d figured out Christianity but didn’t particularly need church, or to bear his own cross, or to know suffering - the same guy who today only just now values the mercy of Christ - is suddenly considered a Holy One?

Not quite. That’s not how Orthodoxy works.

You’ve not finished the race. You’ve only just started it.

And, according to Orthodoxy, by God’s grace and mercy, who will help you along the way?

A Spiritual Father will. And a Holy One will.

What is being baptised for the dead then?

The last enemy to be destroyed is death. For he “has put everything under his feet.” Now when it says that “everything” has been put under him, it is clear that this does not include God himself, who put everything under Christ. When he has done this, then the Son himself will be made subject to him who put everything under him, so that God may be all in all. Now if there is no resurrection, what will those do who are baptised for the dead? If the dead are not raised at all, why are people baptised for them?

1 Corinthians 15:26-29.

He’s the God of the living, not the dead. It’s said that the above is talking about patronage. Patron saints. That there was a deep connection between baptism, naming, and patronage. You took on the name of one dead. But not dead. If the dead are not resurrected to life, why would you be named after them?

If you join the Orthodox church today, you (might) change your name. As are the old ways.

A co-worker once told me that they’d named their baby Libby. “Short for Elizabeth. Very nice”, I said confidently. I was wrong.

There’s something I heard somebody ask about how we name babies today: “Are we really naming the CEOs of the future?”. I mean, we must be, but the point is that babies are being called baby names.

Here in the UK, I’ve seen a lot of Dotties, but not Dorothys. Freddies, but not Fredericks.

We are not baptising for the dead anymore.

But Poland was, and is. I just didn’t understand it.

I’ve been down a rabbit hole recently, as is my custom. I’m still somewhere in it, and I’ll draw my proper conclusions when I’ve listened to and read from folk much smarter than me, on both sides of the thing. When I’ve done my due diligence in handling these matters that have eternal weight. ‘Steelmanning’ both sides before I position my flag a little more confidently.

Sacraments and children.

That’s this month’s rabbit hole.

Specifically baptism.

Seems to be two solid camps: you baptise because of the faith shown, or you baptise into the faith anticipated.

I get it. I really do.

If you baptise into the faith, then isn’t it just mechanical? “Sorry - your parents weren’t Christian, so you never stood a chance”. So surely when all those verses in the book of Acts talk about whole households getting baptised, they must have all converted right? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe those households did include children. Just like Circumcision did. Just like all of Israel, children too, who were baptised into Moses.

Maybe there’s something more than a mechanical process of entering a child into the faith. Maybe baptising for the dead, when you also baptise into the death of Christ, is something more than mechanics; maybe it is patronage too.

My son and I, we pray in the morning together. He’s not quite fully aware of what it all means. But we do it anyway. Am I entering him into the faith or hoping he’ll one day express the faith? I think it’s both.

One time, I was in the supermarket, and when we called our son’s name, the cashier proclaimed, “Like in the Old Testament!” “That’s right”, I replied. “Like the prophet”. We named him because of what his name means: God is Yahweh. But the cashier was right - he’s also named after a Holy One. Most of the time, we don’t hear that. “Like the actor? From Lord of the Rings?” they ask. The irony is, unlike me, that’s not the case.

Stars or stars. Pick one.

This year, at the Orthodox church I attend, they sang ‘many years’ to me on my own ‘name day’. In honesty, it took me by surprise. It wasn’t my birthday. But now I have two. I’ve come face-to-face with my own ignorance, shown some 15 years prior.

And now, something seems redeemed by it. Something has been re-ordered.

But which came first? Me being connected with this Saint, or me being given that name at birth. Must be the latter, right?

What time zone is it in heaven?

Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

Heaven’s calendar: Second birth before the first.

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Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.

What stories are we telling?

A prince fights an evil dragon, and my son is transfixed. Green flame licks his shield. But when all hope seems lost, the prince throws his sword. It twirls through the air and plunges into the beast’s chest. The dragon is dead.

What’s that old G.K. Chesterton adage that I see doing the rounds?:

“Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed”.

It’s the very old tale of Sleeping Beauty, or maybe it’s The Sun, Moon and Talia - it comes in several guises. Some tell of a prophecy, some a curse, and others an accident. A young girl falls into a long slumber after pricking her finger. Until a prince, or a hero, or maybe it’s her own children, bring her back to life.

For my son, that’s beside the point. This version has a fire-breathing dragon, and he’s transfixed.

I remember the feeling.

1993.

Me and my brother go to watch Jurassic Park. The queue at the cinema is around the block. We are blown away. We talk about it for days. I’m astonished when our Mum tells us we can go and watch it a second time. The thought had never occurred to me.

Was I fascinated by historical giant featherless birds? I don’t think so. Deep down, I knew I was face-to-face with a dragon.

I’ve said it before: dinosaurs are just disenchanted dragons.

And now, me and my son read about dragons in his books, and we watch them on the big screen.

1959.

The year Disney released Sleeping Beauty. Walt was the steward and custodian of these great tales of old. Preserved and animated for the big screen. But when he died, they got greedy. They forgot who they were. They believed they owned these tales, and so they twisted them.

It’s what Gandalf said to Denathor: “Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the king, Steward”.

They forgot what these stories are.

According to Tolkien, they are “the Pot of Soup, the Cauldron of Story”, which “has always been boiling, and to it have continually been added new bits, dainty and undainty.”

But the bones remain.

What about Jack? The giant slayer.

One of the most famous tales of these lands. He went off on a grand and foolish adventure. Sold his cow for a few magic beans, planted them, and to his amazement, found that they’d sprouted a beanstalk. You probably know the rest. He finds a giant at the top hoarding gold, which Jack plunders before finally defeating it.

Once you know the pattern, you’ll see the ripples.

Bilbo set off on a foolish adventure too. And he also found a horde of gold. This time guarded by a dragon.

Remember the tree in Eden?

What did we see there? A serpent and four rivers.

This tree’s a repeating motif across many many places in many many stories.

Yggdrasil, the great ash of norse mythology. They say great wisdom can be gained by drinking from the spring at its roots. The dragon Nidhogg guards this.

All these are images of the dragon and its offspring, the giants.

Remember the final story though.

Call to mind Christ at Calvary.

What is the imagery? The tree atop the giant’s skull where water flowed.

Calvary is where the dragon and the giant are defeated: Joshua cleansing the land.

You ever notice that when gold replaced water as our most sought-after commodity, the dragons started to hoard this instead? Maybe they still do.

St George killed a dragon too. Not here, in this land. But still, we’ve adopted him as our own. Have we forgotten his story though?

What else have we forgotten?

Geoffrey of Monmouth. What does he tell us?

What was here on this island at the edge of the world right at the beginning?

Well, there were giants:

“At this time the island of Britain was called Albion. It was un inhabited except for a few giants. It was, however, most attractive, because of the delightful situation of its various regions, its forests and the great number of its rivers, which teemed with fish; and it filled Brutus and his comrades with a great desire to live there. When they had explored the different districts, they drove the giants whom they had discovered into the caves in the mountains.

[…]

Among the others there was a particularly repulsive one, called Gogmagog, who was twelve feet tall. He was so strong that, once he had given it a shake, he could tear up an oak tree as though it were a hazel wand. Once, when Brutus was celebrating a day dedicated to the gods in the port where he had landed, this creature, along with twenty other giants, attacked him and killed a great number of the Britons. However, the Britons finally gathered together from round and about and overcame the giants and slew them all.”

So what does it mean then to be a Christian land?

Is it somewhere where Christianity is divorced from Christ? A place antithetical or apathetical to his teaching? Where churches are just pleasant adornments next to the village green?

I don’t think so.

This is a land of defeated dragons and giants. Forgetting this is to forget the power of George’s lance and Jack’s axe.

A Christian land is where the people know their sacred places and holy saints. A place where participation in the life, death and resurrection of Christ is woven into the daily practices of its people.

The holy life and the sacramental life.

This is how the land remembers.

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I’m sitting with my young son on a rock at the edge of the woods. We’ve travelled to a few of these places before. Old maps and older notes help us chart a course along paths that only a few have recently trodden.

If you pull back a tree branch, you see it. On three sides of this small patch of unremarkable land are dry stone walls (an ancient method of building local to the area). These walls mark a strange boundary. Nobody would build walls like this unless they were building around something. People walk past, not knowing what is here.

There is a well here. Hidden under stones and easy to miss unless you know what to look for, and you can peer back in time a little.

It’s nothing really. Just a few rocks. A water source, probably. Surely nothing more?

Practicality obscures reality.

A cross once stood here, marking this place as holy. “Fine water and anciently hallowed”, according to my old notes. People would drink from the well and be healed - that was the way with these wells. St Catherine made her presence known.

Now the cross has gone, and people walk by. It’s been this way for 500 years. The old ways have gone. The old wells have gone. Something tore through the land and destroyed many of the holy places. Monastic life, holy life, replaced.

Stones remain.

Then they become overgrown, and the local folk think it’s always been this way. Some remember the old superstitions though. A memory of a memory. “My grandad used to say…”

More rational heads prevailed. Whoever heard of water causing healing?

My son and I bind two sticks together. A makeshift cross. It will do for now. Maybe we’ll come back one day with something more fitting.

I light some incense, and I say some prayers before we leave. As we do, we pass a nearby cairn which marks the cardinal points - the irony isn’t lost on me.

These are the echoes of holy places.

You ever noticed how we eat Fish and Chips on a Friday?

By ‘we’ I mean the British. Or maybe the English. It’s the national dish. Every village has a chippy, and the busiest day is Friday. Pubs too - Fish and Chips on a Friday.

Marking the weekend? Maybe that’s it. Maybe not. You’ll see the signs outside if you walk around long enough. We call it tradition, but we have very short memories. We forget the real reason: the weekly cycle.

But what about the year? When does that start? In the winter. If you’re thinking about money, it’s in the spring. What about school? How do we divide the terms? In a purely rational and practical way, I’m sure. Nothing to do with the birth, death and resurrection of Christ. Of course not. Yet there’s something just below the surface in so many of this country’s habits.

These are the echoes of holy time.

How far should we go back?

How about 663 A.D?

This was when the Synod of Whitby was held, and Celtic Orthodoxy met the Orthodoxy of Rome face to face. Following this, drip by drip, the British Church made the choice of looking to Rome.

Then came the Great Schism of 1054.

Then the Norman conquest:

“It saw the end of the period of the wild saints, the importation of continental religious orders like the Benedictines to replace indigenous monastic practices, and a far greater degree of oversight from Rome. Within twenty years of the Conquest, there were no Anglo-Saxon Bishops left in the country.” - Paul Kingsnorth

Of course, holy time remained. For a long while. Until it didn’t. Then people made their own tales. Something always fills the gap.

But the old stories are still out there. And so is the old Church.

Wednesdays and Fridays are meat-free in the Orthodox Church. Fish-free too, most of the time.

According to Fr. Anthony Coniaris, each day has a memory and each week a rhythm:

1. The first day of the week is Sunday, which is a “little Easter,” commemorating the resurrection of Jesus. We begin each week with the resurrection. As Easter is the center of the year, so Sunday is the center of the week. Thus, a positive mood of victory is established at the very beginning in order to carry us through the entire week. The Christian week begins on the note of the celebration of life. We work all week long in order to get to Sunday. We begin each new week with the remembrance and celebration of the greatest victory this world has ever known.

2. Monday is dedicated to the archangels, angels and the hosts of invisible powers.

3. Tuesday is dedicated to the memory of St. John the Baptist, the last of the Old Testament prophets, the first and greatest saint (after the Theotokos), and the greatest man who was ever born of woman (Matt. 11:11).

4. Wednesday is dedicated to the Theotokos and to the passion of Christ. Considered to be the day on which Judas betrayed Jesus, it is a day of fasting.

5. Thursday is dedicated to the apostles and all the Church Fathers.

6. Friday is remembered as the day on which Jesus was crucified. It is a day of fasting.

7. Saturday is dedicated to the holy martyrs and to the faithful who have departed from this world. It is the day on which Christ resurrected Lazarus. It is also the day on which Christ the Lord lay dead in the tomb, “resting from all His works” and “trampling down death by death.” All Saturdays of the church year receive their meaning from these two decisive Saturdays. Thus, Saturday became the proper day for remembering the dead and offering prayers in their memory.

These aren’t new practices. They endure below the surface because they hold an eternal quality.

The ancient Jews would fast on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And like all aspects of the former covenant, these practices were not destroyed but fulfilled in Christ. So the early Church moved these days to Wednesday and Friday to reflect the life of Christ - just as the Sabbath became Sunday: the day of resurrection.

People love Sunday.

It’s a day off work for most. Maybe a bike ride. Maybe a walk. Maybe a spot of shopping, but be quick, the big shops close at 4pm. Why is that again?

Give me the trappings of Christianity without Christ. Give me fish and chips. Give me Sunday dinners. Give me picturesque village churches that are quiet and unattended. Give me chocolate eggs at Easter that get less egg-shaped with each passing year. Give me TV and turkey at Christmas.

Forget fasting. Forget the body of Christ. Forget the St Mary Magdalene icon with the red egg in her hand. Forget liturgy. Forget holiness. Forget participation.

But it can’t be escaped. Liturgical place and time are part of the material and spiritual reality. Substitution is inevitable.

Orthodoxy (you decide if that’s a big ‘O’ or a little ‘o’) is the foundation of England’s Christianity.

I said to my Mother-in-law that I go to the Orthodox Church. “Why do you go to the Russian Church?” she asked. That’s how it’s seen by many in Catholic Poland. But it’s not the Russian Church. I mean, it is. But it’s the Greek Church. It’s the Romanian Church. It is the English Church.

The real English Church.

If “English Christianity” has died, Orthodoxy, whose roots here are deeper than many understand, is not something that has come to take its place.

Instead, it is a homecoming.

The land remembers, even if the people have forgotten.

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As a child, I always found them lacking. I had known time to speed up and slow down. The six-week school summer holidays felt like an age. As an adult, some traumatic moments have seen time almost stop.

I’m not convinced this is just perception.

“Today, Christ enters into Jerusalem riding on a colt.”

What do you mean by today? Didn’t that happen thousands of years ago? This was when I had gone to a handful of Orthodox services. Before this, I’d always been told that what Christ did was done once and for all - that’s what the Bible says, right?

When I was a teenager, a Christian girl told me, “We don’t like the little man”. I was perusing which cross to buy in a small Christian bookstore. “You mean Jesus?” I asked. I don’t recall her response. For her, Jesus didn’t belong on the cross because that happened thousands of years ago.

Clearly, that’s historically true. But is it fully true?

I’ve heard it said that the domestication of the horse was a precursor to European imperial expansion and the engine of the British Empire, as it condensed time and space. After the horse came the ship, and condensed them more.

I go to visit family in Poland a couple of times a year. With train and plane travel all considered, it takes about 8 hours to get there. If I was born 1000 years ago (assuming I had the means, which I surely wouldn’t have), it would have taken about two months with several journey stages, by foot, on horse, carriage and ship (that’s assuming I didn’t die on the way, which I surely would have).

It would be impossible to do then what I do now; in just a few hours, I am dropped into another culture, with its unique traditions, norms, habits, folk patterns, music, etc., formed over thousands of years and walled off by time and space from my own ancestral land and culture. But now we’ve made those walls paper-thin.

Space and time are not fixed.

Back to the colt.

When I was told that “today” was the day that Christ entered into Jerusalem, it seemed to make sense to me somehow. When I first entered an Orthodox church in September 2024, the smells, sights and overall strangeness transported me into another world. Or maybe another time. To enter, you literally had to pull back a curtain.

The first few times I went, I genuinely thought that if I took a photo inside, then stepped outside to look at it, it would be blank, as if the data would be wiped when I walked back over the threshold. So strong was the sense that I was in a place that was not bound by the same rules that govern the workplace, the town high street, or any other predictable plod of life. When it’s claimed that the Divine Liturgy is always taking place in heaven, and when a Liturgy takes place in church, it becomes part of the heavenly one, I believe it.

Liturgical time is fairly new to me, and there is something right about the annual observance of Christian time that harnesses the sun and its calendar and brings them into the subjection of its creator. This was always the way, at least in the East. For a long time, too, in the West, before forgetfulness followed compromise, until Christmas was just a day for chocolate, Lent a time for giving it up, and Easter a day for eating it again (in an egg shape).

It has always been the way of God’s people to celebrate the cycles, and for these celebrations to move and change according to the covenants. An annual remembrance of God’s salvation from Egypt is transformed by the cross, and it becomes the feast of victory over sin and death. This is not yearly repetition for its own sake; it is participation.

A while ago, I made the mistake of exchanging the scientific linear time that fuels most Western minds for an image of cyclical time, like a wheel spinning on the spot. But it’s not. It’s somehow both, and something more. Maybe a corkscrew, as somebody once described it to me, with each cycle pressing forward.

“The liturgy of the Church is more than meditation or praise concerning past events. It communicates to us the eternal presence and power of the events being celebrated and makes us participants in those events.”

-Very Rev. Paul Lazor

Moses saw heaven when he was on Sinai, and what he saw was replicated on earth as the Tabernacle.

Back to the curtain.

I was always told that the veil of the temple was torn at the moment of the crucifixion because it was a barrier that had now been removed. That’s right. Right?

Not according to Byzantine Historian Alexei Lidov. He writes:

“The holiest realm, placed beyond the veil and existing outside time and matter, creates the eternal pattern for the changing sacred environment in front of the veil […] but also the living spatial and transparent boundary connecting two heterogeneous sacred realms. It provides an explanation of the special concept of time and space that we may discover while contemplating icons. From this point of view, every icon could be interpreted as a curtain signifying the boundary between the dynamic space of prayer and the unchangeable space of divine presence, at the same time dividing and unifying the beholder and the divine realm through the holy image.”

Not according to Saint Paul either. He writes:

“Now where there is remission of these, there is no longer an offering for sin. Therefore, brethren, having boldness to enter the Holiest by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way which He consecrated for us, through the veil, that is, His flesh.”

-Hebrews 10:18-20

So the veil is more like a door that can now be opened to allow access to the most holy place. And that door is Christ.

Legend has it that Mary helped weave the temple veil? More here. The symbolism is striking.

Lidov again, drawing together the descriptions of Philo of Alexandria:

“The veil was the boundary between the visible and the invisible creation. The world beyond the veil was unchanging and without a temporal sequence of events, but the visible world outside the veil was a place of change.”

It’s just before midnight on Saturday, 4th April, and lying in bed in our flat in Poland, I start to hear the ringing of bells and what sounds like the melody of a man singing nearby. The next day, everybody eats the meat and cheese that the priest had blessed the day before. It must be Easter Sunday. But when I step into the Orthodox Church, it’s not. It’s Palm Sunday. Ancient debates have manifested before my very eyes.

It’s just before midnight on Saturday, 11th April, and the priest bangs on the door with the cross and proclaims, “Lift up your heads, O ye gates; And be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors; And the King of glory shall come in.” When he’s asked, “Who is this king of glory?”, he proclaims “The LORD strong and mighty, the LORD mighty in battle.” This is the descent of Christ into Hades. But it’s also a rain-soaked night in the English Lake District. These are words from a Psalm written hundreds of years before Christ’s birth. But they are rightfully declared at the dawn of his resurrection.

Why does it matter? Isn’t it just pageantry?

I remember not caring when Christmas was, and forgetting when Easter was. Even as a Christian. I’d always say, “I celebrate the resurrection every day”. But I didn’t. If every day is your birthday, you never get cake.

I’ll finish with some words I recently read, which seem to sum up the meaning nicely:

“Holy Week isn’t a courtroom drama; it is a cosmic rescue mission. In the Orthodox Church, liturgical time isn’t a straight line—it’s a spiral. When we sing these hymns, we aren’t merely reenacting an event from two millennia ago. We are stepping outside of linear time and participating in the eternal Today of Christ’s saving work.”

There we go again with participation.

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I’ve written a little about her already, but I feel that I should write more as I journey a little further along the Orthodox road, now as a catechumen. Some of what I write will revisit what I’ve outlined previously, but most will be new insights from my research.

In Scripture, Mary is introduced as “a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David” (‭‭Luke‬ ‭1‬:‭27‬ ‭NIV‬‬). Scripture does not give much more detail about her background, and any references to her are scattered throughout the gospels. The last reference to her, by name, in Scripture is in Acts 1, where she is gathered together with the apostles.

In my Evangelical Christian upbringing, there was a way in which these blanks were filled in: Mary was considered as pretty much just another person, almost chosen at random. She wasn’t particularly special, but she was probably pious, and she was poor - maybe this is why she was chosen. Clearly, she went on to have other children with her husband, and she wasn’t really a key figure in Scripture once the nativity narrative was out of the way.

The contrast between this and how she is revered, venerated, and loved in Orthodoxy required me to draw one of two conclusions: a) they are really making something out of nothing, and a something not backed up by Scripture, or b) what they believe about Mary is what the church has always believed - because it’s true, but this has been obscured in Evangelicalism.

Outside of Scripture, there is a book which recounts much of what we already know about Mary, Joseph and the birth of the Lord. Yet it also contains details not found in the Bible, such as the birth of Mary, details about her parents, tales of Mary’s childhood, how Joseph and Mary came to be betrothed, and other details about the Nativity.

This text is not a medieval forgery or pseudo-biographical work from centuries after the events described, but was written in the middle of the second century, little more than a generation after the people written about. It is claimed that it is a record of the truth and a demonstration of the antiquity of these ideas that, arguably, were already well known within the church. Although this book was later rejected (as Scripture) by some churches in the West, it was still widely used within the early Church and was even read in churches.

The book is the Protoevangelium of James.

The author identifies himself as the same James who wrote the biblical epistle - that is, “the Lord’s brother” (Galatians 1:19).

The first part of this book describes the circumstances of Mary’s birth and how her parents, Joachim and Anna, were originally unable to conceive:

“And she saw a laurel, and sat under it, and prayed to the Lord, saying: O God of our fathers, bless me and hear my prayer, as You blessed the womb of Sarah, and gave her a son Isaac.”

(Chapter 2)

“And, behold, an angel of the Lord stood by, saying: Anna, Anna, the Lord has heard your prayer, and you shall conceive, and shall bring forth; and your seed shall be spoken of in all the world. And Anna said: As the Lord my God lives, if I beget either male or female, I will bring it as a gift to the Lord my God; and it shall minister to Him in holy things all the days of its life. And, behold, two angels came, saying to her: Behold, Joachim your husband is coming with his flocks. For an angel of the Lord went down to him, saying: Joachim, Joachim, the Lord God has heard your prayer.”

(Chapter 4)

This book also describes Mary’s childhood and how she was a Temple Virgin, a young woman dedicated to temple service.

“And the child was three years old, and Joachim said: Invite the daughters of the Hebrews that are undefiled, and let them take each a lamp, and let them stand with the lamps burning, that the child may not turn back, and her heart be captivated from the temple of the Lord. And they did so until they went up into the temple of the Lord. And the priest received her, and kissed her, and blessed her, saying: The Lord has magnified your name in all generations. In you, on the last of the days, the Lord will manifest His redemption to the sons of Israel. And he set her down upon the third step of the altar, and the Lord God sent grace upon her; and she danced with her feet, and all the house of Israel loved her.

And her parents went down marvelling, and praising the Lord God, because the child had not turned back. And Mary was in the temple of the Lord as if she were a dove that dwelt there, and she received food from the hand of an angel.”

(Chapters 7-8)

“And there was a council of the priests, saying: Let us make a veil for the temple of the Lord. And the priest said: Call to me the undefiled virgins of the family of David. And the officers went away, and sought, and found seven virgins. And the priest remembered the child Mary, that she was of the family of David, and undefiled before God. And the officers went away and brought her. And they brought them into the temple of the Lord. And the priest said: Choose for me by lot who shall spin the gold, and the white, and the fine linen, and the silk, and the blue, and the scarlet, and the true purple. And the true purple and the scarlet fell to the lot of Mary, and she took them, and went away to her house. And at that time Zacharias was dumb, and Samuel was in his place until the time that Zacharias spoke. And Mary took the scarlet, and span it.”

(Chapter 10)

This account is simply surplus to anything present in Scripture about Mary’s early life, and yet there is evidence that what is described were real practices within the Second Temple period. The Jewish book of 2 Baruch, dated to the first century, laments how the practice of temple virgins weaving sacred cloth cannot continue after the destruction of the temple, describing them as ”virgins who spin fine linen, and silk with gold of Ophir” (Chapter 10). In the same way, the Mishnah Shekalim, part of the Jewish oral law, dated to the late second century, also describes the construction of the veil of the temple:

“The curtain was a handbreadth in thickness and was woven on seventy-two cords, and on each cord there were twenty-four threads. It was forty cubits long and twenty cubits broad, and was made by eighty-two young girls. Two curtains were made every year, and three hundred priests were needed to immerse it.”

(Mishnah Shekalim 8.5)

In Scripture itself, there is also the description of the prophetess Anna, an older lady who was the daughter of Penuel, who “never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying” (Luke 2:37). Young girls and older women being dedicated to temple service is well evidenced.

The Protoevangelium also gives insight into the circumstances surrounding Joseph’s pre-existing family circumstances, as well as how his betrothal to Mary came about:

“And behold an angel of the Lord stood by him, saying unto him: Zacharias, Zacharias, go out and assemble the widowers of the people, and let them bring each his rod; and to whomsoever the Lord shall show a sign, his wife shall she [Mary] be. And the heralds went out through all the circuit of Judæa, and the trumpet of the Lord sounded, and all ran.”

(Chapter 8)

“And Joseph, throwing away his axe, went out to meet them; and when they had assembled, they went away to the high priest, taking with them their rods. And he, taking the rods of all of them, entered into the temple, and prayed; and having ended his prayer, he took the rods and came out, and gave them to them: but there was no sign in them, and Joseph took his rod last; and, behold, a dove came out of the rod, and flew upon Joseph’s head. And the priest said to Joseph, You have been chosen by lot to take into your keeping the virgin of the Lord. But Joseph refused, saying: I have children, and I am an old man, and she is a young girl. I am afraid lest I become a laughing-stock to the sons of Israel. And the priest said to Joseph: Fear the Lord your God, and remember what the Lord did to Dathan, and Abiram, and Korah; how the earth opened, and they were swallowed up on account of their contradiction. And now fear, O Joseph, lest the same things happen in your house. And Joseph was afraid, and took her into his keeping. And Joseph said to Mary: Behold, I have received you from the temple of the Lord; and now I leave you in my house, and go away to build my buildings, and I shall come to you. The Lord will protect you.”

(Chapter 9)

Contrary to popular depiction, here Joseph is not a young man and was not romantically interested in Mary. Instead, he is described as somebody to whom the Lord entrusted Mary’s care. This shifts the popular nativity image away from a young Jewish couple, travelling alone - an image ingrained in the Western mind’s depiction of Christmas. Instead, the Protoevangelion presents the following:

“And there was an order from the Emperor Augustus, that all in Bethlehem of Judæa should be enrolled. And Joseph said: I shall enrol my sons, but what shall I do with this maiden? How shall I enrol her? As my wife? I am ashamed. As my daughter then? But all the sons of Israel know that she is not my daughter. The day of the Lord shall itself bring it to pass as the Lord will. And he saddled the ass, and set her upon it; and his son led it, and Joseph followed.”

(Chapter 17)

“And he found a cave there, and led her into it; and leaving his two sons beside her, he went out to seek a midwife in the district of Bethlehem.”

(Chapter 18)

All that I’ve presented is arguably an expansion of events in the Bible and is a written account of what was believed by the early Church. Although at first there may be oddities, such as Christ being born in a cave, none of these details contradict Scripture - at least this was the view in the early Church, where the account was held in high regard.

It is much, much later that concepts such as Mary having other children became popular. In fact, the perpetual virginity of Mary was even a reformation doctrine carried forward by the reformers into Protestantism.

So why do some now believe that Mary had other children?

Many will point to two verses in Scripture. The first is where Luke’s gospel says how “he did not consummate their marriage until she gave birth to a son” (‭‭Matthew‬ ‭1‬:‭25‬ ‭NIV‬‬). The implication being that after she had given birth, they were married, and they did consummate their marriage. But this implication does not exist in the Greek. The Greek word used for ‘until’ is εως (heós), and this could be better understood as ‘unto’ instead of until. In the Septuagint, the Greek Old Testament, this same word is used in the following verses: the first describing how the location of Moses’ body remained unknown and the second explaining that David’s wife, Michal, had no children.

“He buried him in Moab, in the valley opposite Beth Peor, but to (heós) this day no one knows where his grave is.

(Deuteronomy‬ ‭34‬:‭6‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

“And Michal daughter of Saul had no children to (heós) the day of her death.”

(‭‭2 Samuel‬ ‭6‬:‭23‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

Moses’ body was never found, and Michal never had children.

Even in the New Testament, in the very last verse of Matthew’s gospel, Christ says “I am with you always, to (heós) the very end of the age”(‭‭Matthew‬ ‭28‬:‭20‬ ‭NIV‬‬). This doesn’t mean that after the end of the age he won’t be.

Other verses that are used within Evangelicalism to refute Mary’s perpetual virginity are references to Jesus having brothers and sisters:

“Isn’t this the carpenter’s son? Isn’t his mother’s name Mary, and aren’t his brothers James, Joseph, Simon and Judas? Aren’t all his sisters with us?”

‭‭(Matthew‬ ‭13‬:‭55‬-‭56‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

Aside from what was presented earlier, which describes Joseph as having children from his previous marriage, the English words brothers and sisters do not adequately translate the Greek words ἀδελφοὶ (adelphoi) and ἀδελφαὶ (adelphai) used in these verses. In Genesis, we read the following words that Abraham says to his nephew Lot:

“Let’s not have any quarreling between you and me, or between your herders and mine, for we are close relatives.” ‭‭Genesis‬ ‭13‬:‭8‬ ‭NIV‬‬

For “close relatives”, the Septuagint uses the word adelphoi in place of the Hebrew word אחים (a’him) - both which carry a broader semantic range than people sharing the same parents.

If we consider all of these things factual, how might that impact church theology and practice?

In the Orthodox Church, Mary is called the Theotokos, that is, she who ‘bore God’ or is the ‘mother of God’ because she is the mother of the God of Israel who became incarnate in the flesh, and it is not ontologically possible for her to be the mother of just Christ’s humanity without being mother of his divinity too. This does not make her divine, but it does make her eternally connected to Christ in a unique way. Because of this, within the Orthodox liturgical year, several days are dedicated to remembering key moments in Mary’s life, including the following:

• Nativity of the Theotokos, 8th September (the birth of Mary to Joachim and Anna)

• Conception of the Theotokos, 9th December (the conception of Mary according to tradition)

• Entrance Presentation of the Theotokos into the Temple, 21st November (Mary dedicated to God in the Temple as a child)

• Annunciation of the Theotokos, 25th March (the Archangel Gabriel announces that Mary will bear Christ)

I’ve noticed how claims against Mary’s liturgical prominence are often based upon the argument that such devotion is a later accretion formed over centuries, that had polluted a pure form of New Testament Christianity that modern Evangelical movements have now helped cleanse. This isn’t meant as a criticism, but as an articulation of the form of Christianity that I grew up with. I’ve seen this mindset from some people (myself included), which can view historical traditions as man-made and extra-biblical, resulting in a subconscious repulsion when Mary is honoured - the common trope often follows: “But where is that in the Bible?”

So, maybe we should come back to Scripture to help support the case that Mary was always intended to have a unique role in salvation history, as a chosen vessel, and not a random girl.

Let us start at the beginning.

After the fall of man in the garden, God made a series of statements to the serpent:

“Because you have done this, You are cursed more than all cattle, And more than every beast of the field; On your belly you shall go, And you shall eat dust All the days of your life. And I will put enmity Between you and the woman, And between your seed and her Seed; He shall bruise your head, And you shall bruise His heel.”

(Genesis 3:14-15 NKJV)

These prophetic statements from Genesis concisely foretell the incarnation and the victory of Christ over the serpent. The seed, as well as referring to Eve’s descendants, ultimately speaks of Christ, and so, by the same logic, the woman referred to must also ultimately speak of Mary, because she is the mother of that seed.

Following this line of thinking, in Orthodoxy, Mary is viewed typologically as the new Eve, where her obedience to the Angel Gabriel’s announcement in Luke chapter 1 contrasts Eve’s disobedience in facing the Serpent’s temptation. Justin Martyr, a second century Martyr for the faith, says the following:

“He became man by the Virgin, in order that the disobedience which proceeded from the serpent might receive its destruction in the same manner in which it derived its origin. For Eve, who was a virgin and undefiled, having conceived the word of the serpent, brought forth disobedience and death. But the Virgin Mary received faith and joy, when the angel Gabriel announced the good tidings to her that the Spirit of the Lord would come upon her, and the power of the Highest would overshadow her: wherefore also the Holy Thing begotten of her is the Son of God; and she replied, ‘Be it unto me according to your word.’ And by her has He been born, to whom we have proved so many Scriptures refer, and by whom God destroys both the serpent and those angels and men who are like him; but works deliverance from death to those who repent of their wickedness and believe upon Him.”

(Dialogue with Trypho, Chapter 100)

Tracing this theme throughout the different covenants God has made with man will help support the case for Mary’s role in the fulfilment of the Genesis prophecy, and undo the ‘random girl’ mindset that prevails in some church cultures. Let us continue.

Considering the Mosaic covenant, Orthodox Priest, Fr. Stephen De Young, posits that Luke’s gospel has a subtle yet compelling case for Mary being foreshadowed in the Old Testament. This gospel subtly draws a connection between Mary and Moses’ sister Miriam (who shares the same name) by recording the song Mary sang when visiting Elizabeth, creating a link to the song that Miriam sang in the book of Exodus. And by noting that John, the Forerunner and Baptist, is descended from Aaron, Luke creates an Aaron-John and Miriam-Mary parallel. The suggestion is that Luke did this to show Christ as the new Moses, whose mirrored ministry also contains a reflection of the two supportive ministries of Aaron and Miriam in John and Mary.

In the Davidic covenant, in the Kingdom of Judah throughout David’s descendants, the mother of the king (not the queen) called the Givirah (גבירה), literally ‘great lady’ but often translated Queen Mother, held the highest office (1 Kings 15:13; 2 Kings 10:13). This is in part why, in 1–2 Kings, when a king in the Davidic line is named, his mother is named as well (1 Kings 14:21; 15:2; 2 Kings 12:1; 14:2; 15:2; 15:33). This office contained intercessory responsibilities, such as those first undertaken by Solomon’s mother Bathsheba (1 Kings 2:19–20). With Christ as the ultimate son of David and King, his mother, Mary, becomes the Giverah and Queen Mother for his kingdom.

It would be neglectful not to reference the most well-known verse concerning Mary from the prophets: Isaiah’s prophecy about how the incarnation would take place. It’s useful to understand here that in the original context, this was a verse about Judah’s victory over its enemies, and yet it is fully realised in the birth of Christ by Mary and the deliverance brought about by the incarnation that Matthew references in his gospel (1:23):

“Ask the Lord your God for a sign, whether in the deepest depths or in the highest heights.” But Ahaz said, “I will not ask; I will not put the Lord to the test.” Then Isaiah said, “Hear now, you house of David! Is it not enough to try the patience of humans? Will you try the patience of my God also? Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel. He will be eating curds and honey when he knows enough to reject the wrong and choose the right, for before the boy knows enough to reject the wrong and choose the right, the land of the two kings you dread will be laid waste.”

(‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭7‬:‭11‬-‭16‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

Arguably, there is also a strong connection between Mary and the Ark of the Covenant. In chapter 1 of Luke’s gospel, he uses phrases to describe Mary’s visitation to Elizabeth that mirror the Ark’s journey and visitation to Obed-Edom in 2 Samuel 6:

Compare:

• Luke: “When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb”.

With:

• 2 Samuel: “She saw King David leaping and dancing before the Lord”.

Compare:

• Luke: “Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home”.

With:

• 2 Samuel: “The ark of the Lord remained in the house of Obed-Edom the Gittite for three months”.

And compare:

• Luke: “But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?”

With:

• 2 Samuel: “How can the ark of the Lord ever come to me?”

Staying with the gospels, the wedding at Cana of Galilee (John chapter 2) is helpful in understanding Mary’s role through the description of her interactions with Christ. The 19th and 20th century Russian Orthodox Priest and theologian Sergius Bulgakov writes about the symbolism of this wedding scene:

“Here, concrete images of the marriage feast merge with and become transparent to the mystical content of what is transpiring. Special attention is owed here to the direct participation of the Mother of God in the eucharist, as this also corresponds to its ecclesial fulfilment. […]

In the image of the wedding feast we also have an image of the Church in all its complexity: the Mother of God, the apostles, the wedding guests, the architriclinium [wedding officiator], the wedding couple, the servants and guests, gathered around Christ, who performs a mysterious transformation of water into wine. The Mother of God is a representative of the people and a mediator before Christ. […]

In this connection can also be understood why her presence at the wedding is particularly highlighted, as a precondition of his incarnation.”

(Translation by Brendan Case)

At the wedding, a convergence of images concerning the incarnation and Mary’s role in it can be seen: transubstantiation that involves wine, Mary being the first named guest, and her intercession with Christ accelerating the timeframe for his ministry.

Let’s look at some of the text from John’s gospel:

“When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, “They have no more wine.” “Woman, why do you involve me?” Jesus replied. “My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.””

‭‭(John‬ ‭2‬:‭3‬-‭5‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

Christ calling Mary ‘woman’ only happens twice in all of the gospels, and both take place in John’s, the first taking place at the beginning of Christ’s ministry and the second when he was on the cross. In the latter, we also have a parallel between Jesus’ words on the cross to Mary and God’s words to Eve in Genesis:

“To the woman he said, “I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor you will give birth to children. Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.””

‭‭Genesis‬ ‭3‬:‭16‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, “Woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.”

‭‭John‬ ‭19‬:‭26‬-‭27‬ ‭NIV‬‬

The suggestion here is that by referencing Mary as Jesus’ mother, John calls to mind Mary’s obedience to God’s plan concerning the incarnation, and through Christ’s words, she is identified not just as the mother of John but as a new Eve, a role that is well attested to by the early church fathers:

“The knot of Eve’s disobedience is undone by Mary’s obedience; what Eve bound fast in unbelief, Mary loosened by faith. Thus she became the mother of all who are alive in Christ.”

(Irenaeus of Lyon’s, Against Heresies III, Chapter 22)

As Eve and the messianic prophecy of Genesis 3:15 form one biblical bookend concerning Mary, imagery in Revelation forms the other bookend. Here, what can easily be missed because of later-added chapter boundaries is that the mother of the Messiah, just as she was in Luke, is connected to the Ark of the Covenant:

“Then God’s temple in heaven was opened, and within his temple was seen the ark of his covenant. And there came flashes of lightning, rumblings, peals of thunder, an earthquake and a severe hailstorm. A great sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head. She was pregnant and cried out in pain as she was about to give birth […]. She gave birth to a son, a male child, who “will rule all the nations with an iron scepter.” And her child was snatched up to God and to his throne.”

‭‭Revelation‬ 11:19, ‭12‬:‭1‬-‭2‬, ‭5‬ ‭NIV‬‬.

But why does this all matter?

There is clear evidence of Mary’s unique role in God’s plan of salvation (a role that’s more than a random choice), and that these beliefs, which formed part of very early Christianity, are now preserved in the Orthodox faith and liturgy.

So it matters if you’re interested in what’s true, what’s real, and if you believe that there was a reason why these things were celebrated and preserved by early Christians.

The answer to this question depends on whether you believe in the necessity of apostolic succession. This being the ecclesiological claim that a Church is truly the Church only if it can trace its lineage through its bishop, back through a succession of bishops, and ultimately to one of the apostles.

That is quite an exclusive claim. But is it true?

Well, first, we should examine what is meant by the word ‘Church’. The word we use is an English translation of the Greek word ekklesia (εκκλησία), meaning assembly. Some might be surprised to discover that the word Church is seen in the Old Testament as well as the New. This is sometimes masked in the Hebrew Scriptures where the word ‘qahal’ (קהל) is used, which also means the assembly of God’s people. If we look at the Septuagint (abbreviated as the LXX), the Greek translation of the Old Testament, the Greek word used is again ekklesia. In fact, this word is used over a hundred times in the Greek Old Testament, a very similar amount to the New Testament. This is important as it establishes a continuity between the Old and New Testaments and the covenant people of God.

The Apostolic Church

What, then, is the apostolic Church?

Interestingly, in the Gospels Christ does not speak that often about the Church; yet when he does, he speaks of it as being built upon the foundation of his apostles. When he says he will build his Church, he does so after addressing Peter directly:

“Jesus replied, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by flesh and blood, but by my Father in heaven. And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven; whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.”” ‭‭Matthew‬ ‭16‬:‭17‬-‭19‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Some have used this verse to support the idea that Peter was the head of the other apostles, but later in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus uses the same phrase when speaking to other apostles:

“Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” ‭‭Matthew‬ ‭18‬:‭18‬ ‭NIV‬‬

This phrase, which describes the authority that Christ gives to the apostles, is also found in Isaiah, where it refers to the authority of the house of David that was given to the new governor over Judah, authority that would ultimately be inherited by the Messiah.

“I will place on his shoulder the key to the house of David; what he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open.” ‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭22‬:‭22‬ ‭NIV‬‬

For the apostles, this governing authority over the Church meant they could prohibit or exclude, that is, permit or release, in the Church, and these decisions were the decisions of heaven. They were Christ’s representatives and whoever heard them heard him (Luke 10:16). In similar ‘heaven and earth’ language, they were even given the authority to forgive sins:

“And with that he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone’s sins, their sins are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.”” ‭‭John‬ ‭20‬:‭22‬-‭23‬ ‭NIV‬‬

In the book of Revelation, the foundations of the New Jerusalem are these same apostolic foundations of the Church:

“The wall of the city had twelve foundations, and on them were the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb.” ‭‭Revelation‬ ‭21‬:‭14‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Christ is the chief cornerstone and has established his apostles as the foundation of his Church. It is possible, then, to conclude that if a Church does not have as its foundation the apostles, then it is not a true Church. This, in and of itself, does not prove apostolic succession, but rather apostolicity. As the Nicene creed states:

“One holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.”

There is a passage in Mark chapter 9 that is sometimes used to challenge the exclusivity of apostolic authority, however. In this chapter, John informs Jesus that the apostles had told somebody to stop driving out demons in Jesus’ name. Jesus’ response was that they shouldn’t do this, as “whoever is not against us is for us”(v40). At first glance, this could suggest that the apostles were just one way in which the Church was being built. The counter-argument, however, is seen in the context of what Christ says directly afterwards:

“Truly I tell you, anyone who gives you a cup of water in my name because you belong to the Messiah will certainly not lose their reward.” ‭‭Mark‬ ‭9‬:‭41‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Here Christ goes on to describe the actions of others in relation to the apostles, not apart from them, suggesting that these workers of good would, in due time, come through into the fullness of the apostolic Church, just as those in the book of Acts did who only knew the baptism of John.

So far, it is fair to say that most Christians would generally agree that Christ built his Church on the foundation of the apostles. So where does the disagreement lie?

The New Testament Church

Did this apostolic authority die with the apostles? Those who claim apostolic succession do not believe so. Parallels are drawn between the Mosaic covenant and the new covenant, where Moses passes on his authority to the elders of Israel:

“So Moses went out and told the people what the Lord had said. He brought together seventy of their elders and had them stand around the tent. Then the Lord came down in the cloud and spoke with him, and he took some of the power of the Spirit that was on him and put it on the seventy elders.” ‭‭Numbers‬ ‭11‬:‭24‬-‭25‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“So the Lord said to Moses, “Take Joshua son of Nun, a man in whom is the spirit of leadership, and lay your hand on him. Have him stand before Eleazar the priest and the entire assembly and commission him in their presence. Give him some of your authority so the whole Israelite community will obey him […]. Moses did as the Lord commanded him. He took Joshua and had him stand before Eleazar the priest and the whole assembly. Then he laid his hands on him and commissioned him, as the Lord instructed through Moses.” ‭‭Numbers‬ ‭27‬:‭18‬-‭20‬, ‭22‬-‭23‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Here, the laying on of hands functions as a transfer of authority. This ancient Jewish practice, known as semikhah (סמיכה), continued into the Second Temple period and was understood as the means by which the Spirit, blessing and authority were passed on. During this period, to be a judge over Israel, a person had to have hands laid on them as part of a chain or ordination traceable all the way back to Moses and Joshua. The argument for apostolic succession is that the process we see in the New Testament, where the Holy Spirit and apostolic authority were passed from apostle to bishop, is a continuation of this.

There is an interesting passage in the book of Acts concerning the appointment of another apostle to take Judas’ place. Although this was a succession of apostolic ministry, the psalm Peter quotes says “let another take his place of leadership”, in the Greek the word that Peter says is episkopen (ἐπισκοπὴν), that is literally ‘bishopric’. Along this same line of thought, that the bishops are the continuation of apostolic ministry, we see later in Acts chapter 20 that Paul claims that bishops are appointed by the Holy Spirit to be shepherds of the Church of God.

There are those, however, who challenge the view of this exclusive succession from apostles to bishops. They refute the argument that these verses in Acts describe an exclusive succession by highlighting that the text first describes those Paul gathered as presbyters before he calls them bishops. The claim that there is a blurred line between the presbyters and bishops is central to the case against apostolic succession.

Before I go any further, it is probably best that I define some terms, as this is key to understanding the different biblical roles and avoiding potential confusion.

Presbyter

• Greek (LXX/ NT): πρεσβύτερος (presbyteros)

• Hebrew (OT): זָקֵן (zāqēn)

• English: The Greek term presbyteros is actually the source of the modern word priest, but because there is another type of priest mentioned in Scripture, I’ll use the word presbyter to distinguish it from the Old Testament role.

• Function: A governing elder

Priest

• Greek (LXX / NT): ἱερεύς (hiereus)

• Hebrew (OT): כֹּהֵן (kōhēn)

• English: A liturgical office in the Old Testament. In the New Testament, the term is used to describe believers as a royal priesthood, and Christ as the High Priest. Not the same as Presbetyr above.

• Function: A sacrificial and liturgical office

Bishop

• Greek (LXX/ NT): ἐπίσκοπος (episkopos)

• Hebrew: פָּקִיד (pāqîd) or נָצִיב (nāṣîb)

• English: Bishop

• Function: An overseer

Deacon

• Greek (NT): διάκονος (diakonos)

• Hebrew: שָׁרַת (šārat)

• English: Deacon

• Function: To serve

Later in the New Testament, Timothy is portrayed as a bishop in the epistles Paul sends to him, stating that he had been given specific authority. In Paul’s letters to Timothy, we read the following:

“Do not neglect your gift, which was given you through prophecy when the body of elders laid their hands on you.” ‭‭1 Timothy‬ ‭4‬:‭14‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“Do not be hasty in the laying on of hands, and do not share in the sins of others. Keep yourself pure.” ‭‭1 Timothy‬ ‭5‬:‭22‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands.” ‭‭2 Timothy‬ ‭1‬:‭6‬ ‭NIV‬‬

The argument is that, as Jesus breathed on the apostles to impart the Holy Spirit, Paul later says to Timothy that the Holy Spirit is imparted through the laying on of hands, demonstrating a successive chain. This is then seen in Timothy himself, whose authority was confirmed by the presbyters of the church. Timothy was also given the authority to ordain, as he was instructed to pass this authority on to others in a chain of succession, and not to do so hastily, since it was his responsibility to discern to whom this authority should be entrusted.

In Paul’s letter to Titus, he instructs him to appoint presbyters in every city in Crete. The argument is that Paul was referencing the same episcopal responsibility for ordination that he describes in his letter to Timothy. While the act of ordination isn’t generally disputed, what is contested is the exclusivity of the bishop’s office in performing it, along with the claim that the role of a bishop constitutes a separate office from presbyter. Those who oppose this argue that, in the New Testament Church, the two roles were generally interchangeable terms to describe church leaders, reflecting either a plurality of leadership in these early churches or even regional variation, where culturally Jewish churches were led by presbyters and culturally gentile churches by bishops.

The importance of this distinction gets to the heart of the debate: if there is no real distinction between presbyter and bishop, then there is no exclusive authority vested in bishops, and the presence of a bishop cannot function as the qualifier of an apostolic church.

The Early Church

Those who argue for or against apostolic succession will also look beyond Scripture and to the writings of the Church from the first and second centuries to support their claims. The earliest of these writings is possibly an epistle written by Clement of Rome to the church at Corinth, commonly dated to the late first century but by some as early as 65 A.D. Evidence suggests that Clement was himself the Bishop of Rome after Peter. Later documentation also confirms that this is, in fact, the same Clement mentioned by Paul in his epistle to the Philippians (4:3).

In Clement’s epistles, he states:

“The apostles have preached the gospel to us from the Lord Jesus Christ; Jesus Christ [has done so] from God. Christ therefore was sent forth by God, and the apostles by Christ. Both these appointments, then, were made in an orderly way, according to the will of God. Having therefore received their orders, and being fully assured by the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, and established in the word of God, with full assurance of the Holy Ghost, they went forth proclaiming that the kingdom of God was at hand. And thus preaching through countries and cities, they appointed the first fruits [of their labours], having first proved them by the Spirit, to be bishops and deacons of those who should afterwards believe.“

(Letter to the Corinthians, Chapter 42)

“Our apostles also knew, through our Lord Jesus Christ, that there would be strife on account of the office of the episcopate. For this reason, therefore, inasmuch as they had obtained a perfect fore-knowledge of this, they appointed those [ministers] already mentioned, and afterwards gave instructions, that when these should fall asleep, other approved men should succeed them in their ministry. We are of opinion, therefore, that those appointed by them, or afterwards by other eminent men, with the consent of the whole church, and who have blamelessly served the flock of Christ, in a humble, peaceable, and disinterested spirit, and have for a long time possessed the good opinion of all, cannot be justly dismissed from the ministry.”

(Letter to the Corinthians, Chapter 44)

These passages are often cited by those who wish to show that bishops were given apostolic authority (not necessarily in the same measure), which was carried forward in the Church through successive generations.

Those who challenge apostolic succession, on the other hand, argue that those “other eminent men” who appointed them were not necessarily bishops. They also point out that Clement, a few lines later, refers to these bishops as presbyters, which they take as evidence that there was no clear distinction between the two offices and that any such distinction was a later development or invention.

Another first-century text that is also cited in opposition to apostolic succession is the Didache, a compendium of apostolic teaching. Those opposing apostolic succession argue that it is also evidence of the local appointment of bishops:

“Therefore, appoint for yourselves bishops and deacons worthy of the Lord, men meek, and not lovers of money, and truthful and proven; for they also render to you the service of prophets and teachers. Despise them not therefore, for they are your honoured ones, together with the prophets and teachers”.

(Chapter 15)

Those who support succession would counter this claim by arguing that a bishop was locally confirmed only after an apostolic appointment. Further pro-succession arguments maintain that if an early text or Scripture appears to use the terms presbyter or bishop interchangeably, this is because all bishops are presbyters, yet not all presbyters are bishops. Just as it might be said that all surgeons are doctors, but not all doctors are surgeons.

Again, on the pro-succession side, some argue that the letters from Ignatius - a disciple of John and the Bishop of Antioch, where they were first called Christians - to various churches hold the strongest evidence of apostolic succession from the early second century. In these letters, we see the following:

“For if I in this brief space of time, have enjoyed such fellowship with your bishop — I mean not of a mere human, but of a spiritual nature — how much more do I reckon you happy who are so joined to him as the Church is to Jesus Christ, and as Jesus Christ is to the Father, that so all things may agree in unity.”

(Letter to the Ephesians, Chapter 5)

“Now the more any one sees the bishop keeping silence, the more ought he to revere him. For we ought to receive every one whom the Master of the house sends to be over His household, as we would do Him that sent him. It is manifest, therefore, that we should look upon the bishop even as we would upon the Lord Himself.“

(Letter to the Ephesians, Chapter 6)

“For, since you are subject to the bishop as to Jesus Christ, you appear to me to live not after the manner of men, but according to Jesus Christ, who died for us, in order, by believing in His death, you may escape from death. It is therefore necessary that, as you indeed do, so without the bishop you should do nothing, but should also be subject to the presbytery, as to the apostle of Jesus Christ, who is our hope, in whom, if we live, we shall [at last] be found.”

(Letter to the Trallians, Chapter 2)

“In like manner, let all reverence the deacons as an appointment of Jesus Christ, and the bishop as Jesus Christ, who is the Son of the Father, and the presbyters as the sanhedrin of God, and assembly of the apostles. Apart from these, there is no Church.”

(Letter to the Trallians, Chapter 3)

“I salute in the blood of Jesus Christ, who is our eternal and enduring joy, especially if [men] are in unity with the bishop, the presbyters, and the deacons, who have been appointed according to the mind of Jesus Christ, whom He has established in security, after His own will, and by His Holy Spirit.”

(Letter to the Smyrnaeans)

“See that you all follow the bishop, even as Jesus Christ does the Father, and the presbytery as you would the apostles; and reverence the deacons, as being the institution of God. Let no man do anything connected with the Church without the bishop.”

(Letter to the Smyrnaeans, Chapter 8)

“It is well to reverence both God and the bishop. He who honours the bishop has been honoured by God; he who does anything without the knowledge of the bishop, does [in reality] serve the devil.”

(Letter to the Smyrnaeans, Chapter 9)

“Take heed, then, to have but one Eucharist. For there is one flesh of our Lord Jesus Christ, and one cup to [show forth] the unity of His blood; one altar; as there is one bishop, along with the presbytery and deacons, my fellow-servants: that so, whatsoever you do, you may do it according to God.”

(Epistle to the Philadelphians, Chapter 4)

This is very strong language. There is more that could be taken from Ignatius’ letters, and readers are encouraged to read them in full. What has been presented here is arguably the strongest case that churches were structured around a single bishop, a college of presbyters and a group of deacons - and that without these there was no Church.

There is still a challenge to this view, as those who argue against apostolic succession believe that, although these writings date from the early second century, they represent the first steps in the development of a doctrine of succession that moved away from New Testament practice.

When we look later in the second century, we see very clear claims of succession, such as by Irenaeus, who, writing two generations removed from the apostles, states:

“It is within the power of all, therefore, in every Church, who may wish to see the truth, to contemplate clearly the tradition of the apostles manifested throughout the whole world; and we are in a position to reckon up those who were by the apostles instituted bishops in the Churches, and [to demonstrate] the succession of these men to our own times.“

(Against Heresies, Book 3, Chapter 3)

In the same chapter, he even gives the example of the current Bishop of Rome, detailing each bishop in an unbroken chain from Peter to him, and stating that the current bishop, Eleutherius:

“Does now, in the twelfth place from the apostles, hold the inheritance of the episcopate. In this order, and by this succession, the ecclesiastical tradition from the apostles, and the preaching of the truth, have come down to us. And this is most abundant proof that there is one and the same vivifying faith, which has been preserved in the Church from the apostles until now, and handed down in truth.”

Those who oppose succession have argued that Irenaeus is the next step in an accretion which starts to become much more explicit in the second century, with some even claiming that the list of successive bishops was simply made up.

I’ve not explored all the writings of all early Church Fathers, but I have hopefully given a useful outline of how the two opposing views are structured when both New Testament Scripture and early Church writings are considered.

Based upon this, I can now summarise the main arguments of each position.

The Arguments:

Pro-Apostolic Succession Argument

Christ founded his Church on the apostles. They, in turn, transferred authority to oversee the Church in their absence to bishops through the laying on of hands.

These bishops were ordained from within a group of presbyters. Any interchangeable terminology in the New Testament and early Church writings reflects this, as all bishops are presbyters, but not all presbyters are bishops.

There has always been a covenantal pattern of an identifiable, visible people of God, into which other groups of people can be brought. There has never been an invisible group with porous and unclear boundaries and low entry criteria.

Individual fallibility or error does not invalidate the collective truth of the Church. Error existed even among the apostles, and yet Christ promised the Holy Spirit would guide the Church into all truth. The one holy, catholic and apostolic Church remains the pillar and foundation of that truth.

If one discredits the early Church teachings on apostolic succession because of human fallibility, then the same argument can be levied at core doctrines such as Christology or the inspiration of any given book of Scripture. You cannot pick and choose what you inherit from the early Church without the resulting burden to verify each individual claim by its own merits.

If the lowest criterion for church legitimacy is merely professing that “Jesus is Lord”, having bread and wine on a Sunday, and baptising believers, then groups with radically heretical doctrines (e.g., Mormons) are part of the invisible Church. If the criteria for a true Church are more than just these, then no matter how long the checklist, the boundary that determines if a group of people are or are not part of the body of Christ is reduced to just having the right number of boxes ticked.

It would have been inconceivable in the New Testament age or early Church that a group could break away and start their own church without being labelled schismatic. Why should it be any different now?

Anti-Apostolic Succession Argument

Although the apostles did appoint church leaders to continue the ministry beyond them, and did so through the laying on of hands, there is clearly a plurality of leadership in the New Testament and early Church writings.

Elders and overseers are a description of function more than office, and bishops are not the unique successors of the apostles. Therefore, a distinct threefold ecclesial structure of bishops, presbyters and deacons is not jure divino, that is, not by divine law.

In the New Testament, entire churches fell away from sound doctrine and were held accountable by Paul, as well as Christ himself through the letters he sent to the churches in Revelation. Therefore, practices in the first century do not automatically signify God’s will.

Writings by church leaders after the apostles died should not be regarded as authoritative, as, unlike Scripture, they are fallible. Within these fallible texts, we see apostolic succession creeping into practice over the centuries, maybe even as a deliberate fabrication.

This same fallibility also applies to creeds and canons, which may have been useful but are nevertheless not binding.

A truly apostolic Church is not one because of an unbroken chain of bishops, but through adherence to the doctrine of the apostles and Scripture. Thus, any newly formed church is part of the universal and invisible Church as far as its teaching is biblical and gospel-centered. Consequently, reforming doctrine is necessary if an institutional or local church strays from this foundation.

If a community, even without direct human contact, hears the gospel, responds in faith, receives baptism and the Lord’s Supper, turns from idolatry to worship one true God, and bears the expected spiritual fruit, then that community absolutely constitutes a true church in the fullest sense.

Each of these arguments is really about where the boundary of the Church lies.

The anti-apostolic succession position would say that this boundary is doctrine-based and that, with sound theology and a biblical foundation, you have a church; without it, you don’t. In other words, the apostolic Church is where you find the application of faithful doctrine.

Pro-apostolic succession, on the other hand, claims that a church is more than a combination of beliefs and practices, as the boundary is based on whether there is a legitimate continuation from what the apostles established. Here, the apostolic Church is where the bishops have faithfully passed down what they were entrusted with.

I was raised Evangelical Protestant, but I now regularly attend a Greek Orthodox church. I’ve felt compelled to document this in some way and describe what I think are the major differences between these two forms of Christianity. What follows, then, is my best effort to explain and, where possible, defend Eastern Orthodox doctrine and practice as they diverge from Protestantism. This is a personal apologetic, or reasoned defence, for why I now attend an Orthodox church, not formed through catechesis, but through personal study.

Over the last twelve months or so, I’ve researched what I believe are the main areas, both theologically and ecclesiologically. Some may disagree with the choice of areas, but I make no apologies for my very subjective methodology. These were the things that naturally presented themselves to me as I explored Orthodoxy, and which I felt I needed to reconcile and digest. Although, in my writing, I’ve tried to be as accurate as possible when discussing these areas, I may have misconstrued and misrepresented some views or positions inadvertently, and I’m happy to be corrected if I have. Nevertheless, I hope what I’ve written may be of help to others, too.

The topics I’ll cover are:

• Canonicity (the canon of Scripture)

• Hagiology (the Saints)

• Ecclesiology (the Church)

• Mariology (Mary)

• Iconology (icons)

• Soteriology (the doctrine of salvation)

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Canonicity

I grew up with a clear understanding of what did and did not constitute Scripture. The Bible consisted of 66 books; there was a period of ‘four hundred silent years’ between the Testaments when heaven had nothing to reveal; and I understood that this canon of Scripture was determined by a group of godly men, led by the Holy Spirit, at some early point in Church history. And that was that. I later learned that the Protestant Old Testament canon exactly matched the one held in Judaism today, which seemed like confirmation that we’d got it right. In Eastern Orthodoxy, however, there are seventy-six books (some Orthodox churches have even more), with several of these additional books taking place within this ‘silent’ four-hundred-year period.

How can this difference of canon across Christendom be best understood? Largely by recognising that Scripture did not arrive at a position of canonicity as a single and neatly cohesive group of books, but rather through a gradual process over time.

During the late Second Temple period, the Jews were divided into several subsets theologically, such as the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes, each of which held different book groupings as Scripture. The Pharisees held the books broadly corresponding to the current Protestant Old Testament as Scripture, the Sadducees likely held just the Torah as canon, and the desert-dwelling Essenes (from whom we get the Dead Sea Scrolls) again held the books corresponding to the current Protestant Old Testament as Scripture, but also held several other books as Scripture too - some of which are found in today’s larger Orthodox canon. It wasn’t until after the destruction of the Second Temple, in 70 A.D., that the Pharisaic canon became dominant in Judaism, officially codified some centuries later.

Today, the Eastern Orthodox Church’s Old Testament derives from the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures, that was widely used in Judea and throughout the Jewish diaspora during the Second Temple period due to the Hellenisation of the region. The Protestant Old Testament canon, on the other hand, is based on the Hebrew Masoretic Text, preserved and standardised by medieval Jewish scribes, based on the Pharisaic tradition.

Notably, when quoting the Old Testament, the New Testament writers used the Septuagint Greek more than the Hebrew text. This is important because the Greek Septuagint preserves the wider range of books not included in the modern Protestant Old Testament (though interestingly, they did appear separately in the original edition of the King James Bible). These same books were read and used by early Christians and taken up by the early Church Fathers, who cited this broader collection as Scripture (arguably in a tiered-authority sense). Surviving early Greek manuscripts very clearly attest to the use of these books within the early Church.

The argument:

A larger canon, much closer to today’s Orthodox canon than the Protestant one, was embraced by a significant majority of the early church. The smaller canon was codified after the destruction of the Second Temple by religious groups who rejected Christ, and who should not dictate the boundaries of inspired scripture.

Hagiology

Being brought up on novels such as Frank Peretti’s This Present Darkness, the way in which good and evil spiritual powers were presented to me could be described as simplified or even cartoonish; there was a Devil, demons and angels that exist in a spiritual realm. It’s not that this is wrong necessarily; it’s just not complete. Scripture speaks of various supernatural powers, both good and evil. The most comprehensive resource I have found on this is The Dictionary of Demons and Deities in the Bible by Van der Toorn, Becking, and Van der Horst, which catalogues over four hundred names of supernatural beings found in the Bible. I was first exposed to a fuller biblical context, which conveyed sacred geography and a complex unseen realm populated by various spiritual creatures, through the teachings of Dr Michael Heiser. Heiser, a Hebrew scholar and expert in ancient Near Eastern religious practices, brought to modern readers the ancient understanding that the original authors and audiences of the Scriptures would have had.

He posited from Scripture that Yahweh, the God of Israel, had a divine council which he used for the governance of his creation. Heiser stated that the council members were created elohim (literally ‘gods’, though ontologically this just means supernatural ruling powers) who were given charge to shepherd the nations. However, some took worship unto themselves, procreated with human women (from whom giants were born) and became the wicked principalities that Paul the Apostle refers to (see Deuteronomy 32:8‑9, Psalm 82:1-8, Genesis 6:1‑4, Ephesians 6:12). Heiser believed that the resulting vacant seats in the divine council either will be, or are being, taken up by faithful followers of Christ, at his choosing. Although Heiser has drawn some criticism, his views remain well within the Evangelical Protestant umbrella.

Surprisingly, I have found Heiser’s views to be analogous to those found in Eastern Orthodox theology, not because of his influence, but because the conclusions he reached through academic inquiry had already been preserved within Orthodox tradition and liturgy. Orthodox theology does not separate the spiritual and material, and teaches that the divine council’s seats are not vacant but are now occupied by the saints. This is visually expressed in the arrangement of icons within an Orthodox church: an Image of Christ is depicted at the centre or front, surrounded by images of his saints who presently reign with him. These are material images of a heavenly reality, where the saints are not dead or inaccessible but alive and active members of this governing council, who are close to the throne of Christ, and who pray for those on earth.

Verses within the Protestant canon are used to argue for the active office of saints, such as the “great cloud of witnesses” spoken of in Hebrews 12, and with the “prayers of the saints” in Revelation 5 and 8 presented before God (with the saints here arguably being those martyred in the past, not those martyred in some future eschaton). Intercession, however, is perhaps clearer in books found in the expanded canon in Eastern Orthodoxy, where the righteous departed are clearly depicted as still praying and interceding before God for those on the earth.

The argument:

‘Praying’ to or calling on the name of a Saint does not replace direct access to God, but is asking for help and prayer from somebody alive, in authority, and who has direct access to the throne of Christ.

Ecclesiology

In Protestantism, Scripture is regarded as the sole infallible authority and in my experience of Evangelical Protestantism, this belief has permeated everything else. As an illustration, I’ll often see online if something biblically related, but not biblically documented, is stated as a fact (for example, that Peter was crucified upside-down, or that the woman at the well is St Photini) the response is often “But where is that in the Bible?”, suggesting that if something is true it must be contained within Scripture. Related to this, I’ve also observed a very ‘low-church’ mentality in Evangelical settings, and a sharp disdain for church authority, especially anything outside a local eldership or Pastor.

In contrast, Eastern Orthodoxy holds that the Holy Spirit is the ultimate infallible authority, conveyed through the Holy Scripture and Holy Tradition, that is, through the teachings of the apostles, both written and handed down through the succession of bishops. These two forms of transmission are referenced in Paul’s writings:

“So then, brothers and sisters, stand firm and hold fast to the teachings we passed on to you, whether by word of mouth or by letter.”

2 Thessalonians‬ ‭2‬:‭15‬ ‭NIV‬‬

The argument is that these oral traditions were handed down through successive generations, and that the Eastern Orthodox Church preserves an unbroken chain of apostolic teaching and succession, through which orthodox doctrine has been faithfully transmitted. Although there have been some developments over time, the writings of the early Church Fathers demonstrate that the core doctrines and practices of the Orthodox Church remain in clear continuity with this inherited apostolic tradition.

Early Church writings also make it clear that the Church is not separate from its leadership but is bound to the bishops who had succeeded the apostles themselves:

“Let all reverence the deacons as an appointment of Jesus Christ, and the bishop as Jesus Christ, who is the Son of the Father, and the presbyters [priests] as the sanhedrin of God, and assembly of the apostles. Apart from these, there is no Church.”

(Ignatius. A disciple of John.)

In Eastern Orthodoxy, the Church is the “pillar and foundation of the truth” (1 Timothy 3:15), and therefore bears responsibility for biblical interpretation. By contrast, where personal interpretation happens outside of the Church, Scripture can quickly become twisted to suit the desires of individuals.

If Scripture is the only authority, and biblical interpretation is left to individuals, then anyone is free to apply their own personal interpretation without a binding correction. By this logic, there can be no doctrine that the whole Church embraces, even regarding the nature of Christ or the doctrine of the Trinity. Without an extra-biblical authority, any argument would be circular: “I believe the Bible says (insert any claim you want here) and I believe it because the Bible tells me so”. Contemporary examples can be seen where Scripture is appealed to justify abortion or same-sex marriage. One Christian may claim that these are inherently wrong, but how does that differ from another Christian who claims they are inherently right? The result is a stalemate.

The tension between Protestant and Orthodox views on this appears to come down to whether formal Church interpretation supersedes personal interpretation or not. Protestants will view ecumenical declarations as fallible, non-binding and subject to later revision, whereas the Orthodox Church will see individual interpretation as inherently fickle and ultimately meaningless. This difference also has implications for how the canon of Scripture is understood, as without the Church as an authoritative arbiter, there is nothing to prevent an individual from choosing which books they do and do not consider Scripture, thereby creating their own personal canon. If you believe that a person cannot determine their own biblical canon, then you are appealing to an authority outside of Scripture. If you respond that this authority is the Holy Spirit, the question is “How can we determine what the Holy Spirit is saying?” - and the answer once again requires you to choose either the Church or the individual.

The argument:

The current Orthodox Church is a faithful and full continuation of the religion of the apostles, through scripture, tradition and apostolic succession. Because scripture can be twisted to defend heterodox positions, there needs to be an authority outside of scripture to determine (a) what writings constitute Scripture, and (b) how Scripture is to be understood.

Mariology

In Evangelical churches, a strong anti-Catholic sentiment can make people very nervous when talking about Mary, so it was common in my upbringing to hear her only spoken about at Christmas (if at all). Reverence for Mary in Orthodoxy, therefore, may be where many Evangelical Protestants would instinctively object, largely because of her strong emphasis in liturgical practice and the language that is used to describe her role in salvation history.

In Eastern Orthodoxy, Mary is called the ‘Theotokos’ (God-bearer), meaning the mother of God. This is because it is not possible to separate Christ’s humanity from his divinity without falling into Nestorianism, a heresy that was condemned by the early church, meaning Mary cannot only be the mother of Christ in his humanity, but is mother to him in his divinity too.

Her unique role as the mother of Christ the King is seen as a continuation of the ‘Queen Mother’ office that was present biblically and historically in the Kingdom of Judah throughout the Davidic line. Here the mother of the king (not the queen) called the Givirah (גבירה), literally ‘great lady’ but often translated Queen Mother, held the highest office (1 Kings 15:13; 2 Kings 10:13). This is in part why, in 1–2 Kings, when a king in the Davidic line is named, his mother is named as well (1 Kings 14:21; 15:2; 2 Kings 12:1; 14:2; 15:2; 15:33). This office contained intercessory responsibilities, such as those first undertaken by Solomon’s mother Bathsheba (1 Kings 2:19–20). This pattern is seen continued in Mary's intercession with Christ, where the timeframe for his public ministry is accelerated following her request at the wedding in Cana (John 2:1–11).

In Orthodoxy, Mary is also fundamentally tied to the incarnation, not as a random individual but a chosen vessel, through whom Christ’s humanity is ever tethered. Because of this, Mary is viewed typologically as the new Eve, where her obedience to the Angel Gabriel’s announcement in Luke chapter 1 contrasts Eve’s disobedience in facing the Serpent’s temptation. Support for this typological connection with Eve and her veneration is found in the early Church, such as in the writings of the fourth-century St Basil the Great, who composed devotional hymns to her.

The Orthodox Church affirms that Mary was ‘ever-virgin,’ believing that this teaching is part of the continuous tradition preserved within the Church. Patristic writings from a few generations after the Apostles are evidence of this very early belief, which remained embedded in the Church’s theological and liturgical traditions. The Orthodox Church also holds to the tradition of her bodily assumption into heaven (as was the case with Elijah, Enoch and Moses) to take her place as the mother of the King on his council. Her high status and position meant prayers seeking her protection were part of early Christian practice in the pre-Nicene period (before 325 A.D.).

Some may claim that these arguments are simply Mary’s role being exaggerated, manipulated and retroactively rewritten back into biblical history, because only a few verses of scripture speak about her. This can be countered by the claim that Marian typology runs throughout the Bible, seen in the recurring roles of faithful women in stories of salvation.

It is also argued that there is a strong connection between Mary and the Ark of the Covenant throughout Scripture, as Luke emphasises this connection in chapter 1 of his Gospel. He uses phrases to describe Mary’s visitation to Elizabeth that mirror the Ark’s journey and visitation to Obed-Edom in 2 Samuel 6:

Compare:

• Luke: “When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb”.

With:

• 2 Samuel: “She saw King David leaping and dancing before the Lord”.

Compare:

• Luke: “Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home”.

With:

• 2 Samuel: “The ark of the Lord remained in the house of Obed-Edom the Gittite for three months”.

And compare:

• Luke: “But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?”.

With:

• 2 Samuel: “How can the ark of the Lord ever come to me”.

This is a clear typological connection.

As Eve and the messianic prophecy of Genesis 3:15 form one bookend of Marian typology in Scripture, imagery in Revelation forms the other bookend. Here, what can easily be missed because of later-added chapter boundaries is that the mother of the Messiah is again depicted in connection with the Ark of the Covenant:

“Then God’s temple in heaven was opened, and within his temple was seen the ark of his covenant. And there came flashes of lightning, rumblings, peals of thunder, an earthquake and a severe hailstorm. A great sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head. She was pregnant and cried out in pain as she was about to give birth […]. She gave birth to a son, a male child, who “will rule all the nations with an iron scepter.” And her child was snatched up to God and to his throne.”

‭‭Revelation‬ 11:19, ‭12‬:‭1‬-‭2‬, ‭5‬ ‭NIV‬‬.

The argument:

The veneration of Mary is fundamentally linked to the incarnation, as Christ’s humanity came from her. Mary holds a unique office in the heavenly divine council as the Theotokos. This office continues the biblical queen-mother pattern in the Davidic line, including her intercessory responsibility. Marian typology is present throughout scripture and is especially linked to the Ark of the Covenant. Early Christian tradition affirms her perpetual virginity, bodily assumption, and protective intercession.

Iconology

In my upbringing, I was used to a church having four blank walls, and I was cautioned that any use of images in prayer was idolatrous. When a large wooden cross was once placed on a wall, even this was too much for some. This stands in contrast to the more traditional Protestant churches, with which I’m also familiar, where the Lord, Mary and the Saints are depicted in stained glass. Nevertheless, when I stepped into a fully adorned Orthodox Church a little over a year ago, it was still very much a culture shock.

In Eastern Orthodoxy, the use and veneration of icons also relates back to what I wrote about hagiology and mariology earlier. It is believed that the Church functions as the kingdom of heaven on earth, where heaven and earth become one, and the boundaries are removed. Therefore, icons function as a display of Christ, Mary, and the saints, imaging the heavenly thrones that are seen in Scripture.

The basis for Protestant allegations of idolatry is often underpinned by the second commandment, which prohibits the bowing down to or worshipping of images. The application of this against iconography makes three assertions: (1) the second commandment prohibition applies in all situations, (2) the prohibition applies across all time, (3) that veneration is worship.

Concerning assertion 1, a surface reading of the Second Commandment appears to prohibit not only the worship of images but even their creation, since it forbids making likenesses of anything in heaven above or on the earth below. Taken in isolation, this would prohibit even the depiction of Christ, the angels, or even created beings. However, the wider scriptural context makes it clear that the commandment is directed against idolatry rather than representation as such. God’s later instructions for the construction of the Tabernacle, in which He explicitly commands the making of sacred images such as the cherubim, demonstrate that the prohibition was never absolute. This interpretation is made explicit in the 4th century by St Gregory of Nyssa, who writes:

“The law did not forbid the making of images absolutely, for the cherubim were made by God’s command; rather, it forbade the error of supposing the divine nature to be circumscribed by material form.”

This commandment was understood as a contextual safeguard against idolatry, given to Israel within the Mosaic Law, and not as a universal rejection of sacred images.

Regarding assertion 2, Deuteronomy chapter 4 provides further context for why making images of God was prohibited in the law:

“Then the Lord spoke to you out of the fire. You heard the sound of words but saw no form; there was only a voice […]. You saw no form of any kind the day the Lord spoke to you at Horeb out of the fire. Therefore watch yourselves very carefully, so that you do not become corrupt and make for yourselves an idol, an image of any shape, whether formed like a man or a woman, or like any animal on earth or any bird that flies in the air, or like any creature that moves along the ground or any fish in the waters below. And when you look up to the sky and see the sun, the moon and the stars—all the heavenly array—do not be enticed into bowing down to them and worshiping things the Lord your God has apportioned to all the nations under heaven.”

‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭4‬:12, ‭15‬-‭19‬ ‭NIV‬‬

In the Septuagint, the Greek word for form in the above is homoióma (ὁμοίωμα).

In Romans 8:3, Paul says:

“For what the law was powerless to do because it was weakened by the flesh, God did by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh to be a sin offering. And so he condemned sin in the flesh,”

‭‭Romans‬ ‭8‬:‭3‬ ‭NIV‬‬

The word ‘likeness’ here is the same word, homoióma.

Often referenced on this matter is the fourth-century St Basil, who taught that because the Son is the image of the invisible Father (Colossians 1:15), the honour or dishonour given to him passes to the Father. By extension, this same principle is applied to images of Christ, such that the honour given to the image passes to its prototype. Accordingly, the prohibition against making images of God and bowing before them, given prior to the incarnation, does not apply in the same manner after the incarnation, since the image of God has been revealed in the flesh and may therefore be depicted and venerated.

Regarding assertion 3, the Orthodox Church clearly states that they do not worship anyone but God, emphasising the distinction between worship (latreia) due to God alone, and veneration (proskynesis) offered to holy images (including images of Christ), as originally defined at the second council of Nicaea in 787 A.D. This ecumenical council stated that their definitions and distinctions were in fact apostolic tradition that was handed down to them:

“Following as we are the God-spoken teaching of our holy fathers and the tradition of the Catholic Church—for we recognise that this tradition comes from the Holy Spirit who dwells in her—we decree with full precision and care that, like the figure of the honoured and life-giving cross, the revered and holy images, whether painted or made of mosaic or of other suitable material, are to be exposed in the holy churches of God, on sacred instruments and vestments, on walls and panels, in houses and by public ways, these are the images of our Lord, God and saviour, Jesus Christ, and of our Lady without blemish, the holy God-bearer, and of the revered angels and of any of the saintly holy men […]. Certainly this is not the full adoration [latria] in accordance with our faith, which is properly paid only to the divine nature, but […] people are drawn to honour these images with the offering of incense and lights, as was piously established by ancient custom. Indeed, the honour paid to an image traverses it, reaching the model, and he who venerates the image, venerates the person represented in that image.“

Although there were two periods of iconoclasm around that time, when some churches opposed the use of icons, the position of the Eastern Orthodox Church was that this had crept in against historical orthodox practice. Following the formal restoration of icon veneration, it is fair to say that the entire Church accepted this practice, and reasonable then to conclude that the whole of the body of Christ was either unified in truth on this matter or was fully in error for all the centuries which followed.

The argument:

Icons are venerated because the Church is where heaven and earth meet, necessitating the visual representation of Christ, Mary, and the saints. The Second Commandment is contextual, and Israel was prohibited from making an image of God because it had not seen God’s form. Since the incarnation reveals that form, in Christ, the prohibition no longer applies. Honour given to an icon passes to its prototype, and veneration is not worship. The Church’s post-Nicaea II consensus confirms this practice.

Soteriology

Prompted by a viral online debate that happened a few months back, I previously wrote an article exploring the differences between Protestantism and Orthodoxy when it comes to the doctrine of salvation, which helped me personally reconcile these differences. Based upon the research I did at that time, I want to take a moment to get to the crux of Orthodox soteriology and how it differs from the Western view of salvation.

Protestants can sometimes view Orthodox soteriology as works-based and indistinguishable from Roman Catholicism. In Orthodoxy, however, the greatest divide on this matter is between East and West, believing that both the Catholic Church and Protestant churches’ doctrines of salvation are based on the concept of ‘merit’. Meaning that salvation hinges on the assignable worth of actions before God, not necessarily earned independently by the individual, but grounded in Christ’s merit and applied to the believer. In Western Christianity, both Protestantism and Catholicism often describe salvation in legal or forensic terms where sin is seen as guilt, and therefore salvation is a legal acquittal in a heavenly court.

In Orthodoxy, this legal view of salvation is absent. Instead, salvation is considered the healing of a person (and ultimately humanity) from the corruption and consequences of sin and death, through the atonement. So it is not about a heavenly court but a heavenly hospital.

In accordance with Scripture, the Orthodox Church does not believe that a person is justified by faith alone (James 2:24), yet that is not to say that a person can earn their salvation. The Orthodox Church believes that salvation requires collaboration (that is, co-labour, 1 Corinthians 3:9) with God. Accordingly a person is saved by the atoning work of Christ, but God will not force this salvation upon them, and this collaboration in bringing about salvation is not a one-time event. This is a difficult concept if salvation is reduced down to ‘going to heaven when you die’, but less so if salvation is viewed as a process whereby sin and death are overcome. This process is ultimately about Theosis (or divinisation) and being conformed into the likeness of Christ (Romans 8:29). As St Athanasius wrote in the fourth century, “God became man so that man might become God”. This isn’t to say that people can become divine in essence, but that they can be partakers in the divine nature (2 Peter 1:4).

The sacraments are part of how this process occurs. In Orthodoxy, they are not symbolic but have a material and spiritual reality. Baptism saves, as is attested to in scripture where it is described as the “washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit” (Titus 3:5), and in the early Church, where the act of baptism is described as “being washed, [through which] we have received remission of sins” (Ignatius, one generation from the Apostles).

The Orthodox Church believes that the Eucharist brings salvation too, as the literal flesh and blood of Christ, which he himself calls to be eaten for eternal life (John 6:54). Just as access to the tree of life gave eternal life to Adam, so also does access to this bread of life give eternal life to Christians. Ignatius, writing one generation after John, makes explicit the connection between Jesus’ words in John 6 and the Eucharist by calling the Eucharist the “medicine of immortality, and the antidote to prevent us from dying, but that we should live for ever in Jesus Christ”.

The argument:

Salvation is not just about a person going to heaven when they die. It is more accurate to describe it as being saved from sin and death, and ultimately being transformed through Theosis. The sacraments of Baptism and the Eucharist are not symbolic, but salvific, imparting the work of salvation to the believer.

For each of the topics that I’ve covered, it would be an exaggeration to say that personally, each and every difference is now neatly reconciled. Naturally, part of what remains is the mystery of it all, that I’ll never be able to put a finishing bow on. But I do feel that there is a logic to each argument I’ve summarised in favour of the Eastern Orthodox position. It follows then that there is a very good case that the Eastern Orthodox Church has preserved, and is continuing, the teaching of the apostles as it was handed down to them.

This wasn’t my first visit to holy places dedicated to Saint Mungo (also known as Saint Kentigern). Earlier this year, I visited a well-preserved and often-revered holy well in Caldbeck, Cumbria, named after him. That time I was alone; this time I was accompanied by another avid and experienced holy-well enthusiast: my four-year-old son, Elijah. Although ‘enthusiast’ may be a tad overstated, I’m glad to bring him on these small pilgrimages from time to time, as I believe it exposes him to a world he would not normally see, and one that is often deliberately obscured from us. As long as I promise to bring sandwiches, he is guaranteed to be a pilgrimage partner for the day.

As we set out on our journey, we travelled north through Cumbria and into a typical November rain that didn’t dampen the day’s enthusiasm or expectation. Having passed through the clouds, and by the time we arrived at our first stop, Bromfield, we were met with glorious bursts of sunshine. Still prepared for inclement weather, we were both wearing waterproofs and didn’t think to change out of them before setting off on the first leg of our pilgrimage - which, as will become apparent, was a stroke of providence.

Having arrived at St Mungo’s church, we were greeted with the sign “St Mungo Welcomes you” - excellent! Although St Mungo welcomed us, unfortunately, others did not, as the church’s door remained fully closed even after some polite nudging (sometimes church doors are not closed, just stiff). It’s sad when this happens, as most Anglican Church buildings are open to passing pilgrims. Undeterred, we then set out to find St Mungo’s well. My map told me that just a short stroll from the church and into a field, and we’d find it. As we’d find out later, maps are deceivingly simple in their bird’s-eye view of the world.

Through a gate at the back of the church, down some stone steps, and we were in a farmer’s field. So far, so good. I could see the well, unceremoniously plonked in the middle of the field, surrounded by marshes and ignored by the sheep; not far now. As we approached, however, it became apparent that the preceding rain had turned the marshes into a bog, or, as my son, channelling Michael Rosen, called it, “thick, oozy mud”. We tried our best to navigate the terrain under the delusion that we could remain relatively unscathed until my son suddenly declared, “Daddy, I’ve lost my shoe!” Having recovered the shoe, I hoisted him up and carried him over the remaining marshes. At one point, a deceptive patch of bog swallowed up my leg to the knee, yet I managed to rescue it and avoid it swallowing the rest of me whole, and careful step by careful step, we arrived at the hidden holy place.

The well stood about waist height, round and built of stone, with a stone roof, and accessible for water only by a wooden door. Etched into the stone was a verse from Isaiah:

“With joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of salvation.” (‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭12‬:‭3‬, ‭KJV‬‬)

This was St Mungo’s well.

Finding a holy place in a boggy field is always a strange experience, a contrast of worlds where something eternal and heavenly has penetrated time and space. And it is, in part, what motivates me to find them.

After we had fully examined the well, my son and I then made our way back to the church and found a bench along the side for him to sit on (the temporary loss of a shoe hadn’t deterred him too much as long as sandwiches were quick to hand). As my son ate, I read from the Psalter, burned incense, and prayed. Whilst doing this, I was met with a sense of peace, as the church, the well, and the surrounding area, infused with tangible Christian history, almost seemed to become energised, or perhaps I was perceiving what was already there. It’s an odd sensation and one I’ve normally only experienced in a Divine Liturgy, other holy places, or in the woods. When I later spoke to some members of the Orthodox Church that I attend, one of them mentioned that sometimes it’s like the saints of old, who are associated with these places and lands, almost need ‘waking up’. Maybe that’s what this was. Maybe not. But what is clear to me is that material places cannot be separated from spiritual realities.

After this, we headed to Aspatria for our second and final stop at sites associated with Saint Mungo. Interestingly, although the church there is named after him, the holy well that sits nestled at the side of its graveyard is associated with Saint Patrick instead. Nevertheless, it is not just the church, but the surrounding area that has a clear connection with Saint Mungo; around the church, you have both St Kentigern’s Way as well as St Mungo’s Park, illustrating an embedded connection with the holy saint in this area.

The accessibility of this well was a welcome change from the boggy field of the previous, and we spent some time admiring the simple yet beautiful stonework of a well that was very much a in amongst the community. Up the hill, I was glad to find that St Kentigern’s church was open this time. Inside, there were several depictions of him, including an ornate stained-glass image. I’m often struck by how these old Anglican churches demonstrate a very strong reverence for saints, which, even as Protestant churches, remind me much more of Eastern Orthodox churches than modern and unadorned Evangelical ones. It felt good to see a glimpse of the great cloud of witnesses that surrounds us.

Having concluded our pilgrimage, we stopped by a local pub where, as Elijah sipped his juice and I my pint, I sat and reflected on the connection the saints have to these lands as part of our history and heritage, and which, unfortunately, has largely been lost to time because of the blinding power of secularism and rationalism. How many buildings, schools and other significant places are named after saints, and yet it’s forgotten why? Perhaps the folk in the Orthodox Church were right about the Saints needing to be woken up.

The passage below is a translated excerpt from The Life of Saint Kentigern by Joceline of Furness, who describes the saint’s journey through Cumbria on his way to Wales following his exile and persecution by the anti-Christian King Morken of Strathclyde:

“Finally, instructed by Divine revelation, he left those regions and took up his journey towards Menevia, where the holy bishop Dewi (David) was then shining forth as the morning star, when he brings forth the day with his rosy mouth, while holding the office of bishop. Wheresoever the saint then went, virtue went forth from him to heal many. And when he had arrived at Karleolum (Carlisle), he heard that many among the mountains were given over to idolatry, or ignorant of the Divine law; and he turned aside there, and, with God cooperating and confirming the word with the signs that followed, he converted many who were strangers to the faith, and others who were erroneous in the faith, to the Christian religion. How beautiful upon those mountains were his feet, as he preached peace, announced good things, proclaimed salvation, and led them to the Author of eternal salvation!”

I’ve written before about my exploration of Holy Wells in Cumbria and Lancashire. These small pilgrimages of mine were inspired by the work of Father John Musther, now of blessed repose, Priest of the Orthodox parish of Saints Bega, Mungo and Herbert, and I have been using his book Springs of Living Water as a de facto guide to the enchanted places that surround me. Whenever I find the time for a day of pilgrimage, I’ll brew a flask of tea, pack a few essentials, put on my hat, and set off with a copy of his book in hand.

One such day, a few weeks ago, I went to explore a holy place of one of the aforementioned saints: Saint Herbert’s Island on Derwentwater. The island is so named because the seventh-century Saint resided there for many years. Saint Herbert would leave the island only once a year to make the long journey to see his good friend and spiritual counsellor, Saint Cuthbert, who, in like fashion, resided on his own island near Lindesfarne. In fact, their continued friendship was so strong that when Saint Herbert heard that Saint Cuthbert’s death was near, he prayed that he might die at the same time - a prayer that was granted to the very day. The full account of their friendship, as recorded by the Venerable Bede, I have included at the end of this article.

As I set off on my journey to the island, the weather was fairly typical for September, but with the added obstacle of very significant rainfall in the preceding days. When I came to collect my kayak, I was given the stark warning that the Lake’s water level was unusually high and I needed to be wary of objects that lay just below the surface. Duly cautioned, I set off on the water, heading south from Portinscale, towards the holy Isle.

I felt that there was something truly good for the soul in setting off on a small pilgrimage like this, as it stirs up a spirit of adventure. That feeling helped propel me along the relatively calm waters near the shore as I navigated between moored boats. As I travelled in a fairly straight line towards Saint Herbert’s Island, I could see other islands which shared the same waters. Continuing on into more open water, the waves rose a little higher, stirred up by winds which were now uninhibited by the land’s protective cover. The rain also picked up at this point, just as I approached a small island which, at the time at least, was no larger than a garden, with a single tree adorned with several birds. I was a little under half way and making good time.

I took a moment or two to look around me at the hills and mountains as the sun peeked out from behind a cloud for the briefest of moments, illuminating the green hillside with golden light on an otherwise grey day. Something about the light, the surroundings and the spirit of adventure revealed a touch of enchantment, and I instinctively said the Lord’s Prayer in response.

As I paddled further along in my journey, it became apparent that the wind was now directly against me, whipping up a relentless onslaught of waves that came to test my limited kayaking skills. I fixed my gaze on Saint Herbert’s island, still far ahead, and set out to make the distance. A strange phenomenon occurred during this struggle against the rhythmically repeating waves, where it felt as if I wasn’t moving at all. Several times, I had to look down to the water at the side to make sure that I was actually moving forward. When I looked down at the kayak for a moment or two before lifting my gaze, the island was noticeably closer. Each time I looked down and back up, those moments became markers of progress and measurable steps in the struggle. I’m sure that this isn’t a new phenomenon, but it added to the sensation that there was a perceptible force pushing back to prevent entry into lands of enchantment.

Eventually, I found that I really was getting closer to the island, but could see the normal landing area for kayakers was fully submerged, leaving only a narrow landing strip surrounded by trees. I brought my kayak ashore and set out to find what has been described as the ruins of Saint Herbert’s cell or chapel. My research had told me that this could be found at the northern end of the small island. Unfortunately, I soon discovered that the island was littered with the burnt-out remains of campfires, and I even discovered the charred middle section of a felled tree. This carelessness revealed how the island is treated by tourists who are likely oblivious to its history and significance. I was later informed that the island is very popular with kayakers and campers, yet for me and my pilgrimage, the inclement weather allowed me to be undisturbed, offering a small glimpse into the solitary life of the holy hermit.

Suddenly, I saw an unnatural-looking mound, like a small hill. Instead of a crest, the centre was dipped, creating a fairly circular, enclosed middle section. The whole area was very overgrown, as if order had been overpowered by chaos, but on one side I could clearly see the remains of a dry stone wall, the only man-made structure on the whole island.

I had found it.

I spent a few moments tidying up the wall, which was so overgrown it appeared as if it was under imminent threat of being pulled into the ground. The rain had now stopped, and when my labours were complete, I sat down in the centre and ‘censed’ the area with frankincense. As I did so, a robin landed just above the exposed wall - he would be my companion for the duration.

In my fashion, whilst the frankincense was smoking, I sat for a few moments with a cup of tea. I then set about praying and reading from the Psalter. When I do these things, I get the sense that such places, once lost to time, are suddenly quickened, like an abandoned lighthouse shining its light for a brief moment after many years of darkness. I’ve written before about disenchantment and how such holy places were once infused into the landscape throughout the British Isles. Some might scoff at the spiritual manifesting in the physical, but I see no disconnection or contradiction. The Church has always valued relics and other spiritually significant material as testament to the created reality, which was never designed to separate the spiritual from the material.

Before I set off on my journey back, my companion, the robin, bid me farewell as I packed up and found my way back to the kayak. With the wind now aiding my return, the journey was only half as long as the outward leg. Once back at shore, I stepped out of the enchanted waters and back into the world.

Until the next pilgrimage.

‘There was a certain priest, called Herebert, a man of holy life, who had long been united with the man of God, Cuthbert, in the bonds of spiritual friendship. This man leading a solitary life in the island of that great lake from which the river Derwent flows at its beginning, was wont to visit him every year, and to receive from him the teaching of everlasting salvation.

Hearing that Bishop Cuthbert was come to the city of Lugubalia, he went thither to him, according to his custom, seeking to be more and more inflamed in heavenly desires through his wholesome admonitions. Whilst they alternately entertained one another with draughts of the celestial life, the bishop, among other things, said, “Brother Herebert, remember at this time to ask me and speak to me concerning all whereof you have need to ask and speak; for, when we part, we shall never again see one another with bodily eyesight in this world. For I know of a surety that the time of my departure is at hand, and that shortly I must put off this my tabernacle.” Hearing these words, Herebert fell down at his feet, with tears and lamentations, and said, “I beseech you, by the Lord, not to forsake me; but to remember your most faithful companion, and entreat the mercy of God that, as we have served Him together upon earth, so we may depart together to behold His grace in Heaven. For you know that I have always endeavoured to live according to the words of your lips, and likewise whatsoever faults I have committed, either through ignorance or frailty, I, have instantly sought to amend according to the judgement of your will.” The bishop applied himself to prayer, and having presently had intimation in the spirit that he had obtained what he asked of the Lord, he said, “Rise, brother, and do not weep, but rejoice greatly because the mercy of Heaven has granted what we desired.”

The event established the truth of this promise and prophecy, for after their parting, they never again saw one another in the flesh; but their spirits quitting their bodies on one and the same day, to wit, the 20th of March, were immediately united in fellowship in the blessed vision, and together translated to the heavenly kingdom by the ministry of angels.’

Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of England

I was born into a disenchanted age and disenchanted land.

When you are born into a culture saturated in secular materialism, it’s hard to perceive any other type of reality. But there are glimpses. Although the Enlightenment produced rapid scientific progress, it also helped perpetuate the lie that the only reality is that which can be measured, replicated or prodded in a lab. In my teenage years, I came to discover holes in this finely woven worldview.

Children are often told to abandon fantasy, yet for some, the desire to peek behind the curtain persists in the hope that what is presented to us is not real, or not fully real. As C.S. Lewis famously said, “some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again”.

When I became a Christian at seventeen, Scripture revealed this obscured reality by exposing me to pages of condensed truth. At the same time, Evangelicalism (in maybe a simplified way) exposed me to the otherworldly concepts of spiritual warfare and active spiritual gifts. Christianity, therefore, became the foundation for how I perceived a fuller reality.

The works of authors such as Lewis and Tolkien also exposed me to Christian reenchantment. In my first year of adulthood, before I had read the book, I went to the cinema to watch The Fellowship of the Ring. I vividly remember being overwhelmed by the opening battle scene, struck by the revelation that what I was watching was fully real. I’m not saying that the particular battle - the last alliance of men and elves pitted against the evil Sauron and his orc armies - literally happened. But that doesn’t make it any less real. Through his studies of many folk tales, ancient mythological texts, and even the book of Enoch, Tolkien, with great skill and underpinned by his ardent Catholic faith, fashioned a distilled tale of truth in The Lord of the Rings. In a brief moment, I had perceived that reality was more enchanted than I suspected.

It wasn’t until later in life, when I started to read the works of the late theologian Dr Michael Heiser, that I began to be exposed to the beginnings of an even fuller reenchantment. This helped further remove the veil of secular materialism, which can so easily obscure reality, even in Christian teaching. Heiser gained popularity because of his academic rigour and fearless methodology of expositing scripture through its original culture and context, removing any conscious or unconscious modern reinterpretation, and ultimately exposing the religion of the apostles. Some baulked at Heiser’s conclusions, rejecting his theology, which closely resembled that of the early church, in favour of much later accepted frameworks for scriptural interpretation, falsely claiming that Heiser was just blending neighbouring paganism with biblical theology.

For those unfamiliar with Heiser, he is best known for what he calls his “Deuteronomy 32 worldview”, popularised by his best-selling book The Unseen Realm. In it, he argued that scripture teaches of a divine council of heavenly created beings who support God’s governance over the nations; some of whom fell and produced giants, with these dead giants themselves being the source of the evil spirits which inhabit the earth today. Ultimately, Heiser viewed Christ’s victory over sin and death, and the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, as the reclaiming of the nations from these hostile powers.

Reclaiming the supernatural worldview (as was Heiser’s self-declared mission), especially in how it pertains to sacred geography, brings into question any post-Enlightenment materialistic assumptions, especially where they have invaded Christian teaching. Suddenly, the created cosmos does not fit neatly into pre-conceived categories.

In Eastern Orthodoxy, however, such a worldview is not something to be reclaimed, for it was never lost. This continuity is evident in the overlap between Heiser’s work and the work of Orthodox Priest, Fr. Stephen De Young, who explores very similar ideas in his book The Religion of the Apostles. De Young claims that such a worldview has always been retained in the Orthodox Church through the words spoken in ancient liturgical practices.

Such ancient Christian practices arguably help retain an enchanted worldview that is often absent in historically Protestant countries. Take England, for example. Though it is a land steeped in ancient legend and mythology, such as King Arthur, what remains of these legends are often reduced to Disney-fied commodities or tourist attractions. The true enchantment lies buried beneath the surface, obscured by the toil of modernity, commercialisation, or the onslaught of a scientific worldview. You have to dig quite deep to find enchantment in this land. Yet it is still possible to uncover the treasure buried below the surface. For example, I have documented my travels across Cumbria and Lancashire in search of holy sites once revered by pilgrims and the faithful, and yet almost entirely abandoned following the Reformation.

By contrast, I now want to consider Poland. I would characterise it as a thin place with thick dreams. Visiting this country many times, I’ve noticed how vividly I dream here when compared to England, even during prolonged stays. Previously, with my evangelical lexicon and anti-Catholic programming well in hand, I used to think this was because the country was spiritually “heavy”. But I’ve come to realise that this diagnosis was most likely a mistake. I now believe it is because Poland remains more enchanted than England.

Poland never experienced the same level of disenchantment that happened in the Protestant West, and it shows. Slavic mythology remains very close to the surface, and the country’s enchantment has been vividly depicted in Andrzej Sapkowski’s Witcher series. Yet this lingering enchantment is not as detached from Catholicism as some might assume; instead, this once-pagan land has been sanctified. In Poland, Christian enchantment regularly pierces through the surface.

Wayside shrines, no longer seen in Protestant countries, are commonplace in Poland’s countryside and towns. It is said that some of these locations were spiritually significant even before a shrine was erected; folk beliefs can often hold that certain places require “taming” because they were inhabited by malevolent spirits such as wodnik or rusałki, especially transitional places such as boundaries to woodland or water. The construction of these wayshrines displaced this spiritual evil and served as both a physical and spiritual marker of the Kingdom of God. Today, these shrines not only act as visual reminders of Catholicism’s saturation into the land, but also actively form part of the culture, serving as holy places where passersby will cross themselves, say a prayer or where communities will gather to sing liturgical hymns.

In the West, there are recent reports of what appears to be a spiritual revival. These reports also indicate that where this occurs, it is often marked by a renewed sense of enchantment that doesn’t disregard physicality and ritual. Some may view physical markers, like wayside shrines, as a superstitious hangover from pre-Christian times or a flawed practice that detracts from the simplicity of the gospel. But I can’t help thinking about these places as markers of an enchanted land, intertwining the physical and spiritual in a way that the West is now remembering.

Though I didn't know it, I was raised in the last dying embers of English Christianity. I went to a Church of England school, we recited the Lord’s Prayer daily, our head master (in his unique way) instilled into us Christ’s impending return: “I saw Jesus in the chippy”, and we sang songs from the Come and Praise book - songs still ingrained in the subconscious of pretty much every English adult of a certain age (If I Had a Hammer, He’s Got the Whole World, Give Me Oil in My Lamp). I appreciate those embers as they paved the way to me becoming a committed Christian at the age of 17.

My conversion, however, wasn’t into Anglicanism, Methodism or any other form or derivative of ‘English Christianity’. It was instead into Evangelicalism, or probably more accurately Pentecostalism, rooted in the Welsh revival movement of the early 20th Century. Having attended this church for about six years I attended again years later to find it had shifted to a more typical ‘non-denominational’ evangelical church tradition (indeed, a tradition). This church proclaims the gospel without fear, engages with the community, and acts as a light in the surrounding area. I have a deep love for it. People here thirst for the presence of the Holy Spirit and a personal relationship with the risen Lord Jesus. The appeal of this type of church is clear and so is its fruit.

That said, this church falls into an observable pattern of imported theology and methodology which I’ll call ‘American Christianity’. I call it this because of the influence of American mega-churches on small churches small English towns. American Christianity, in England, may appear like English Christianity on the surface but it’s downstream from churches such as Bethel church in California, or Hillsong in Australia (though Australian, it follows the American model). If a ‘non-dom’ Church in England sings these churches’ latest releases and adopts its sometimes-questionable theology, then I’d argue that its roots are ultimately American.

Unfortunately, true English Christianity is almost dead. Not entirely, as there are high-Anglican or Anglo-Catholic remnants which remain Protestant and uncompromised. But the vast, vast majority of traditional English churches, including the Church of England (once the spiritual backbone of the country), have seen a speedy demise from Christ-centred to humanity-centred. What now remains is just a memory, as these churches now range from vaguely spiritual social action centres through to those sadly repurposed as yoga studios.

The dry bones remain: beautiful church buildings almost frozen in time with liturgical prayer books, displayed creeds, depictions of saints, Eucharist tables, The Lord’s Prayer. The product of centuries of faithful folk, yet now dead inside, with only lip service paid to what once was.

In this spiritual vacuum people look for alternatives. Many seek traditions that offer structure, take the faith very seriously, and revere the sacred.

A young man once told me that he decided to become a Christian and so went to a Methodist service where he heard it preached that “diversity is our strength”. This young man promptly left to find another church. What he found was ‘Eastern Christianity’.

By Eastern Christianity I mean Russian and Greek Orthodoxy. Alongside Roman Christianity, that is Roman Catholicism, this is one of the two remaining forms of traditional Christianity available. There are no hard numbers on attendance trends at Eastern Orthodox churches in England or the wider UK, yet it’s been reported that’s there’s been at least a surge in attendance, especially amongst young men.

These young men seek a non-liberal form of Christianity which the Anglican churches don’t offer, and want a non-individualised or non-contemporary church experience which, unfortunately, a lot of the non-doms don’t offer. So, in these circumstances, the deep roots and outward focus of Eastern Christianity are quite attractive.

Roman Christianity also offers something similar to the Eastern Orthodox Church; and here we do have hard data. In April 2025, Dr Rhiannon McAleer and Dr Rob Bayward-Symmons published their report ‘The Quiet Revival’ in which, encouragingly, it identified that in the UK church attendance is fact increasing. This report found that “the Church is in a period of rapid growth, driven by young adults and in particular young men”, with the number of 18-24 years old men who describe themselves as Christian and regularly go to church increasing from 4% in 2018 to 21% in 2024. The report tells us that Roman Catholic Churches have seen the largest increase in attendance among young people in the UK.

This is quite something. In an officially Protestant country, its young men are becoming Catholic.

Not all young men though. The report also identifies that many are attending Pentecostal churches - part of this American Christianity. Somewhat unsurprisingly, it also identifies that Anglicanism is in “steady decline”.

I really hope I’m wrong and English Christianity doesn’t die, but rises from the ashes, maybe in a new form. But whilst we wait, something else is clearly stirring as the remaining choices appear to be American, Eastern or Roman Christianity.

Many are searching for something ancient, rooted, and true. And in this search, there is still hope.

“I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it.” - Matthew‬ ‭16‬:‭18.

“When I hear you say [salvation is a] process, that makes me very nervous, my friend. Very nervous.”

When I heard apologist Stuart Knechtle say this in the now viral debate with Harvard student and Oriental Orthodox Christian Mihret Melaku, Stuart’s comment, above, stuck in my head for days. He was responding to Melaku’s own remarks that salvation was communion with God, was a process, and involved works.

So why was Knechtle nervous? The answer comes down to soteriology—that is the doctrine of salvation—and the differences across Protestantism, Catholicism and Orthodoxy when it comes to the question: “What is salvation?”

Soteriology is a very large topic, and I won’t, by any means, be able to do justice to its depth, but I do hope to provide a useful summary for readers of the similarities and differences between the three general Church positions when it comes to their views on salvation.

I’ll first start with Protestantism. By which I’m generally referring to the theological position that derived from the Protestant Reformation of the 16th century. These reformers hadn’t sought to create a new denomination but were seeking to reform the theology (as well as practices) of Western Christianity, partly in response to abuses such as the sale of indulgences by the Church (trading money for a reduced time in purgatory).

Scripture is not structured like a doctrinal instruction manual and so doctrines are devised and developed by considering all relevant chapters and verses on a particular topic. One significant chapter in Protestant soteriology is Romans chapter 8—a chapter that arguably gives the most concise summary of what salvation entails:

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters. And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.”‭‭

(Romans‬ ‭8‬:‭28‬-‭30‬, NIV)‬

Over the centuries following the Reformation, Reformed theology has been systemised by authors such as William Shedd in the late Victorian era, and more recently by ‬Wayne Grudem. In Grudem’s book Systematic Theology, he devotes several chapters to explaining the order of salvation:

(1) Election (God's choice of people to be saved)

(2) The gospel call (proclaiming the message of the gospel)

(3) Regeneration (being born again)

(4) Conversion (faith and repentance)

(5) Justification (right legal standing)

(6) Adoption (membership in God's family)

(7) Sanctification (right conduct of life)

(8) Perseverance (remaining a Christian)

(9) Death (going to be with the Lord)

(10) Glorification (receiving a resurrection body)

(Grudem, 1994, p.580-581)

Although the order here implies a chronology, Grudem states that regeneration, conversion, justification and adoption occur instantaneously. He further explains that sanctification and perseverance are worked out in this life, whilst glorification takes place when Christ returns.

I want to focus on three of these ten steps—justification, sanctification and glorification—as these are, in my view, key to understanding the differences between Protestant, Catholic and Orthodox soteriology.

It has been argued that although Justification, as a legal term, can denote a judge declaring an accused person innocent of an offence, this is not the type of justification Paul refers to in Romans. Instead, Paul is speaking of a man who is found guilty, and yet pardoned—an act which destroys the connection between his conduct and its consequences (Field, 1884). Justification, therefore, in Protestant theology, is “an act of God's free grace, wherein he pardoneth all our sins, and accepteth us as righteous in his sight, only for the sake of Christ” (Field, 1884, p.173).

The Reformer Martin Luther’s soteriology was centred on sola fide—that it is ‘faith alone’ which saves.

“Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

(Romans‬ ‭5‬:‭1,‬ ‭NIV)‬‬

Justification through faith, in Protestant theology, sees not only the cancellation of guilt but also the establishment of righteousness (Ortlund, 2022).

Today, the importance of justification is so emphasised within Protestant messaging that it can be conflated with salvation as a whole, meaning sanctification and glorification might be neglected. As a result, salvation is sometimes reduced to just ‘going to heaven when you die’, when in fact classic Protestant theology is much broader in this regard, and it is important for us to discuss the Protestant view of sanctification too.

Grudem differentiates justification and sanctification as follows:

Justification:

• Legal standing

• Once for all time

• Entirely God’s work

• Perfect in this life

Sanctification:

• Internal condition

• Continuous throughout life

• We cooperate

• Not perfect in this life

(Grudem, 1994, p.468)

Sanctification is described by the reformer John Calvin as:

"The restoration of the divine image within us. In this regeneration, we are restored by the grace of Christ to the righteousness of God from which we fell in Adam. And this restoration is not accomplished in a single moment or day or year; but by continual, even tardy, advances the Lord destroys the carnal corruptions of his elect."

(In Shedd, 1888, p.1291)

Sanctification, as a part of salvation, goes beyond the moment of conversion and justification, extending into the Christian life as an ongoing process of spiritual growth where a believer is conformed over time into the likeness of Christ.

The third area of Protestant soteriology that I want to focus on is glorification. In practice, aside from occasional references to a resurrected state, glorification is spoken about far less than justification, and even sanctification, at least in my experience of Evangelical Protestantism.

“Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality.”

(‭‭1 Corinthians‬ ‭15‬:‭51‬-‭53,‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

Glorification is described as the redemption of the physical body, which follows the redemption of the soul, and takes place on the day of the Lord. Or, as Grudem describes it:

“Glorification is the final step in the application of redemption. It will happen when Christ returns and raises from the dead the bodies of all believers for all time who have died, and reunites them with their souls, and changes the bodies of all believers who remain alive, thereby giving all believers at the same time perfect resurrection bodies like his own.”

(Grudem, 1994, p.723-724)

The various steps within Protestant soteriology—at least to a degree—follow a chronological process, with fairly clear distinctions between each step. With some of these steps taking place whilst the believer is alive in the body, and others after death.

Now, let’s turn to the Catholic Church. Does it advocate for works-based salvation? Many Protestants believe that it does.

Between 1545 and 1563, the Council of Trent was convened in response to the Protestant Reformation. One of its objectives was to clarify the doctrine of the Roman Catholic Church. Concerning Justification, the Council presented several statements:

“If any one saith, that man may be justified before God by his own works, whether done through the teaching of human nature, or that of the law, without the grace of God through Jesus Christ; let him be anathema.”

(Session six, Chapter 16, Canon I)

“If any one saith, that by faith alone the impious is justified; in such wise as to mean, that nothing else is required to co-operate in order to the obtaining the grace of Justification, and that it is not in any way necessary, that he be prepared and disposed by the movement of his own will; let him be anathema.”

(Session six, Chapter 16, Canon IX)

Here, Justification is not through works, but by grace, yet requires co-operation. This co-operation with God’s grace is called ‘synergism’ and is derived from the concept of the ‘co-worker’ in 1 Corinthians 3:9 (NIV):

“For we are co-workers (Greek: synergoi) in God’s service; you are God’s field, God’s building.”

Many Protestants consider synergism heresy, arguing that it undermines the sufficiency of God’s grace in salvation.

If the Catholic view embraces synergism through good works, then what is their response to scriptures that seem to speak of justification by faith alone?:

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.”

(‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2‬:‭8‬-‭9‬, ‭NIV‬‬)

The Catholic response is that the context of this verse is about the Jewish Torah/ the works of the Old Testament law, such as circumcision or Sabbath observance, which distinguished Jews from Gentiles. These works, however, were not able to save a person. Catholics argue that these are not the same works that James speaks of in his epistle, meaning a person ‘doing things’ to be saved is fully compatible with scripture. The Catholic argument is that Ephesians 2 can be misapplied beyond the point of initial justification, leading to the conclusion that there is nothing a person must do to remain saved and enter into final salvation (Horn, 2025).

In the Catholic view, sanctification is very much a part of salvation, and the ‘running of the race’ is a focus of Christian life. The argument is that, because Paul speaks of salvation as a past, present and future state, works must be more than a natural outpouring following conversion—they are fundamental to salvation.

Catholics do not believe a person must work to receive initial justification, but they do believe that the works which follow, as part of sanctification, require effort. This co-operation is what puts it at odds with the Protestant sola fide (Horn, 2025). Fundamentally, the key disagreement between Catholic and Protestant soteriology is that in Protestantism, salvation and righteousness are imputed (legally declared), whereas in Catholicism, salvation and righteousness are infused through a transformative process that occurs during the Christian life, including through the sacraments such as the Eucharist. (Ortlund, 2022).

This same emphasis on a person becoming holy is also found in Orthodox soteriology. In fact, Catholic and Orthodox views of salvation are very similar. The Orthodox Church also does not clearly separate justification from sanctification, at least not in a chronological sense, and it places significant emphasis on the necessity of works as part of (not for) salvation—much like the Catholic Church does.

Due to the Orthodox Church’s adherence to the teachings of the early church fathers and the first seven ecumenical councils, it is difficult to find doctrinal summaries comparable to the systemised theology of Protestantism or the Canons of the Council of Trent in Catholicism. Nevertheless, two key series of documents provide valuable insight into Orthodox soteriology. The first of these came after the Protestant Reformation, when dialogue was opened between the reformers and the Eastern Orthodox Church. Although the discourse was cordial, it clearly highlighted irreconcilable differences. Part of the Orthodox response to the reformers says:

“Moreover, we should especially know that grace not only of itself works in the saints the knowledge of the mysteries, but also that grace works in the worthy ones, who have powers by nature, the capability of receiving the knowledge. The one, then, needs the other; grace needs works, and works need grace. As light needs sight and sight needs light, the soul needs the body and the body needs the soul. Then, clearly, both grace and works are those things which lead to salvation.”

(The First Reply of Patriarch Jeremiah II to the Lutheran Tübingen Theologians, Concerning the Augsburg Confession, 1576)

The second set of doctrinal letters, which are useful to understand the Orthodox position, was issued in response to the influence of Calvinism upon the Orthodox Church in the 17th century. These letters, sent with Synodal authority, stated:

“We believe a man to be not simply justified through faith alone, but through faith which works through love, that is to say, through faith and works. […] But we regard works not as witnesses certifying our calling, but as being fruits in themselves, through which faith becomes efficacious, and as in themselves meriting, through the Divine promises […] that each of the Faithful may receive what is done through his own body, whether it be good or bad.“

(The Confession of Dositheus, Decree 13, 1672)

Works are an indispensable part of salvation in Eastern Orthodoxy—not merely evidence of it—yet they do not earn salvation (Truglia, 2017).

Salvation in the Orthodox Church is not described in legal terms or courtroom imagery, but rather as healing—more like a hospital where sin and its effects are treated and a person is healed. It is seen as a life-long process, believing that although the work of Christ on the cross atones for sin, a person must continue walking in continued faithfulness and repentance to allow that forgiveness to happen. Like in Catholic teaching, this includes participation in the sacramental life of the Church (Truglia, 2017; Stylianopoulos, 2012).

This lifelong process in Orthodoxy is called Theosis (translated ‘deification’). This term can be problematic for the Protestant mind, as it suggests Christians become gods. But it must be noted that the Orthodox Church believes in the uniqueness of the one true God as much as Protestants do.

So, what then is Theosis? It has been defined as the process of acquiring godly characteristics—gaining immortality and incorruptibility—and ultimately experiencing communion with God (Fairbairn, n.d.). Theosis is intrinsically linked to the sacraments and to good works, as Orthodoxy holds that grace is transmitted particularly through the Eucharist and ‘holy works’ such as prayer and fasting. This means that participation in the body of Christ, in Orthodox understanding, is not merely symbolic but constitutes the very essence of Theosis—being in true union with Christ.

“His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness. Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature, having escaped the corruption in the world caused by evil desires.”

(‭‭2 Peter‬ ‭1‬:‭3‬-‭4,‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

Theosis, therefore, may be considered somewhat analogous to both sanctification and glorification in Protestant soteriology, as this growth in righteousness throughout a person’s walk with God resembles the Reformed idea of a Christian growing in sanctification (Truglia, 2017). Yet it is also described almost like achieving a glorified state before physical death—though in the soul rather than body:

“The purpose of our life is not just that man should become better than he is, more moral, more just, more self-controlled, more mindful; all these must happen, but none of them are the great purpose, the ultimate purpose for which our Maker and Creator moulded man. What is this purpose? Theosis - for man to be united with God, not in an external or a sentimental manner but ontologically, in a real way.”

(Archimandrite George. Abbot of the Holy Monastery of St. Gregorios on Mt. Athos, 2006)

Some closing thoughts.

Understanding the differences between these three views of salvation can help explain why there are quite different approaches to church practices as well as the Christian life. For example, I’ve often heard the expression “let go, and let God” within Evangelical Protestant spaces. It’s used as a way of encouraging Christians to focus on the necessity of grace—often through personal prayer—while downplaying the role of individual effort. In these same spaces, I’ve also heard alter calls many times, with the sinner’s prayer recited in a call and response manner, almost like wedding vows (“God, I recognise I am a sinner…”).

This is not a criticism but an observation that church soteriology shapes how it approaches the Christian life. If your soteriology is centred on conversion, then practices like altar calls or even street preaching might take precedence.

On the other hand, in Orthodox circles, I’ve heard it said that there is no personal guarantee for Christians that they will go to heaven. The reasoning behind this theology is that every believer must walk in continual repentance, and that the last judgment will, at least in part, be based upon the criterion of good deeds (Stylianopoulos, 2012):

“He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’ Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”

(Matthew‬ ‭25‬:‭45‬-‭46,‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

The differing soteriological emphases across church traditions also help explain the contrasting views on sainthood. In Evangelical Protestant Christianity, the emphasis is upon the sainthood of all believers. Although the Catholic and Orthodox Church do recognise overall sainthood, in broad terms, they distinguish canonised Saints, holding them in very high regard and believing them to be truly ‘holy ones’—which is what the Greek word αγιος (hagios) means—not just holy through justification but in having achieved Theosis.

Going back to where I began, Stuart Knechtle‘s nervousness over Mihret Melaku’s debate comments about co-operation in salvation was likely driven by a desire on Knechtle’s part to safeguard sound soteriology. Yet merely talking about the value of works within salvation should not automatically be dismissed as promoting a works-based gospel.

Abuse does not negate correct use.

Wisdom calls for a distinction between justification by works—which Scripture denies—and the absolute necessity of holy works—which scripture affirms and which the Church has upheld since its beginning. Otherwise, the fear of doctrinal error can lead to its own error by keeping works at arm’s length and reducing salvation to only a conversion experience.

Reference List

Fairbairn, D., n.d. Salvation as Theosis: The Teaching of Eastern Orthodoxy. Available from: https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/themelios/article/salvation-as-theosis-the-teaching-of-eastern-orthodoxy/

Field, B., 1884. Handbook of Christian Theology. London: Hodder and Stoughton.

Grudem, W., 1994. Systematic theology: An introduction to Bible doctrine. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan.

Horn, T., 2025. Protestantism’s Most Misused Bible Verse. Available from: https://youtu.be/iMWbvTy-43k?si=OnLjgMgleYbwPVme

Ortlund, G., 2022. Justification: Protestant vs Catholic. Available from: https://youtu.be/t0djZKV8w1s?si=fEX1ANfvV-JiHOhD

Shedd, W.G.T., 1888. Dogmatic theology. Scribner.

Stylianopoulos, T., 2012. How Are We Saved? Available from: https://www.goarch.org/-/how-are-we-saved-

Truglia, C., 2016. Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant Soteriology Compared and Contrasted. Available from: https://orthodoxchristiantheology.com/2017/02/09/orthodox-catholic-and-protestant-soteriology-compared-and-contrasted/

Some of these wells, found in English villages and countryside, were historically used as drinking wells or town wells, serving as central water sources. Others are more recent, built within the last couple of centuries. However, many date back to the medieval period, when they were considered holy. While some of these have now fallen into disrepair or have even disappeared into the landscape over time, others remain, and a few still flow with water.

Today, some see these wells as mere historical curiosities or even as sacred pagan sites. But the real history of these places is very much Christian. In medieval Britain, the water from these holy wells was believed to possess supernatural healing properties, and people frequently attested to its restorative power.

I recently visited a well below Humphrey Head in Cumbria. This well, for example, was said to be “celebrated as a remedy for stone, gout, and cutaneous diseases”1 and even “used by lead miners from the time of the Romans”2.

Most often, these wells were named after a particular saint who was said to have some connection to them. For example, St. Patrick’s Well in Slyne, Lancashire—now heavily overgrown and located in the middle of a field—is said to have been the site where “St. Patrick was passing through Slyne and asked a woman for a cup of water, and was refused; whereupon the saint told her that wherever he struck the ground with his staff, a spring of water would come out”3.

Such wells were a regular part of Christian life in the British Isles, influencing not only religious practices but also the physical landscape; crosses were often erected to mark their location, and churches built nearby which shared the same saintly name as the well.

The main reason so many of these wells have fallen into disrepair is that they lost favor in religious tradition and practice, largely due to the Protestant Reformation. Reformers viewed them, and their association with saints, as Roman Catholic superstition or even idolatry. Beginning under Henry VIII, many wells were destroyed or defaced, while those that remained often had their supernatural associations stripped away and were redefined solely as medicinal wells.

In Ireland, due to their Catholic heritage, many holy wells have been well maintained and continue to be revered and visited by pilgrims. In England, on the other hand, you’d be forgiven for not knowing they even existed, as more and more are gradually lost to time.

There are still some who value these wells, however. The late Father John Musther, Priest at Keswick Orthodox Church in Cumbria, wrote a book called Springs of Living Waters, which not only documents the location and condition of these wells in my native county but also highlights the efforts of him and his small team of volunteers in restoring some of them. It was actually Father John’s wife, Jenny, who gave me a copy of his book, which I’ve been using as a guide—alongside other resources that map out holy wells in Cumbria and neighboring counties.

In his book4, Father John explains that he does not believe in a separation between the physical and the spiritual:

“The Christian faith is about redemption not only of human beings but of the whole creation. Christian spirituality keeps together soul and body. Physical realities cannot be separated from the spiritual. Water, bread, wine and oil all communicate the salvation of Christ.

In our industrialised and technological world the profound connection between earth and heaven has been eroded. Religious perceptions have been pushed down into an 'inner' world, while the 'real’ world handed over to scientific research and explanation. As a result we are hugely alienated from so many physical realities. We use them - and abuse them. Water comes from the tap. That's as far as we ever go.

[…]

The pilgrims of old knew every holy site and holy well and felt the sacred everywhere. If we connect with the early saints who lived here, with the churches they founded, with the monasteries they began, with the crosses they erected and the innumerable holy wells they used, the landscape of Cumbria will take on for us a sacred aspect alongside those of Wales, Cornwall and Ireland.

In the early Christian centuries people drank of the waters, dipped themselves in it, crossed themselves with it, poured and rubbed it on sore places, on eyes that troubled them and on joints that bothered them. They loved the wells. All this was an integral part of daily life.”

Being inspired by Father John and others, I have now visited several of these wells myself. My usual practice when I find one is to read some Psalms, pray, burn some frankincense, and then sit down next to it to have a cup of tea. Sometimes, if a well is overgrown, I’ll spend a little time tidying it. Afterwards, I’ll then normally visit a Church of England church—more often than not, it will be situated nearby and share its name with the well—where I’ll admire images of the Lord, his saints, and biblical scenes depicted in the stained glass windows, and maybe read aloud the creed that hangs on the wall.

Some might find the practice of treating holy wells or holy churches in this way meaningless or superstitious. Though I attend Orthodox services from time to time, I am theologically Protestant, and I’m familiar with the tendency to shun material expressions of faith—“a church is the people, not the building”. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that there is more to these holy places than medieval superstition.

Considering where we are as a culture today—that our Christian heritage is rapidly being eroded and where Christianity is viewed as a personal matter separate from the material world—I believe it is important to revere these holy places as “physical markers of Christ’s conquest, which remind our nation of its story”.

In visiting these holy wells and churches, I’ve noticed that the two share similar traits. When I find a well or enter a church, it feels like glimpsing another time or place—a sanctuary of divine order amid the chaos. Both the wells and the churches are now overlooked by most people, becoming relics of a past age. It almost seems as if the churches, too, are being absorbed back into the earth—just as their namesake wells have been—as people stop attending them over time and they become just a pleasant landmark, or are even repurposed or converted.

When I visit a well or church, I feel a sense of hope and awe as I reflect on this country’s rich Christian heritage. If, like me, you believe that spiritual does not mean immaterial, I hope that you might visit a well and consider how it was once seen as a tangible demonstration of Christ’s healing power in this land.

Although the UK’s economic model of healthcare, which is “free at the point of care,” is based on post-war Labour government reforms following the publication of the Beveridge Report, I intend to demonstrate that public hospitals in general, as well as the nursing profession in the UK, are the products of determined efforts by Christian individuals who felt called to serve in the example of Christ—two of whom I will specifically focus on.

The first of these people arose in the 4th century A.D. This century was a turning point for Christianity, as Emperor Constantine had issued the Edict of Milan, which legalised Christianity across the Roman Empire and granted it newfound social freedoms.

Before this time, institutional healthcare was available only to the wealthy or to Roman soldiers. But now that the Church could operate openly, it recognised the needs of suffering people in society and could not remain indifferent, believing it had a responsibility to act in loving service to its neighbours.

Into this century was born Basil the Great, also known as St Basil. Around 330 A.D., in Cappadocia (modern-day central Turkey), Basil was born into a devout Christian family, from which his maternal grandfather had been martyred for the faith.

Basil received a first-class education before practising law. However, later in life, he experienced a moment of awakening, believing that God was calling him to a higher purpose. He subsequently became a monk, touring centres of Christian monasticism before establishing his own monastic community in the Pontic Mountains, in what is now Turkey.

Basil also distinguished himself as a theologian, frequently exhorting people to put their Christian faith into practice. Through his teachings, wealthy Christians were convicted and moved to donate their money to help the poor and sick in society. These efforts, motivated by Christian charity, ensured that the needy were fed and clothed. This funding also enabled Basil to open the world’s first hospital, the Basiliad, just outside the city of Caesarea. The hospital provided both shelter and medical treatment for the sick, whom Basil personally cared for, seeking to meet both their physical and spiritual needs.

In fact, Basil put himself at great personal risk by treating patients with leprosy—an illness that had become increasingly prominent in the 4th century—as he was inspired by Christ’s compassionate actions to care for them.

By the time of his death in 379 A.D., Basil’s works of Christian charity had improved the lives of the poor and sick in society through the creation of dedicated places for their support and care. His efforts also laid the foundation for Christian hospital care for future generations.

These Christian hospitals expanded from their origins in the Christian East until they stretched across all of Christendom, with the first hospitals founded in France and Spain in the 6th century and in England in the 10th century. The interrelationship between Christian charity and public health continued into the Middle Ages where Benedictine monks not only spearheaded the growth of public hospitals but also preserved and translated ancient medical texts, translating them from the original Greek, Arabic and Latin, at the same time developing modern medicine through experimentation. By the 12th Century, hospitals in the West housed a wealth of these medical texts, naturally becoming centres for people to be trained in the medical vocation.

By the 19th century, English hospitals and workhouse infirmaries were in dire need of reform. Once a product of Christian charity, these medically led institutions now suffered from a lack of compassionate patient care.

In 1820, Florence Nightingale was born in the Italian city of Florence, from which she derived her name, into a wealthy English family. Moving back to England as a child, she grew into a young woman who felt called by God to serve Him—a calling she later understood to be a vocation in nursing. However, her family believed that such a profession was beneath her social standing.

Florence, having observed the lack of care in these infirmaries, visited several hospitals across Europe, exposing her to a higher standard of healthcare. Eventually, her family relented in their objections, and she became a nurse at the age of 33, first overseeing care at the Institution for the Care of Sick Gentlewomen in London.

With the outbreak of the Crimean War in 1854, Florence was asked to lead a team of nurses for the British Army to improve care for injured soldiers. She successfully reformed clinical care, significantly improving patient outcomes through drastic advancements in nutrition, hygiene, and infection prevention standards. Florence also attended to the mental and spiritual needs of wounded soldiers, patrolling at night to ensure all were cared for—earning her the nickname “the Lady with the Lamp.”

These achievements earned her the praise of the British public and saw her return to England as a national hero. Following her return, she continued her mission to reform nursing care, and in 1869, she established the first professional training school for nurses, attached to St Thomas’ Hospital. With the financial support of Christian philanthropists, Florence played a key role in reforming healthcare across the country, significantly improving nursing standards and broader hospital care before her death in 1910.

What is notable about both Basil and Florence are the similarities in their lives: both felt called by God to act, both were motivated by Christian charity, both experienced significant illness at various points in their lives—which may have shaped their compassion and empathy for the sick—both faced delays in their calling, and both achieved healthcare reform with the financial backing of wealthy Christians, many of whom they had personally persuaded.

Interestingly, both Basil and Florence either alluded to or directly referenced Matthew chapter 25 in their writings, which helps explain their deep-seated conviction for outward Christian compassion.

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’[…] “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”

(‭‭Matthew‬ ‭25‬:‭35‬-‭36‬, ‭40,‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

Today in the UK, we may once again have a healthcare system in need of reform, as we hear that our National Health Service is in financial turmoil. If we rightfully learn from the lessons of the past, we must conclude that true healthcare reform cannot be separated from the principles of Christian charity that originally shaped Western healthcare. If future healthcare reform lacks Christian charity at its core, it will always be fundamentally flawed, risking becoming impersonal and bureaucratic, driven by political and financial interests as competing priorities take precedence.

Where, then, is the role of the Church in this? Our separation of church and state creates barriers at an institutional level, but perhaps there is an opportunity to influence these great institutions if churches are actively engaged in the education of their people—perhaps even financially supporting it—believing that such investment could help deliver healthcare with Christ at its centre for future generations.

When comparing extra-biblical cosmological beliefs with biblical typology, my aim is not to make superficial comparisons between God’s word and man’s mythology. Rather, I seek to present Scripture as the ultimate truth that all other cosmologies and mythologies are either subordinate to or corruptions of. By examining these extra-biblical views before I turn to scripture itself, I hope I can show that biblical truth can be seen, even if corrupted, within the myths and cosmologies of these cultures.

I feel it is important to clarify some terms first. I use the word cosmology in a broad, non-scientific sense to describe how ancient cultures understood the structure of reality. Typology, on the other hand, is the study of reoccurring symbols or concepts throughout the Bible.

In his book The Navel of the Earth, E.A.S. Butterworth (1970) examines how the Tree of Life motif presents itself in many ancient cultures across the globe. He highlights legends from China and Japan that describe a cosmological tree that sits atop a four-sided mountain. Similarly, the Tartars of Minusinsk (modern-day Russia) have a poem which speaks of a giant fir tree that has grown in the navel of the earth. Butterworth also notes that the Kalmucks, who inhabit the plains northwest of the Caspian Sea, speak of a four-sided mountain with each side a different colour and a gigantic golden pillar which supports the heavens in the ‘axis mundi’—the cosmic axis of the earth. Additionally, he recounts stories from the Chuckchees of Siberia, who speak of a hole in the sky through which one can pass between worlds.

Although not all of these cosmological descriptions specifically mention a tree, Butterworth describes how each of these peoples understood there to be a cosmological axis. For example, the Yakuts of Siberia describe a nine-tiered world and a seven-tiered heaven united by a mighty hill and a great Tree of Life, whose roots permeate the underworld and from which water bubbles forth perpetually. The World Tree or Tree of Life, which often complements or overlaps with the idea of a central mountain, acts as a more elaborate form of the cosmic axis or pillar present in other cultures (Eliade, 1951 in Butterworth, 1970).

These images are not just restricted to one part of the world as Native American peoples also speak of a sacred tree that has stood forever at the centre of the universe. In Mesoamerican mythology, the Maya describe a central tree at the axis mundi known as Yaxche, symbolising the structure of the cosmos and connecting the three major cosmic realms; the heavenly realm, the earthly realm and the underworld (Mayans and Tikal, n.d). Butterworth also explores similar imagery in Ancient Greek and Germanic mythology where it was believed the axis mundi was a pillar “that was stretched through the whole of heaven and earth” (p.11).

Some tales across the globe connect the Tree of Life to a source of liquid which gives life or bestows wisdom. In Brahman tradition, for instance, the sacred stream that flows around the cosmic Mount Meru is said to originate from the fruits of the Jambu tree (Butterworth, 1970). In other accounts, this life-giving liquid is depicted as a milk-like tree sap, which comes from a spring beneath the tree. Other tales, such as from the Yakuts describe a lake of milk which surrounds the throne of the god of heaven, where paradise itself is found. In the Yakut legend of the White Youth—the First Man—he finds himself “not only beneath the great mountain and the tree which surmounts it but also beside a still lake of milk, which lies to the south” (Butterworth, 1970, p.9).

Another recurring motif associated with the Tree of Life is the presence of a serpent at its roots and a bird at the top. Butterworth highlights how this pairing appears in various cultural traditions. In certain central Asiatic stories, for example, the serpent Abyrga coils around the tree while the eagle Garide, perched at the top, repeatedly attacks it.

One of the most well-known examples of the Tree of Life is Yggdrasil from Norse mythology. In her book Ancient Cosmology (1975), Carmen Blacker describes Yggdrasil as a great ash tree that forms the cosmic pillar, with a spring of water beneath its roots. It is said that great wisdom can be obtained by drinking from this spring and thus, the Tree of Life is associated with the gaining of wisdom. The tree was said to be inhabited by living creatures, with an eagle at the top and the serpent Nidhogg—or in other stories the chaotic wild serpent Jörmungandr—dwelling amongst the roots. In Norse mythology, Yggdrasil was the sacred meeting place where the gods gathered to hold council. This Tree of Life also connects all realms—in this case, up to nine— with the three tree roots of the tree linking to the three lowest realms.

When we move geographically closer to the cultural context of scripture, we encounter similar cosmic imagery. In the ancient Near East, the union of heaven and earth was conceived of as a cosmic mountain, with its base rooted in the earth, and its peak reaching the heavens. This mountain was considered the meeting place of the gods and the source of the life-giving waters that flowed out into the world. The motif of a cosmic mountain, tree, or both, appears in the literature and religious rituals of Mesopotamia, Babylon, Egypt, the Hittites, and the Canaanites (Mackie, 2024; Mackie, 2020b).

Although the specific details vary across these cosmological and mythological stories, certain reoccurring elements are clearly evident:

• A high mountain with a tree on the very top which constitutes the navel of the world or the axis mundi

• The tree bearing fruit which can give eternal life

• Life-giving drink at the source which is sometimes said to give wisdom

• This high mountain having four sides which are the four cardinal directions, with the water therefore being divided into four rivers

• A great bird at the top of the tree, often associated with the heavens

• A great serpent at the bottom of the tree, often associated with the underworld or chaos

• This high mountain and tree being the point at which creation, or the creation of man, occurred

Throughout the ancient world, we see strikingly similar recurring images in how the cosmos is perceived, regardless of location. To understand the deeper reason behind this, we must turn to scripture—the Word of God and source of ultimate truth—where the Tree of Life appears at pivotal moments in the biblical narrative.

The book of Genesis tells us the following:

“And Yahweh God planted a garden in Eden in the east, and there he put the man whom he had formed. And Yahweh God caused to grow every tree that was pleasing to the sight and good for food. And the tree of life was in the midst of the garden, along with the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Now a river flowed out from Eden that watered the garden, and from there it diverged and became four branches. The name of the first is the Pishon. It went around all the land of Havilah, where there is gold. (The gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stones are there.) And the name of the second is Gihon. It went around all the land of Cush. And the name of the third is Tigris. It flows east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates. And Yahweh God took the man and set him in the garden of Eden to cultivate it and to keep it. And Yahweh God commanded the man, saying, “From every tree of the garden you may freely eat, but from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat from it you shall surely die.””

(‭‭Genesis‬ ‭2‬:‭8‬-‭17,‬ ‭LEB‬‬)

Here, scripture tells us that Adam was taken from his point of creation and put in a garden located to the east. In the middle of this garden was the Tree of Life, along with the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil and flowing through the garden was a single river that then divided into four. In Genesis chapter 3 we also learn that a serpent—a supernatural enemy—was present in the garden who tempts the woman to eat from the forbidden Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. The result was spiritual death and a lack of access to the Tree of Life which provided eternal life.

While some church traditions hold that Eden was a mountain, Genesis does not explicitly state this (Pageau, 2018). However, the idea is implied elsewhere in Scripture:

“And the word of Yahweh came to me, saying, “Son of man, raise a lament over the king of Tyre, and you must say to him, ‘thus says the Lord Yahweh: “You were a perfect model of an example, full of wisdom and perfect of beauty. You were in Eden, the garden of God, and every precious stone was your adornment: carnelian, topaz and moonstone, turquoise, onyx and jasper, sapphire, malachite and emerald. And gold was the craftsmanship of your settings and your mountings in you; on the day when you were created they were prepared. You were an anointed guardian cherub, and I placed you on God’s holy mountain; you walked in the midst of stones of fire. You were blameless in your ways from the day when you were created, until wickedness was found in you. In the abundance of your trading, they filled the midst of you with violence, and you sinned; and I cast you as a profane thing from the mountain of God, and I expelled you, the guardian cherub, from the midst of the stones of fire.””

(‭‭Ezekiel‬ ‭28‬:‭11‬-‭16‬, ‭LEB)‬‬

This prophecy concerning the king of Tyre has also been interpreted as addressing the supernatural serpent from Genesis 3, suggesting that the Garden of Eden and the Mountain of God are one and the same. This connection is reinforced by extra-biblical literature written at the time of the Second Temple which often links Eden to God’s Holy Mountain. For example, the book of Jubilees associates Eden as one of several holy mountains of the Lord:

“For the Lord has four places on the earth, the Garden of Eden, and the Mount of the East, and this mountain on which thou art this day, Mount Sinai, and Mount Zion (which) will be sanctified in the new creation for a sanctification of the earth; through it will the earth be sanctified from all (its) guilt and its uncleanness throughout the generations of the world.”

The Book of Enoch, as a further literary example from this period, also states the following:

“And the seventh mountain was in the midst of these, and it excelled them in height, resembling the seat of a throne: and fragrant trees encircled the throne. And amongst them was a tree such as I had never yet smelt, neither was any amongst them nor were others like it: it had a fragrance beyond all fragrance, and its leaves and blooms and wood wither not for ever: and its fruit is beautiful, and its fruit resembles the dates of a palm. Then I said: 'How beautiful is this tree, and fragrant, and its leaves are fair, and its blooms very delightful in appearance.' Then answered Michael […] “This high mountain which you have seen, whose summit is like the throne of God, is His throne, where the Holy Great One, the Lord of Glory, the Eternal King, will sit when He comes down to visit the earth with goodness.””

If we consider Eden as a high place with a tree, or trees, at the top we can see this same imagery reoccurring throughout scripture, often marking significant moments or covenant events (Mackie, 2020a). In Genesis chapters 7-8 salvation from the bitter chaos waters was provided through the use of trees, in the form of an Ark, which eventually came to rest on Mount Ararat. After this Noah, his family and the animals—symbolising new creation—exit the Ark. Noah then constructs an altar and makes burnt offerings to Yahweh.

Key moments in the life of Abraham also occur on high places and under trees. Yahweh appears to him at the oaks of Moreh where Yahweh promises to give Abraham the land of Canaan, and where Abraham builds an altar (Genesis chapter 12). Later, Yahweh, appearing as the Angel of Yahweh, meets Abraham at a high place under the Oaks of Mamre, where they share a meal together (Genesis 18).

Genesis chapter 22 provides possibly the clearest example of this reoccurring motif in the life of Abraham. The chapter explains how Yahweh directs Abraham to go to the land of Moriah and offer Isaac as a burnt offering on a mountain. Notably, Isaac carries the wood for the altar himself, and ultimately, a ram caught in a thicket is offered in his place. Verse 14 of this chapter states:

“And Abraham called the name of that place “Yahweh will provide,” for which reason it is said today, “on the mountain of Yahweh it shall be provided.””

‭‭(Genesis‬ ‭22‬:‭14,‬ ‭LEB)‬‬

Here, reference is made to Jerusalem as the temporal mountain of Yahweh (as this is the same geographical location), but this can also be viewed as a reference to the eternal cosmic mountain of Yahweh (Mackie, 2020c).

The Tree of Life motif also appears at various key moments in the life of Moses. In Exodus 14, in the parting of the Red Sea, Moses stretches out his staff—a symbol of the Tree of Life—over the waters to divide them. In Exodus chapter 7 it was a staff again (this time Aaron’s) which turned into a serpent and killed the serpents that the Pharaoh’s magicians had produced. Similar imagery is found when Moses and the Children of Israel are at Rephidim:

“And Yahweh said to Moses, “Go on before the people and take with you some from the elders of Israel, and the staff with which you struck the Nile take in your hand, and go. Look, I will be standing before you there on the rock in Horeb, and you will strike the rock, and water will come out from it, and the people will drink.” And Moses did so before the eyes of the elders of Israel.”

‭‭(Exodus‬ ‭17‬:‭5‬-‭6‬, ‭LEB‬‬)

At Marah, when the Israelites grumbled about having no water to drink, Moses cried out to Yahweh. In response, “Yahweh showed him a piece of wood, and he threw it into the water, and the water became sweet” (Exodus 15:25, LEB).

In Numbers chapter 21 when Yahweh sends poisonous serpents amongst the children of Israel—again, because they were being tested—he instructs Moses to make a serpent and put it on a pole so that whoever is bitten and looks upon it will live.

Perhaps the clearest allusion to the Tree of Life theme is found at Mount Sinai. In Exodus chapter 3, the Angel of Yahweh appears to Moses in a bush at Mount Horeb (which is identified as Mount Sinai). There, Yahweh promises to deliver his people from Egypt and lead them to a land flowing with milk and honey. When Moses asks for a sign his staff turns into a serpent. Years later in Exodus chapter 19, it is upon this same mountain that Yahweh’s manifest presence dwells and the Mosaic covenant with Israel is marked by Moses receiving the Ten Commandments.

These biblical examples clearly demonstrate recurring elements of the Tree of Life typology, summarised as follows:

• A high place with a tree/ trees or an altar (or both) on top

• This high place being where the manifest presence of Yahweh occurs, where covenants are made or new creation is symbolised

• The high place being a point of testing

• Life-giving drink at the source (often relating to wisdom tests)

• A serpent linked to a pole or staff that represents the Tree of Life

This list of typological elements bears a striking resemblance to the list of cosmological elements that I summarised earlier. Why might this be? I believe that the answer is found in Christ at Calvary.

In the passion week, we find the ultimate cosmological conclusion and typological fulfilment. In Gethsemane, we have a further garden test. This time Christ passes the test as the second Adam—a test which precedes Christ being taken to the cross to die.

Calvary, also known as Golgotha or the Place of the Skull, is the high place where Christ was crucified on a wooden cross between two thieves. In later Scripture, this cross is described as a tree.

Jordan (1996) argues that Calvary was not some random hill but was, in fact, the Mount of Olives. He states that:

“Matthew 27:33 says that Jesus was crucified at "a place called Golgotha, which means Place of a Skull." While some have tried to find a hill around Jerusalem that looks like a skull, this is clearly wrong. Golgotha is just a contraction of Goliath of Gath (Hebrew: Goliath-Gath). 1 Samuel 17:54 says that David took the head of Goliath to Jerusalem, but since Jerusalem was to be a holy city, this dead corpse would not have been set up inside the city, but someplace outside. The Mount of Olives was right in front of the city (1 Kings 11:7; 2 Kings 23:13), and a place of ready access. Jesus was crucified at the place where Goliath’s head had been exhibited.”

In scripture, Goliath’s armour is described as being made of bronze (נחשת/ NeHhosSheT), a Hebrew word closely related to the word serpent (נחש/ NaHhaSh). Typologically, therefore, Goliath represents the seed of the serpent, while David symbolises the messianic seed. Whether or not Calvary is the Mount of Olives, the symbolism of Christ being crucified above Goliath’s skull remains typologically significant.

It has also been suggested that the vertical beam of the cross represents the Tree of Life, while the horizontal beam represents the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil—with the two thieves on either side reflecting this duality (Pageau, 2018). To the good, or penitent, thief, Jesus declares, “Today you will be with me in the garden” (Luke 23:43), as the Greek word paradeisos (παράδεισος) here is the word used in the Greek Septuagint Old Testament for the Garden of Eden.

The Tree of Life imagery surrounding the crucifixion continues, as when the Roman soldier pierces Christ’s side, blood and water flow out—symbolizing the living water and the saving blood, or the water and fruit from the Tree of Life. This water isn’t divided into four streams, but interestingly John’s gospel draws attention to Christ’s garments being divided into four un-torn shares.

The typological elements at Calvary are clear: a high place, a garden, a tree, an altar, a life-giving drink at the source, and the head of a defeated serpent in the underworld beneath the tree— symbolising the victory over the garden serpent (see Genesis 3:15). As Pageau (2018) states “Christ on the cross is not just the tree of life, not just the thorn bush, not just the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, not just the mountain. He’s all those things all together at the same time”.

Christ at Calvary is not merely another example of a cosmic pattern or biblical typology. The crucifixion and the person of Christ are the Axis Mundi that all preceding scripture foreshadows and subsequent scripture reflects. Christ was “slain from the foundation of the world” (Revelation 13:8, KJV) meaning the crucifixion is the most cosmologically significant event in history. The reflections of this event in various mythologies further testify to its cosmic importance, revealing how Calvary is woven into the very fabric of reality itself.

We see the Tree of Life again after Calvary in the book of Revelation. When all things are made new, the New Jerusalem descends upon the old Jerusalem, illustrating the eternal relationship between Calvary and the eternal cosmic mountain.

“And he showed me the river of the water of life, clear as crystal, coming out from the throne of God and of the Lamb in the middle of its street, and on both sides of the river is the tree of life, producing twelve fruits—yielding its fruit according to every month—and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.”

(‭‭Revelation‬ ‭22‬:‭1‬-‭2‬, ‭LEB‬‬)

Here, at the end of all things, the waters are not depicted as coming from the Tree of Life but through it, with the throne of God and the Lamb revealed as the river’s ultimate source. In this New Jerusalem, this Lamb of God in Revelation appears “as if it has been slain” (Revelation 5:6) because, ultimately, the Tree of Life is inseparably connected to the Lamb’s sacrifice and symbolises how eternal life in the New Jerusalem came through Christ’s death.

Reference List

Blacker, C. and Loewe, M. eds., 1975. Ancient Cosmologies. Taylor & Francis.

Butterworth, E.A.S., 1970. The Tree at the Navel of the Earth. Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co KG.

Jordan, J.B., 1996. Biblical Horizons Newsletter, No. 84: Christ in the Holy of Holies, The Meaning of the Mount of Olives. Available from: http://www.biblicalhorizons.com/biblical-horizons/no-84-christ-in-the-holy-of-holies-the-meaning-of-the-mount-of-olives/#:~:text=Jesus'%20crucifixion%20on%20the%20Mount,will%20be%20split%20in%20its

Mackie, T., 2020a. Bible Project: Humans Are… Trees. Available from: https://bibleproject.com/podcast/humans-are-trees

Mackie, T., 2020b. Bible Project: Trees of the Ancients. Available from: https://bibleproject.com/podcast/trees-ancients

Mackie, T., 2020c. Bible Project: Dismantling the Tree. Available from: https://bibleproject.com/podcast/dismantling-tree

Mackie, T., 2024. Bible Project: Is the Garden of Eden on a Mountain? Available from: https://bibleproject.com/podcast/garden-eden-mountain

Mayans and Tikal, n.d. Mayan Tree of Life. Available from: https://mayansandtikal.com/mayan-mythology/mayan-tree-of-life/

Pageau, J., 2018. Symbolism of the Tree. Available from: https://youtu.be/lrfr2vUKyAM?si=Mf4T6H7Wyp2s8W4L

I recently read an article by Megha Lillywhite, in which she highlighted that English universities, such as Oxford, were originally founded as Christian institutions. She explains how the church of the time provided the space and stability needed for teachers, scholars, and students to gather. Interestingly, she also notes that the average student was a middle-class boy aged between 12 and 15 years old.

Megha’s article serves as an example of how historically the Church has been the foundation for Western institutions such as higher education or healthcare, which are now generally taken for granted by the populace. Today, these institutions are predominantly managed by the state or secular organisations, whilst at the same time it has been normalised, at least where I live, for churches to remain purely religious entities.

In the Evangelical church that I grew up in, there was an implicit understanding that the Church was the faithful few gathered together, whose only responsibilities were internal care and outward witness—almost that any form of active participation in society by an individual, aside from holding a basic occupation, could be viewed as ‘worldliness’. I’m not saying that this is the specific view of all evangelical churches, or even that this is the view of all members of the church that I grew up in, just that there was a clear separation between the church and society.

As an illustration, I, and two friends of the same age, all became Christians at approximately the same time, in our late teens. And I distinctly remember a day when the Senior Pastor back then told us not to pursue a University education as “revelation was more important than education”—we were never quite told what this catchy sound bite actually meant in practical terms. Whilst I'm not suggesting this personally impacted my university prospects (which were significantly lacking at the time), it does reveal this church's attitude towards the educational potential of three young men.

We all went on to have our own careers and I, as well as one friend, did undertake a formal University education, but at an older age. I sometimes think of what further potential there might have been if this Church had valued our futures more. Not necessarily individual potential, but the potential to impact society for Christian good. Maybe the three of us would have made little difference in this regard, but I suspect that we were not the only young men whose future potential could have been overlooked.

I don’t think that this Senior Pastor’s attitude was unique to him or even that particular church. Some churches simply don’t believe they have a wider responsibility towards society, aside from being a witness of the gospel. I believe this is a question of ecclesiology or church ontology as it comes down to the purpose of a church in society—or even if the church exists within a society instead of being a purely spiritual entity. Should churches’ external ministry just be focused on gospel outreach or do churches have a responsibility to help shape society for the better? Clearly the church that history presents us with believed the latter.

The Snowman is a British animated short film based on the 1978 book by Raymond Briggs. This animated film was first shown on British television in December 1982. I have early childhood memories of watching this film with my Mother and I’ve recently started to watch it with my own Son every winter - starting last year when we built our first snowman together.

For me, this film captures something that I’ll now try to articulate. It tells of a time in England's recent past that feels far removed and almost inaccessible. Sometimes when I’m watching some old clips of British 90’s television shows on YouTube, I’ll see this same sentiment expressed in the comments section; that we are now in a different country today than we were back then. Obviously, we are not geographically, but people seem to have observed that we met a turning point over the last few decades and we’ve exited something that once was.

In watching The Snowman, I feel that this film beautifully captures this “once was”. I’m not suggesting that the early 1980s in England were without problems, but I feel that the decade contained something that we’ve now lost. The Snowman seems to show us what these things were. There are moments in this short film that may be easy to overlook, but for me, they stand out as clear indications that this is a story from another time.

Firstly, and it is sad that this has to be stated, there are no thinly veiled political, or anti-Christian messages that have been infused into it consciously or unconsciously, as is found in many films today, even those made for children. When the snowman and the boy fly over the English villages and towns, we can see England as it was for so many generations, with traditional English houses and villages, and a church in the centre.

Additionally, when the snowman and the boy arrive at the North Pole, they arrive under the mystical gateway of the northern lights and as they enter into the thick woodland, the music changes. Although this may be easily missed, these “enchanted woods” are an archetype found in many a classic story; Mirkwood, as popularised by Tolkien is a place ‘penetrating the barriers between one world and another’. Once the snowman and the boy enter into the woods they encounter more snowmen drinking pints of beer. Modern mentalities might find it odd that children’s animated characters were drinking beer but there is something quintessentially English about the pint, beyond shallow stereotypes. As C.S. Lewis once said, “The sun looks down on nothing half so good as two friends talking over a pint of beer”.

Also amongst the trees we find Father Christmas, very similar to his appearance in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe; through the veil, in the thickest part of the woods. This is Father Christmas and not Santa Claus. When I was a child it was Father Christmas who brought presents, as is the English tradition.

The Snowman may not be an overtly Christian film, but it does reflect the last embers of a Christian society. At the end of the film, the snowman melts and all this magic fades away. The symbolism isn’t lost. We can only hope for his return next winter.

For background, I’ve been attending a “non-denominational” church (I put that in quotes as I don’t really believe any Protestant church can fully remove themselves from the denominational lineage which has preceded it, but I understand why a church may want to disassociate themselves from anything aside from the Universal Church), since 2018, as well as some years ago when I was a regular attendee for a period of about five years. So all-in-all, I’m quite familiar with how this church “does church”, at least when it comes to a Sunday Service - which will be my focus here. This Evangelical church was fundamental in me becoming a Christian and I’ve been an active church member for a while now.

In my personal studies in theology, I have also been exploring ecclesiology and the Christian Church of the first few centuries. My motivation for studying this comes from my desire to understand the relationship between church and culture, and what responsibilities churches hold in addressing the cultural collapse within society that has happened over the last few decades or so in the West. Therefore, I wanted to understand how a church, that believes it is the institutional (not just universal) Church that Jesus created, also “does church”. My experience of Orthodox church services is very limited, but I have attended two services at an Orthodox church that meets in a neighbouring village and have also attended one service whilst on holiday in Romania.

A service at my regular Evangelical church engages the participants through a welcome, worship music, communion, a sermon, more worship and then normally notices. The design of the service facilitates people coming together to worship the Lord, participate in the communion and be edified through the preached word (a scripture-based sermon). For me, this approach is quite normal, and I’ve seen it replicated in other Evangelical services as well. There is structure, but this structure is often punctuated with a prophecy, a scripture reading, or a speaking in tongues (with another person bringing an interpretation). So, by contrast, it was quite a shock to walk into an Orthodox service.

When I first attended an Orthodox service (a Matins service), I had very little understanding of what to expect. I kind of expected something like a Church of England service, where there would be a few hymns, scripture readings and a dry sermon (from my limited childhood recollection). But the Orthodox service was quite different from that. First of all, when it came to the service, I was quite lost. I had arrived at the former Methodist building finding the service had already started - though I wasn’t late. People appeared to be following along from a small white pamphlet. But I didn’t have one - hence my lack of direction. Nevertheless, I tried my best. It was all quite overwhelming and reminded me of first going to church back in the year 2000; like entering into another world. In contrast with my normal church experience the service was highly ordered and yet varied; some parts sung, some said, some a call and response. But all in a specific pre-specified order - so there was no space for spontaneity.

The second service I attended was a Divine Liturgy. This time I was given a book that allowed me to follow the order, so I was able to keep pace with what was happening better. The third service was also a Divine Liturgy, but this time in Romania. Although it was in Romanian I was still familiar having attended the English language version previously. There were some differences though; such as a “passing of the peace” (my phrasing; I don’t know what they called it) taking place in which you shake the hands of those around you, as well as the entire audible parts of the service taking place between the choir and the Priest/ Deacon instead of the congregation and the Priest/ Deacon - meaning there was less participation for the congregation.

Having attended a number of these services, here are my observations about how the two compare.

Music

The Evangelical service has “worship” near the beginning and near the end. Worship here is the singing of songs by the congregation. And the songs sung are generally American popular Christian worship songs written by a select group of singer/ songwriters like Hillsong Worship, Chris Tomlin or Michael W. Smith. Normally songs that were written in the last few years, with this catalogue of songs to sing being updated regularly. Occasionally there are also some Wesleyan hymns from the 18th century. All these songs are accompanied by a band (keyboard, guitar, drums, bass).

In the Orthodox services on the other hand there were no instruments whatsoever. Songs were sung by the congregation (or by a choir in the Romanian service) and were interspersed throughout. Because of ‘intoning’ (speaking in a certain tone or melody) taking place, there is a general musicality to the whole service. The songs themselves are very old with some dating back to the first centuries of the Christian Church.

Holy Communion/ The Eucharist

In the Evangelical setting, communion (bread and juice) is available for anyone and it’s passed around to all. Scriptures are read beforehand that speak of the Lord’s Supper (John 6 isn’t). Most often a song will play during it. The approach is solemn but with the music, it sometimes blends back into the worship time. The focus is on examining oneself and remembering Jesus’s sacrificial death on the cross.

In the Orthodox service, as I was helpfully told by somebody afterwards, only those who have been ‘Chrismated’ (similar to confirmed in the Catholic Church) can participate in drinking the wine and eating the bread. Though ‘Holy Bread’ was available for all after the service. The approach is also solemn but the use of golden vessels and how everything is done with great reverence demonstrates their theology that this is the physical body and blood of the Lord.

Service Focus

One significant difference between the two types of service was in the focus or orientation. In the Evangelical service, everyone faces the congregation; the convener, the preacher, the band. In an Orthodox service, for a lot of the time the Priest or Deacon is facing away from the congregation and towards the front. There are also differences in how the congregation postures themselves. In the Evangelical service, you spend a lot of time sitting, but in the Orthodox service, it’s a lot of standing. Also, in all the Orthodox services people would arrive throughout so that it became fuller and fuller as the service went on. When people arrived they would light candles and walk past the Priest or Deacon and place the candle at the front, being fully ignored as they did so. Contrarily, people are generally quite punctual for the Evangelical service and it’s rare for people to arrive after it has started. Now I’m not sure how much of this relates to culture and not tradition though.

The Word

In the Evangelical setting, a sermon (as well as Communion) takes place in the middle point of the service. The sermon is about 30-45 minutes long and is based on scripture, with an application to the life of the believer. Often there is an “altar call” at the end of the sermon but most of the time this is not an actual call to come forward, more an encouragement to speak to somebody afterwards.

In the Orthodox setting - I may not have the most representative experience of this - only once did I hear a sermon. It was at the end of a two-hour service and lasted 10 minutes. It was also pre-written and so read out (in fact I think it was said that it was somebody else’s words). The topic was about regular fasting and the “ascetic” life if I recall correctly. Nevertheless, it was an edifying sermon.

Icon Veneration

Lastly, I need to talk about the elephant in the room. From a Protestant or Evangelical perspective, this was the most jarring part of my experience. In the Evangelical church, there is a wooden cross and three paintings depicting water and a rainbow. These don’t form part of the service whatsoever though, and there are no images of Jesus or any other person. The Orthodox churches on the other hand were beautifully adorned with images of saints (that is, biblical figures, angels, and historical Christians who have been recognised as saints). At the front of the Church in both the English and Romanian churches there are images of Jesus and Mary. I have heard it said that Orthodox Christians don’t worship Mary (or the Theotokos) as they call her, but that they venerate her along with other saints. It is clear that these images are not just art, however. People would regularly kiss, bow to and light candles in front of the images of Jesus and Mary (both images in equal measure). From a Protestant mindset, it is easy to see why these practices are viewed as idolatry. For my part, I reserve judgement, yet could not participate in it as I cannot justify the practice theologically. For those interested in exploring this topic further, I would suggest watching the YouTube videos by Gavin Ortlund and Seraphim Hamilton, who represent the arguments on either side very well.

There are other differences, such as the more conservative dressing of both men and women (Romanian services prohibit men from wearing shorts, for example), but I think I’ve now covered the main points. It is interesting that although both types of service are very different, both the Evangelical and Orthodox approaches to church services stem from a belief that they are enacting the most ancient form of Christianity. The Evangelical way of doing church often focuses on small meetings or home groups and it is common to hear comparisons to the simplicity of the New Testament Church. Whereas the Eastern Orthodox Church claims that they are the original Church institution that was created by Jesus and is talked about in the New Testament, meaning the traditions stem from very early forms of Christianity as well as from the teachings of the Apostles themselves.

Because my interest in different church traditions comes from the interrelationship between the Church and the culture of a country or region, I want to briefly talk about the culture in Romania that I experienced. About 95 percent of Romania is Christian, which is more than double that of the UK. What’s more, is that you can tell. Romania feels like a Christian country. Not in an abstract way, but through observation. You can literally smell Christians in Romania. When on a bus or in a shop I’d regularly get a waft of incense from passers-by on various days of the week.

I admit that I was a little cautious about visiting Romania with my family as their safety is always a priority, but I found in Romania what I have found in Poland previously; safe cities and friendly people. On several occasions, when out and about with my three-year-old son we would be approached by strangers; a lady offered us help when we looked lost, a group of women on the train who gave my son some food, or a woman at a bus stop who said kind words about my son - “he looks like an Angel of Jesus Christ”.

I’m not suggesting that you don’t find kindness and neighbourly compassion in England but Romania feels like what England may have been like when Christianity permeated the culture here.