On September 8, the Church sings that the Nativity of the Theotokos has “proclaimed joy to the whole universe”. It is easy enough to sing, but somewhat harder now for us to understand. Why, we may ask, did the birth of a baby girl in around 18 B.C. or so proclaim joy to the whole inhabited world?

Those familiar with old-time Pentecostalist liturgy will identify the title of this piece as a part of that liturgy. Not, of course, that tongue-speaking Pentecostalists of the old school would admit to having liturgy. Liturgy, for them, is what the Catholics have (along with their step-children, the Anglicans) because they do not have God or the Holy Spirit. Liturgy is usually described by them as “dead liturgy” because the people using the liturgical book are spiritually dead and need such substitutes for true Spirit-led worship.

In 1956 an American game show debuted called “To Tell the Truth”. Each round of the game introduced three people all claiming to be the same person, and a team of panelists would ask them questions. Those pretending to be the real (usually famous) person would make up answers, while the real person would answer truthfully. The inquiring panelists would then guess which was the real person. The host of the show would conclude by saying, “Will the real (name) please stand up?” and he or she would then stand up thereby revealing their identity and the accuracy of the panelists’ guesses.

Everyone presumably acknowledges that there is nothing wrong with children dressing up as fairies, Disney characters, Marvel superheroes, and (my own favourite when I was a child) black cats in order to go door to door with their friends after dark to collect candy. The argument against Halloween is that it also glorifies violence, gore, and death, so that it is unsuitable for Christians to participate in Halloween. Collecting candy is fine; it is the frightening stuff that comes afterward that is the problem. Halloween trades in things like graveyards and corpses and ugly witches on broomsticks and bats and cobwebs and Frankenstein monsters. So, the question arises: why do people delight in such scary stuff?

Recently I listened to a podcast in which Larry Chapp (a universalist Roman Catholic) interviewed Dr. David Bentley Hart. In the course of the interview Dr. Hart asserted that, unlike Roman Catholicism, Orthodoxy does not have an official and authoritative Magisterium. By this he meant that Orthodoxy possesses no institutional organ (such as the papacy and the episcopate dependent upon it) that can routinely and authoritatively declare what is or is not the official teaching of the Church when consulted.

Like many Orthodox clergy, I have lost track of the number of times my Protestant brethren have objected to the priestly title (in my case, “Father Lawrence”), citing the Bible which commands that they “call no man ‘Father’”. They are, of course, thinking of our Lord’s words in Matthew 23:9. If I am feeling puckish and mischievous, I sometimes respond with a simple denial, insisting, “No, the Bible doesn’t say that” just to wind them up and make the final riposte more satisfying. It is not particularly sanctified, but it is fun. What is the difference between “call no man ‘father’” and “call no man your father”? The difference is the difference between a title or form of address and a relationship.

The story of Cain and Abel is the story of the human race. It is tragically timeless, for it is tirelessly enacted over and over again in every generation. As Larry Norman once queried (as aged historians may remember from his song “Nothing Really Changes”), “Will Cain kill Abel—with a bayonet?” Regardless of the choice of weapon, somewhere and some place that murder is happening even now as you are reading this.

Many years ago, when I was tucking my eldest daughter into bed, she asked me a question: “Dad, why do we believe in the Resurrection?” I have always taught both my daughters to be strong and to think for themselves, and so I was happy to hear the question, and I answered it as best as I could, giving the historical evidence. At the end of it all, she said, “Oh, good. I was afraid you were going to say that we should believe in it because it was in the Bible.” No chance of that; Dad is not a fideist, nor a fan of circular reasoning. The case for Christianity is a strong one, and can withstand historical scrutiny. Here I would like to set out the case for Christianity in somewhat fuller terms than I did that night so long ago.

In my previous piece, “Why I Am a Christian (Part 1)” I examined the question of why one should believe in the physical Resurrection of Jesus from the dead. I looked at the essential historical reliability of the Gospels portraits of Jesus and His claims to be God. I concluded that given the number and audacity of those claims, there were only three live options on the table: either He was a liar, a lunatic, or the Lord. I suggested that His many miracles made sense of and supported the third option.

G. K. Chesterton wrote that he once left fairy tales lying on the floor of the nursery and hadn’t found any books so sensible since (from his Orthodoxy, “The Ethics of Elfland”). I suggest that Christianity is one such fairy tale, and also that it is a myth. But it is a fairy tale come true, and a myth that became a fact.

We continue our series examining St. Matthew’s citations of the Old Testament. Today we look at his citation of Micah 5:2. “In the Masoretic Hebrew it reads, “But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, who are little to be among the clans of Judah, from you will come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days.” The LXX reads similarly: “And you, Bethlehem, house of Ephrathah, you are very small to be in the thousands of Judah, from which for me will come out to be for a ruler of Israel, and his goings out are from the beginning, from the days of eternity.” It is all the more surprising therefore that St. Matthew’s version reads a little differently from either the Hebrew or the Greek. It reads, “And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you will come a ruler who will govern my people Israel.”

We continue our series examining St. Matthew’s citations of the Old Testament. Today we look at his citation of Jeremiah 31:15. It reads, “A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are not.” The LXX renders it more or less the same way, though the order of the chapters is different. In the LXX the text is found in Jeremiah chapter 38, not chapter 31. But the meaning of the text is the same.

We conclude our series examining St. Matthew’s citations of the Old Testament. Today we look at his citation of Isaiah 40:3, which reads, “A voice cries, ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of Yahweh! Make straight in the desert a highway for our God!”

A wise man once said "what we believe always remains intellectually possible, and never becomes intellectually compulsive. I have an idea," he said, "that when this ceases to be so, the world will be ending."

I am told on good authority that it is offensive to invite people of other religions to convert to Christianity. Thus it is offensive to say to a Jew, “Jesus is the Messiah and the Son of God and so you should be baptized and become a Christian”. It is similarly offensive to say to a Muslim, “Jesus is the divine Son of God and Muhammad was not a true prophet, nor is Qur’an His Word, and so you should be baptized and become a Christian”. It is also offensive to say to a Hindu, “Those whom you worship as Gods such as Vishnu, Shiva, and Krishna are not true Gods, but idols, and so you should be baptized and become a Christian”.

I forget, in the course of my long life as a Christian, how many times I have heard people assure me that “God will never give you more than you can handle”. By this they seemed to mean that God knows my emotional limits and capabilities, and will make sure that no disaster befalls me that will tax me emotionally beyond my present strength. Sometimes they affix a Bible verse from 1 Corinthians 10:13 to it to make their case: “No temptation has overtaken you but such is common to man, and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, that you may be able to endure it”. I must report however, on the basis of my long life as a Christian, that the assuring notion that God will never give anyone more than they can handle is nonsense.

The feast whose season we now in is called “Theophany” or (in many places) “Epiphany”. This latter is not so much an English word as it is a transliteration of a Greek word, epiphaneia. It is often rendered “appearance” in the English versions, though this rendering can be misleading. One can have a small or insignificant appearance. For example, a person can have a brief cameo appearance in a movie (such as Alfred Hitchcock famously did in his movies), appearances so brief and insignificant as to be missed by inattentive eyes.

I have just read two fascinating pieces about Pope Francis’ recent and controversial document Fiducia Supplicans, which officially allows Roman Catholic priests to bless persons in same-sex relationships, one by an Orthodox and the other by a Roman Catholic.

Every so often one encounters something that breaks the head as well as the heart. By that I refer to things that not only wring the heart with grief, but also confound the head because they are so perversely stupid. One such thing is the recent conversion of a Tasmanian Orthodox priest by the name of David Gould who had been Orthodox for 45 years and who then converted to Islam two years after becoming a priest. He now goes by the name of Abdul Rahman.

I remember once when a friend was sharing with me his distress at the liberalism afflicting his Protestant denomination, and the fact that many of their clergy were denying such things as the virgin birth and the divinity of Christ. While murmuring sympathetically, I mentioned that such denials were not the same problem in the Orthodox Church. He then asked me what sort of things we did argue about. When I replied, “Well, things like whether or not a woman can receive Holy Communion while she is menstruating,” he looked at me funny. He didn’t ask, “What planet are you guys on?” but I could tell he was thinking it. Loudly.

When we are reading the literature of the ancient Hebrews (i.e. the Old Testament) it is important to be aware of the kind of glasses we are wearing—that is, we should be aware of the unspoken conceptual presuppositions that we bring to our reading. If we are not aware of our ingrained conceptual presuppositions, we can make mistakes in understanding ancient literature.

It is a wonderful thing to know the Scriptures well, but there is a drawback: since we know how all the stories end, we can miss the drama inherent in the narrative. For example, In Luke 7:11f we can read about the grief of the widow of Nain, but since we know that her son’s death will end in his resurrection before he can be buried, we can skip too quickly from her sorrow to the happy ending and miss how terrible that grief must have been for her.