Journal

By the Very Reverend John W. Fenton

On 31 May 1958, His Beatitude Alexander III, Patriarch of Antioch, replied favorably to Metropolitan Antony Bashir’s request to establish a Western Rite Vicariate in what is now known as the Antiochian Orthodox Christian Archdiocese of North America. That reply was given only after His Beatitude had consulted with “representatives of some other autocephalous Churches.” As the Metropolitan reported to the Archdiocese in its 1958 convention, with his blessing to proceed His Beatitude enclosed an Arabic translation of the 1936 Russian Ukase and authorized the Metropolitan to “take the same action” as the Russians had outlined and taken. His Beatitude further entrusted the Metropolitan to “the right to work out the details in the local situation as you see fit” according to His Eminence’s “Orthodox zeal and good judgment.”

In my mind, the key words from His Beatitude are “take the same action.” These words authorized two intertwined actions. First, they gave the authority to establish not something new, but to erect a Western Rite Vicariate based on the previous work, history, and understanding of what the Russian Church had done and authorized. Therefore, the first part of this essay will be a summary of histories of the Western Rite written by the V. Rev. Edward Hughes and by the Rev. David Abramtsov which are published in the book “With What Zeal” (2023). My summary of their research will provide context and background for the Church of Antioch’s founding of a Vicariate. Hopefully, this summary will also whet your appetite to read these more extensive accounts and, perhaps, encourage original research to flesh out certain details. 

Yet the words “take the same action” equally make explicit the liturgical texts and practice that His Beatitude envisioned. Therefore, the history of the Antiochian Western Rite Vicariate is not limited to names, dates, and events. The telling of this story also relies heavily on the Rite’s liturgical practices, and the decisions that were made to implement these practices within the scope of both the Patriarch’s direction and the “Orthodox zeal and good judgment” of the Metropolitans under whose omophorion this Vicariate operates. That liturgical history will be the second and larger part of my essay. Like the first part, the second part will necessarily be only an outline with some impressions and preliminary conclusions. Again, the hope is that this synopsis will spur further research where that is possible; or, more likely, that it will encourage dispassionate conversations which are theologically and historically informed concerning the furtherance of the Western Rite in the Orthodox churches. To give context to some of those discussions, in a final section I shall introduce, very preliminarily, some challenges that continue today concerning the implementation of the Patriarch’s direction, and suggest some questions that may aid in untangling these challenges.

I.

To understand the history of the Western Rite Vicariate in the Antiochian Orthodox Christian Archdiocese in North Ameria, it is necessary to know that the roots for this Vicariate are first cultivated by a German Roman Catholic priest who, after the briefly trying on Lutheranism, moved to England and subsequently was received into the Orthodox Church in 1865. This man, Joseph Julius Overbeck, argued that 

it was “suicidal” to think that the West could be Orientalized, i.e., that Western people could become Eastern in their customs, traditions, and rites while in the process of returning to the primitive Catholic Faith. The Church of SS. Cyprian, Ambrose, Jerome, and others of the Western Saints had to be restored, but it was only the Orthodox Church which could admit such a body into communion, reconcile and absolve it of the sin of schism, and help it in the labor of restoration.

Yet what Overbeck sought was not an artificial turning back of the clock to whatever happened in the Western liturgy, fasting, and other traditions at some magic date; as if the liturgical practices, Western culture, ethos, and phronema from that chosen date were pristine and frozen in time, and could somehow be thawed and reconstituted in the mid-19th century. Overbeck’s program was not liturgical archeology, which seeks to impose liturgical texts ahistorically and without regard to the ever-moving stream of culture. Rather, Overbeck sought to retain not just texts but the entire scope Western liturgical tradition, as it had developed organically, yet devoid of obvious errors. Except for the filioque, as will be explained below, not one of these errors is located in the Latin liturgical texts themselves; rather, they are located in the reinterpretation of these texts in catechesis and doctrinal formulations.

Less than five years after his reception into the Orthodox Church, Overbeck petitioned the Holy Synod of Moscow to consider an Orthodox Western Church. The Russian Synod approved Western Orthodoxy in principle and awaited the views of the other Eastern patriarchs. During this interval, a major schism occurred in the Latin Roman patriarchate which would directly affect the establishment of the Western Rite Vicariate. This schism was due seismic changes in Roman dogma concerning the papal infallibility, which was ratified at the First Vatican Council (1869-70). In my view, the ultramontanism that resulted in the declaration of papal infallibility was certainly the last nail in the coffin of Great Schism that had developed over 1000 years. Even if my view needs adjustment, these events certainly were not accepted by significant numbers of Catholic hierarchs, clergy, and theologians particularly in Northern Europe. In 1870-71, a schism occurred in the Church of Rome which is hardly mentioned these days. These dissenters, who rejected papal infallibility, formed the “Old Catholic Church.” Overbeck tried to convince many of the leaders, whom he knew from previous contacts, to join him in setting Western Orthodoxy on firmer ground. Regrettably, these Old Catholics preferred closer ties with Anglicanism.

In the following years, Overbeck obtained the approval of the Latin Mass and Benedictine Breviary from Ecumenical Patriarch Joachim III (in 1882), and in time several other patriarchates followed: Alexandria, Antioch, Romania, Serbia, and Bulgaria. Yet in his lifetime Overbeck’s dream did not come to fruition. Nevertheless, the renowned theologian Fr Georges Florovsky remarked that Overbeck’s vision 

was not just a fantastic dream. The question raised by Overbeck was pertinent, even if his own answer to it was confusedly conceived. And probably the vision of Overbeck was greater than his personal interpretation.

Without doing too much injustice to the history, we must now take up the stories of two notable Old Catholic bishops who would impact the Antiochian Western Rite Vicariate. The first of these was Bishop Arnold Harris Mathew, an Englishman. Mathew broke with the Old Catholics of Utrech—the largest umbrella group—and turned first to the Holy Synod of Russia and, when rebuffed, approached Metropolitan Gerasimos (Messarah) of Beirut, “who acted as agent for the Patriarch of Antioch.” Apparently, in 1911 Metropolitan Gerasimos received Bishop Mathew (and presumably his parishes) into communion on a provisional basis. The Patriarch of Alexandria also formally recognized Bishop Mathew and his diocese. Mathew began referring to his church as the Western Orthodox Church and publicly advocated the restoration of the Orthodox Church of the West. Mathew’s relationship with the Antiochians was soon terminated, but the important detail to emerge from this contact is that Metropolitan Gerasimos had traveled to England, and later America (1922) with his Deacon Antony Bashir. In 1936, Archimandrite Antony Bashir became the Metropolitan of the American Archdiocese and his familiarity with Old Catholics and the Western Rite would be instrumental in establishing the Western Rite Vicariate in 1958.

The Vicariate was erected because a former Old Catholic priest, Alexander Turner, approached Metropolitan Antony Bashir. Turner had converted to Orthodoxy some years before in a group known as the Society of St Basil, which was not recognized by the canonical churches in the U.S. Turner was subsequently consecrated a bishop and became the successor to Bishop Ignatius Nichols, who in 1932 was consecrated and given oversight of Western Rite parishes by Archbishop Aftimios Ofeish. In 1934, Bishop Nicholas was elevated to Archbishop by the Holy Synod of Moscow. Shortly thereafter, “during the tempestuous days following the Bolshevik Revolution” the Western Rite diocese subsequently drifted outside mainstream Orthodoxy when the various ethnic Orthodox groups submitted to their homeland churches. In order to maintain ecclesial semblance, Archbishop Nichols “founded the Society of Saint Basil, a devotional society for clergy and laity based on the daily recitation of the Western Breviary.” Representing this group, Bishop Alexander Turner approached and petitioned Metropolitan Antony Bashir in order to be received back into the Orthodox mainstream while maintaining their Western liturgical tradition and heritage.

In 1953, Bishop Turner, with his three parishes with one monastery, was received “on probation” by Metropolitan Antony Bashir of the Antiochian Orthodox Archdiocese. Five years later, Patriarch Alexander III of Antioch requested Metropolitan Antony to welcome these parishes into the Archdiocese, not by requiring them to convert to Byzantine worship and traditions, but by maintaining the ancient Latin liturgical tradition. In time this Vicariate, founded by the desire of Old Catholics to become Orthodox, would receive other Old Catholics as well as disaffected Episcopalians, Anglo-Catholics, Lutherans, and others. A second Benedictine monastery would be established, and the liturgy and prayer offices would, in some place, include features from the early Church of England reformed rites. The work would be supported by Metropolitan Antony’s successors; and Vicars General familiar with Orthodox Latin traditions, beginning with Fr. Turner, would assist Their Eminences in administering these parishes. That administration would not be in matters of faith but, in large part, would establish a wholesome liturgical practice rooted in the words of Patriarch Alexander III when His Beatitude directed the Archbishop to “take the same action.”

II.

As mentioned above, the words “take the same action” clearly refer to the Ukase promulgated on 16 June 1936 by Metropolitan (later Patriarch) Sergius Stragorodsky who, at the time, was Locum Tenens of the Patriarch. The occasion of this Ukase was the reception of about 1500 French Western Rite faithful into the Orthodox Church under the leadership of Louis-Charles Winnaert. According to the Ukase, these “united parishes, using the Western Rite, shall bear the name ‘Western Orthodox’.”

The Ukase was no doubt the work of Metropolitan Sergius himself and incorporated his ecclesiological and canonical erudition. The late Patriarch considered the restoration of Western Orthodoxy in Western Europe one of the most important acts of his arch-pastoral life and it is truly remarkable that in the second half of the 1930’s, when the Russian Church was at its lowest ebb physically and materially, its hierarchs displayed enough spiritual vigor to realize the consequences and importance of the restoration of Western Orthodoxy.

Concerning doctrine and liturgy, the Western Orthodox parishes were directed to adhere to these four points: 

1. Regarding doctrine, they must “without deviation follow the form of teaching held by the Orthodox Church.”
2. Regarding liturgical texts, they “may preserve the Western Rite” which it had maintained to that point, but “the liturgical texts must be expurgated (even though gradually) of all expressions and thoughts not acceptable to the Orthodox Church.”
3. Regarding liturgical calendar, Eastern saints were to be venerated, and only those Western saints “who were canonized before the separation of Rome from the Orthodox Church.”
4. Regarding liturgical practice, it was “indispensable” that these parishes adhere to the following details: leavened bread only, the Epiclesis after the words of Institution, communing the laity with both kinds “concurrently by means of the spoon,” celebration of Mass on a properly consecrated antimins, triune immersion for Baptism (unless an exception is given), the use of Sacred Chrism “from the Diocesan Bishop,” and the Sacrament of Holy Unction not only for the dying “but also for the healing of the souls and bodies of the sick.”

It is conceivable that the liturgical texts that had been used by the incoming group were those of the Liberal Catholic Church since that was where Fr Louis-Charles Winnaert had been ordained a bishop. However, given his erudition, it is most likely that, when Metropolitan Sergius mentioned expurgating, or cleansing and purifying these texts, His Eminence had in view the 1882 report from the Ecumenical Patriarch Joachim III and the Synod of Constantinople which approved the use of the Latin Liturgy and the Benedictine offices, as had the Holy Synod of Moscow.

In either case, it is certain that the Antiochian Patriarch’s directive to “take the same action” did not refer to adjusting the liturgy and rites of the Liberal Catholic Church. Rather, one can appropriately conclude that Patriarch Alexander’s reference was to the 1882 report, and most likely the continuing liturgical work among the French Western Orthodox during and after World War II. Much of this liturgical work traces to the efforts of Fr. Denis (Lucien) Chambault, pastor of the Western Orthodox parish of the Ascension in Paris. Fr Denis, with help, restored Western Orthodox monasticism using the ancient Rule of St Benedict. Concurrently, at St Irenaeus Western Orthodox parish, “the restored ancient Roman Mass” was employed. Shortly thereafter, “the Western rite was being celebrated in French, English, German, and Italian” using “the Mass of the Missale Romanum with some modifications.” These Western Orthodox parishes in Paris were, in no small part, supported by the Romanian Patriarchate, under whose omophorion—and thereby tacit approval—they resided for a short while.

It is reasonable to conclude that the ancient Orthodox axiom lex orandi, lex credendi was the animating principle for the approvals and decisions by the 1882 Synod of Constantinople, the 1860s Synod of Moscow’s conversations with J.J. Overbeck, the 1911 determinations by Metropolitan Gerasimos Messara in England with Arnold Harris Mathew, the 1936 Ukase, the post-World War II Western Orthodox in France, and Patriarch Alexander III’s instruction to the Antiochians. The phrase lex orandi, lex credendi is shorthand for ut legem credendi lex statuat supplicandi (the rule of praying establishes the rule of believing), first used by Prosper of Aquitaine, a student of St Augustine. The axiom states that primary and authentic theology is not dogmatics or school-theology. Rather, true theology occurs when we experience Our Lord God in His holy liturgy. Calling the liturgy “the primary theology” does not mean that it is primitive. “Primary theology” refers to the foundation, the imprimis, the “first things,” for any experience or talk about God. To say it another way, the orandi (the prayer) is of greatest importance because it establishes or gives the fertile ground (statuat) for the credendi (the dogma). The liturgy, as we have received it, matters because that is where our faith is located; not just expressed, but fashioned and shaped.

Permit me to illustrate my point by borrowing the words of Pope Pius XI in his encyclical which introduced the Feast of Christ the King: 

People are instructed in the truths of faith, and brought to appreciate the inner joys of religion far more effectually, by the annual celebration of our sacred mysteries than by any official pronouncement of the teaching of the Church. Such pronouncements usually reach only a few and the more learned among the faithful; feasts reach them all; the former speak but once, the latter speak every year—in fact, forever. The Church’s teaching affects the mind primarily; her feasts affect both mind and heart, and have a salutary effect upon the whole of man’s nature.

These words convey the Orthodox understanding that the experience of God is more beneficial and pastorally practical than cognitive understanding of God. God comes to us incarnationally in prayer—not chiefly in individual prayer, but in prayer as His Body and within His Body. This practical experience that every human needs to have with God must be driven not by beliefs—whether imposed or self-chosen—nor by values, nor by propositional doctrines. Rather, the practical experience that every human needs to have with God must be rooted in an unchanging pattern of worship which God Himself revealed and established beginning in the days of Adam and which has grown, with increasing clarity, in the Church. God revealing Himself in His Church to His own—that is the true purpose and nature of the Liturgy. And when we need to explain what this event, this experience, this revelation of God to and in His Son’s body is, then that’s the role of doctrine. So, standing before God informs our stammering about who God is, what we believe, and how we explain Him. Why is this? Because “the entire liturgy has the Catholic faith for its content, inasmuch as it bears public witness to the faith of the Church.” That’s lex orandi, lex credendi.

To say it another way, in the Orthodox Church the liturgy, as we have received it, is a living prayer inspired by and flowing from the Holy Spirit. Again, the Orthodox liturgy—in whatever rite—is of the Holy Spirit in the same way that the Scriptural texts are of the Holy Spirit. For not only does the Scripture form most of the liturgy, that Spirit who inspired holy men of God to speak the writings we now call “Scripture” is the same Spirit who inspired similarly holy men of God to offer the prayers we pray. Since this is the case, altering phrases in the liturgy is as troublesome as editing difficult phrases in the Holy Scriptures. For both are canon—both Scripture and liturgy contain the norm or standard of Christian faith and practice.

Permit me to anticipate a rejoinder by offering a brief excursus. Apart from the calendar, which includes some problematic celebrations, the Latin liturgy has not changed in essence since 600 AD. This is certainly true of the Mass or Divine Liturgy, as well as the Benedictine Breviary, and is mostly true of the Ritual. The liturgy, therefore, is not the seedbed for errors that have crept into the Church of Rome in the past 500-1000 years. I assert that those errors post-date the liturgy and, frankly, are a departure from the plain meaning and patristic interpretation of the liturgical texts. What has changed, then, are the explanations or redefinitions of various terms in the liturgy, which have occurred in teaching and have relied on twisting or ignoring the church’s tradition. In other instances, the words of the liturgy have been virtually ignored in dogma or teaching, thereby rendering the liturgy merely an archaic means of prayer which is disconnected from the church’s teaching. In both cases, the fault does not necessarily or inevitably lie within the liturgical texts. Lex orandi, lex credendi remains true. However, the credendi is no longer informed by the orandi; rather, dogma has overrun or overruled the liturgy. Yet when the Orthodox principle that liturgy is “primary theology” is kept intact—that is, when the orandi properly and rightly shapes the credendi—then one can see why the Synods of Moscow, Constantinople, Antioch, Alexandria, Serbia, and Romania permitted the retention of the received Latin liturgical texts, which were never rejected prior to the Great Schism.

One might think there are two exceptions. First, the Orthodox patriarchates rightly insisted that the filioque be omitted, in all instances, from the Latin liturgical texts. It is well known that the filioque was unknown in the Roman Latin liturgy prior to the 11th century. Therefore, this insertion was not a liturgical but a canonical error. Furthermore, its addition was an illustration of what I’ve said above; namely, the dogma or credendi overruling the established orandi. Hence the omission of the filioque is nothing more than a return to the Orthodox Latin liturgical text. Secondly, by pastoral provision, the request was made to insert an epiclesis. As several medieval and modern theologians have noted, the addition of an epiclesis does not imply a deficiency in the Latin Canon. Instead, it makes explicit what is already both implied in the Canon and stated explicitly in the Offertory prayers and the required Præparatio ad Missam prayers (the prayers the priest says to prepare to celebrate Mass). Most notably Nicholas Cabásilas, in his Commentary on the Divine Liturgy, points out that the Suuplices te rogamus is contained in the Latin Canon as an “ascending” epiclesis. Furthermore, the question of when the consecration takes place or with what words was not controversial for the first 1000 years when the Latin and Greek churches were united. In summary, the omission of the filioque and the addition of the epiclesis do not violate the axiom lex orandi, lex credendi because dogma was not being used to correct liturgy; rather, the liturgy was discharging a foreign element (filioque) and bringing to the fore what was already present (epiclesis). In the end, then, the Holy Synod of Moscow, together with the Holy Synods of Constantinople, Antioch, Alexandria, Serbia, and Romania have seen and acknowledged the true faith within the Latin liturgy, not by examining doctrinal disputes but by praying the prayers.

Departing from my excursus, I suggest that the phrase “take the same action” is not tied simplistically and literally to the 1936 Ukase. Rather, we should see His Beatitude’s statement within the larger context of the Orthodox principle that the liturgy is “primary theology” which informs and shapes the teaching and confession of the Church. In this light, we can see the instruction to “take the same action” as being in concert with 1000 years of Eastern councils and fathers, as well as the the Synods of Moscow and Constantinople. In no instance do these Holy Synods or Patriarchs blame the Latin orandi; rather, they approve the ancient Latin liturgical texts without correction. 

The implementation of Patriarch Alexander’s directive by Metropolitan Antony and his successors supports my conclusion. When the parishes and monastery led by Fr Alexander Turner were received into the Archdiocese, they used exclusively the Missale Romanum (fifth edition, 1920) and the Breviarium Monasticum (1933 edition). Subsequently, when English became the dominant liturgical language, mandated were (a) the 1958 English Missal (Missale Anglicanum) with preference for the pre-schism Holy Week; (b) the translation of the Benedictine Breviary by Winfred Douglas, et al.; and (c) self-published Orthodox Ritual (1952), which was chiefly a translation of the Rituale Romanum used at SS Denis and Seraphim in Paris. The use of these books demonstrate how with “Orthodox zeal and good judgment…the details in the local situation”  of the phrase “take the same action” were applied.

III.

The foregoing, I think, adequately describes the liturgical history of the Western Rite Vicariate in the Antiochian Orthodox Christian Archdiocese of North America. Yet that history would not be complete without indicating challenges that we, and other Western Orthodox vicariates and communities, continue to struggle with chiefly as it relates to liturgical matters.

The greatest challenge is the desire to adjust, edit, or change the Latin liturgical texts to make them “truly Orthodox.” Regrettably, the starting point for this desire is a reversal of the Orthodox principle of lex orandi, lex credendi which results in an attempt to do some anachronistic reverse engineering of the liturgy. What fuels this desire is the following syllogism: Because the Church of Rome is in error about several doctrines, and because it is correct to say that doctrine comes from the liturgy, therefore there must be something in the liturgy—the Mass, the Breviary, the Ritual—that needs to be corrected or fixed in order to eradicate these errors and purify the liturgy.  “Since their dogma is wrong,” goes the thinking, “their liturgy must be wrong or at least carry the seeds for their error.” It is a neat syllogism, but the premise is wrong, and therefore the conclusion is wrong.

This incorrect syllogism is certainly the thinking of Protestants vis a vis Rome. And so, the Lutherans, Calvinists, and Anglicans changed the received Latin liturgical texts—Mass, Office, and Ritual—in order to fit their new-found dogmas. Protestants, therefore, expunged references to (i) the intercession and merits of the saints, (ii) Mary as ever-Virgin, (iii) notions of eucharistic sacrifice, (iv) the liturgical use of the deutero-canonical books; (v) the nature and purpose of sacraments, and other things. (Ironically, they kept the filioque.) In a similar way, reverse engineering the errors of Rome based on dogma leads to the suspicion that certain phrases must be altered or corrected in order to purify or “orthodize” the liturgies prayed by St Gregory, St Leo, St Patrick, and St Boniface. Yet in most cases, what some seek to change are phrases that pre-date any thought a Great Schism, and so there is the desire to cut out phrases or terms whose Orthodoxy has never been questioned. What is revealed, regrettably, is that Orthodoxy sometimes is infected with the Protestant virus in order to root out the Roman error. 

Based on this desire to cleanse and purify, questions have been raised concerning the phrase “merits of the saints.” Very briefly, references to the merits of the saints are ancient, pre-schism positions, both East and West, which were never questioned liturgically or theologically until after the Protestant revolution. This question is complicated by the wrong-headed medieval catechesis that “merits of the saints” referred to supererogatory or superabundant merits, based on an economic system of treasuring up saintly deeds. Yet, on this latter point, the problem is not the liturgical texts (the orandi), but a misrepresentation of what is meant dogmatically or catechetically (i.e., credendi). 

Another example is the phrase from the Easter Vigil Exsultet, a chant which is from the 5th to 7th centuries. The phrase in question reads: “O truly necessary sin of Adam, which by the death of Christ was done away! O happy fault, which was counted worthy to have such and so great a Redeemer.” These words seem to double-down on all the wrong understandings of the Orthodox doctrine on sin, concupiscence, and the incarnation. For example, does the sin of Adam necessitate the death of Christ? In what way is this fault (culpa) happy (felix), and does our fault control our redemption or Christ’s passion? In other words, does Christ come as a consequence of our creation (as St Irenaeus suggests) or as a consequence of our transgression (as the Exsultet suggests)? The easy response is to alter or delete this phrase, but such a move will indicate that one dogmatic emphasis of the atonement overrides an ancient prayer.

What should be the response, then, when the orandi challenges our understanding of the credendi? Borrowing terms from 16th century European theology (both Roman and Protestant), the first response is to recall that the Orthodox phronema employs a ministerial use of reason in regard to the lex orandi. In other words, we submit our notions to the prayer and let the liturgical texts be the ultimate arbiter since the liturgy determines the faith. Our understanding and interpretations bend to the received text. While academic pursuits aid in explaining what is given, they ought not determine or dictate the established liturgical practice. Moreover, altering, changing, or omitting liturgical phrases would be editing texts that not only pre-date the schism, but which also can and have been understood correctly in the church’s tradition and, as stated above, is akin to editing difficult phrases inspired by the same Holy Spirit in the Holy Scriptures. Likewise, editing liturgical texts to fit current dogmatic understanding reverses the Orthodox rule of prayer establishing creed, making the dogma correct the liturgy rather than letting the prayer establish the creed. Finally, such editing suggests an unorthodox view of the development of doctrine. The Church states that development means simply that we refine our articulation or explanation of the unchanging faith, not that the faith itself can change due to refined understandings of dogmatic formulae, biblical exegesis, and better ressourcement. Based on the axiom that our doctrines are the result of faithful longstanding liturgical texts that precede our current theological hang-ups or crises, permit me to suggest that the best response is to live with the tension the liturgy may create in the mind; that is, to let the prayer stew in our hearts and minds so that these ancient, time-tested, Orthodox phrases may shape and mold our faith and, most importantly, govern our catechesis. Rather than giving into the Protestant notion of changing or deleting the words, the off-putting words need to be retained while the richness of their original meaning is discovered and taught. 

Another significant challenge relates to the inclusion of certain later feasts, such as the Trinity Sunday, Christ the King, Sacred Heart, Corpus Christ, the Seven Sorrows of the Blessed Virgin Mary, or the Maternity of the Theotokos which celebrates the 1500th anniversary of the 3rd Ecumenical Council. The same concern may be raised about certain later devotions, such as the Stations of the Cross, Adoration and Benediction, and the Rosary as practiced in the late Middle Ages until 1917. Some of these feasts and devotions correspond to current or latent Byzantine and Slavic customs, or address in a Latin use an ancient heresy that affected Europe. The challenge, however, is whether and in what way these feasts or devotions ought to be, or may be, incorporated in a Western Orthodox context. Questions that have informed discussion in the Western Rite Vicariate of these and related issues include: (a) Is it legitimate to say that these are not of the Holy Spirit, even if they are outside the canonical boundaries of the Orthodox Church? (b) Is it proper to establish a hard and fast “cut-off” date and, if so, what is that date and how is it determined? (c) In evaluating liturgical texts and practice, what is the difference between schism and heresy? (d) In what way do St Paul’s statements concerning the proclamation of the Gospel out of envy (Phil. 1.15-18), and the acceptance of “whatever is true…just…pure…lovely” (Phil. 4.8) apply to these feasts and devotions? Underlying all these questions are two foundational questions: the proper criteria and the proper authorities for making these judgments. Concerning the former, what are the grounds for proper criteria? Concerning the latter, certainly the judgment is made by the hierarchy. But is a judgment made if a practice is tolerated, or if one bishop or Metropolitan rules, or must one wait for a Patriarchal decision? 

It seems to me that Patriarch Alexander III, at least in blessing the establishment of the Western Rite Vicariate in the US Antiochian metropolis, trusted his Metropolitan to do what was good and right. Equally, it seems that His Beatitude offered wholesome guidance on the criteria when he wrote: “take the same action, leaving to your Orthodox zeal and good judgment the right to work out the details in the local situation as you see fit.”

 

Originally published on 30 March 2024

By the Very Reverend John W. Fenton

Lex orandi, lex credendi. That axiomatic phrase concisely summarizes the interplay between liturgy and dogma in Orthodoxy theology. Lex orandi, lex credendi means, “the rule of prayer is the rule of faith.” More idiomatically, “what we pray determines what we believe.” Or, using a translation-lite theory: “If you mess with the liturgy, you are messing with the faith.”

As I’ve said in another place, this ancient phrase explains why Orthodoxy does not have one collection of confessional statements like the Lutherans and Calvinists; why Orthodoxy does not have one “explains-all” catechism like the Roman Catholics; and why we should be suspicious of any dogmatic textbook that definitively declares, “Here’s what we believe.” Lex orandi, lex credendi also explains why it’s not only insufficient but dangerous to read, podcast, or YouTube your way into Orthodoxy. Our faith is not a systematic, logical, mental activity. Our faith is a mystical, divine-human experience. The prayer we have received by the Spirit in the Church is the prayer that forms and determines what we believe. What we believe are found exclusively and definitively in the Mass, the Divine Office, and the Ritual. If it’s not in the liturgy, we don’t believe it. Which means that our Orthodox dogmatics do not influence, correct, or define our liturgy; rather, our liturgy defines, corrects, and refines Orthodox dogmatics. That’s lex orandi, lex credendi.

I.

What this means, then, is that we don’t worship in a particular way or with these or those phrases because they best fit our belief-system. That theory reverses the phrase, making it: lex credendi, lex orandi. In other words, how I must adjust the prayer and the liturgy to fit what I believe. When that happens, dogma determines worship. And catechetics—the method of teaching the faith—now defines the words used in worship. That’s the Protestant idea, which has now successfully infected modern Roman Catholic liturgics. This gross inversion of the phrase sees liturgy as primarily didactic—it’s there to teach and to reinforce the church’s creed. In other words, liturgy merely inculcates already determined doctrines. When liturgy is chiefly or exclusively pedagogical, then liturgical phrases, liturgical actions, and liturgical directions can—and sometimes must—be changed to fit chosen doctrinal emphases. This didactic view of liturgy gave Martin Luther the permission to castrate the Mass by eliminating the Canon, which is the heart and center of the liturgy, because notions of Eucharistic sacrifice did not fit his theory of atonement. The marriage rite was also changed because it did not fit his sacramental system. And the Divine Office—the breviary—was reduced and gutted so that it might be more about getting through the Bible, getting through all the Psalms, and teaching Scripture, rather than realizing that, since the time of the Davidic temple, certain Psalms are meant for specific times and days, as well as the godly repetition of main themes.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with teaching. But the liturgy is not a school; the homily is not an apologetics, polemics, or an inculcating lecture; and the Breviary is not a differently organized Bible. Liturgy teaches, but liturgy is not about teaching or for teaching. Liturgy is not about immediate, accessible understanding. Liturgy is about prayer, about approaching the Most Holy One, using words crafted by the Holy Spirit, handed down in the Holy Spirit, and implanted in the heart by the Holy Spirit. When we see that, then liturgy is not reformed because of doctrine. Instead, doctrine serves liturgy. Doctrine explains liturgy. Doctrine is reformed by liturgy. And furthermore, catechetics—like Bible reading and Bible study and teaching the Christian faith—this is simply slowing down and letting us chew on what we’ve heard and experienced in the Mass. That’s lex orandi, lex credendi. 

II.

There are some who eschew Protestantism and Romanism, but who still run with the flipped phrase; who still operate as if dogma needs to correct worship. Based on this unOrthodox lex credendi, lex orandi, these well-meaning folks do some anachronistic reverse engineering. Here’s the thinking: because the Church of Rome is rightly determined to be in error about this or that, and because it is correct to say that doctrine comes from the liturgy, therefore there must be something in their liturgy—the Mass, the Divine Office, the Ritual—that needs to be fixed so that we Orthodox are not infected with the same error or errors. “Since their dogma is wrong,” goes the thinking, “their liturgy must be wrong or at least carry the seeds for their error.” It’s a neat syllogism, but the premise is wrong, and therefore the conclusion is wrong.

This incorrect syllogism is certainly the thinking of Protestants vis a vis Rome. And so, the Lutherans, Calvinists, and Anglicans changed the received Latin liturgical texts—Mass, Office, and Ritual—in order to fit their pre-determined dogmas. Examples include expunging references to (i) the intercession and merits of the saints, (ii) Mary as ever-Virgin, (iii) notions of eucharistic sacrifice, (iv)the liturgical use of the deutero-canonical books; and (v) the nature and purpose of sacraments. (Of course, they ironically kept the filioque—which is not really a liturgical issue per se; but more on that later.) In a similar way, reverse engineering the errors of Rome leads to the suspicion that certain phrases must be altered or corrected in order to purify or “orthodize” the liturgies prayed by St Gregory, St Leo, St Patrick, or St Boniface. Yet in most cases, what some seek to change are phrases that pre-date any thought a Great Schism; they slice or alter prayer whose Orthodoxy has never been questioned until lately. What is revealed, regrettably, is that Orthodoxy sometimes is infected with the Protestant bug in order to root out the Roman error. 

As I said earlier, such reverse engineering is anachronistic, and the syllogism is false. That’s because (a) the doctrinal errors of Rome do not come from the liturgy; (b) the doctrinal errors of Rome post-date the liturgy; and (c) the doctrinal errors of Rome are, for the most part, a catechetical errors. The Latin liturgy which we’ve received has not changed in essence since 600 AD. That liturgy, both in Missal, Ritual, and Breviary, remains Orthodox. What has changed, both in Rome and outside Rome, are the explanations or redefining of various terms which have been twisted the liturgical, Orthodox patristic understanding of the church’s tradition. In other instances, the liturgy is virtually ignored in dogma or teaching thereby rendering it merely an archaic means of prayer which is disconnected, more or less, from the church’s teaching. In both cases, the fault does not necessarily or inevitably lie within the liturgical texts. Lex orandi, lex credendi remains true; however, the credendi is no longer informed by the orandi; rather, dogma has run over liturgy letting credendi define orandi.

Not to put too fine a point on it, the 19th century Holy Synod of Moscow understood that the Latin liturgical texts were still in line with lex orandi, lex credendi. And so, following 1000 years of Eastern councils and fathers, the Moscow Synod did not blame the Latin orandi, but approved the Latin liturgical texts (Missal, Breviary, Ritual) without correction. One might think there were two exceptions. First, the filioque was rightly omitted, but not because there was a liturgical error but because the insertion perpetuated a canonical error. And second, by pastoral provision, the request was made to insert an epiclesis, not because of some deficiency in the Latin Canon but to make explicit what is already implied in the Canon (and stated explicitly in the Offertory prayers and the required Præparatio ad Missam prayers). In these two instances, the axiom lex orandi, lex credendi was not violated because dogma was not being used to correct liturgy; rather, the liturgy was discharging a foreign element (filioque) and bringing to the fore what was already present (epiclesis). In the end, then, the Holy Synod of Moscow, together with the Holy Synods of Constantinople, Antioch, Romania, Serbia, Bulgaria, and others have seen and acknowledged the true faith within the Latin liturgy, not by examining doctrinal disputes but by praying the prayers. That’s lex orandi, lex credendi.

III.

Another fine Latin phrase is this: crede ut intellegas. St Augustine coins this phrase when he is homiletically explicating Isaiah 7.9. He rebuffs the pre-scholastic view that one must understand in order to believe. Instead, St Augustine holds the Orthodox line: Believe in order to understand. Crede ut intellegas. Notice the order. Belief precedes understanding. Belief shapes understanding.

And where does belief come from? The prayer in the liturgy. Our liturgy establishes faith, which then in turn confesses with the mouth and explains doctrinally using the intellect. The prayer shapes the creed which transforms the intellect.  

People are instructed in the truths of faith, and brought to appreciate the inner joys of religion far more effectually, by the annual celebration of our sacred mysteries than by any official pronouncement of the teaching of the Church. … The Church’s teaching affects the mind primarily; her feasts affect both mind and heart, and have a salutary effect upon the whole of man’s nature.

In brief, the experience of God is more beneficial and pastorally practical than cognitive understanding of God. God comes to us incarnationally in prayer—not chiefly in individual prayer, but in prayer as His Body and within His Body. This practical experience that every human needs to have with God must be driven not by beliefs—whether imposed or self-chosen—nor by values, nor by propositional doctrines. Rather, the practical experience that every human needs to have with God must be rooted in an unchanging pattern of worship which God Himself revealed and established beginning in the days of Adam and which has grown, with increasing clarity, in the Church. 

Lex orandi, lex credendi is shorthand for ut legem credendi lex statuat supplicandi. The law of faith is established by the way we pray. The axiom states that primary, real and authentic theology is when we experience Our Lord God in His holy worship, His liturgy. In Academia, this means that the liturgy is “primary theology.” Liturgy is the source of all theology—dogmatic, historical, pastoral, and even exegetical and biblical theology. In the words of Fr Schmemann, the liturgy is the ontological condition for theology. Therefore, “primary theology” refers to the foundation, the imprimis, the “first things,” for any talk about God. Secondary theology—which is catechetical and doctrinal—builds on primary theology. Primary theology, which is the liturgy, establishes and gives the outline for dogma, which is secondary theology.

The prayer, the orandi or supplicandi, is of greatest importance because it gives the fertile ground (statuat) to root the credendi. What we pray matters not simply because we have been told to pray and given prayers; it matters because that is where our faith is located; not just expressed, but fashioned and shaped. If it’s not in the liturgy, then we don’t believe it.

That was a seismic shift in my thinking that led me out of Lutheranism and swung me away from Romanism. Together with Calvinism and its better dressed cousin Anglicanism, post-Vatican II Romanism and all Protestantism rely more and more on doctrinal formulations as the true foundation of theology. The “What we believe” page on their websites are more important than the invitation to “come and see” or “taste and see” or a peek at their livestream. Hence, when I went looking for what the Orthodox church believed and taught, I discovered that we believe what we pray; and what we don’t pray is of no, or little, or lesser importance on our “doctrine-chart.” That’s lex orandi, lex credendi.

What happens, then, when we come across a phrase that just sounds “off”? It might be off-putting because of our upbringing, or because it seems to sound like “the other guys,” or because it seems to say too much; or when the orandi challenges our understanding of the credendi? In other words, it’s a liturgically cringy phrase. 

The first response is to recall that the Orthodox phronema employs a ministerial use of reason in regard to the lex orandi. In other words, we submit our notions to the prayer and let the liturgical texts be the ultimate arbiter since the liturgy determines the faith; our understanding and interpretations bend to the received text; and academic pursuits aid in explaining what is given but do not determine or dictate the established liturgical practice. Moreover, altering, changing, or omitting liturgical phrases would be editing texts that not only pre-date the schism, but which have been understood correctly in the church’s tradition. Additionally, editing reverses the Orthodox understanding of prayer establishing creed, making the dogma correct the liturgy rather than letting the prayer establish the creed. Such editing suggests an understanding of the development of doctrine that the Orthodox Church has routinely rejected. For the Orthodox, development means that we refine our articulation of the unchanging faith, not that the faith itself has changed due to refined understandings of dogmatic formulae, biblical exegesis, and better ressourcement. 

Based on the axiom that our doctrines are the result of faithful longstanding liturgical texts that precede our current theological hang-ups or crises, permit me to suggest that the best response is to live with the tension the liturgy may create in the mind; that is, to let the prayer stew in our hearts and minds so that these ancient, time-tested, Orthodox phrases may shape and mold our faith and, most importantly, govern our catechesis. Rather than giving into the Protestant notion of changing or deleting the words, the off-putting words need to be retained while the richness of their original meaning is taught. That’s lex orandi, lex credendi.

Finally, what needs to be made clear is the most important principle of all concerning Orthodox liturgy. The liturgy, as we have received it, is a living prayer inspired by and flowing from the Holy Spirit. To say it simply, the Orthodox liturgy—in whatever rite—is of the Holy Spirit in the same way that the Scriptural texts are of the Holy Spirit. For not only does the Scripture form most of the liturgy, that same Spirit who inspired holy men of God to speak the writings we now call “Scripture” is the same Spirit who inspired equally holy men of God—and their Spirit-ordained successors—to offer the prayers we pray. Since this is the case, altering hard-to-grasp phrases in the liturgy is as troublesome as editing similar phrases in the Holy Scriptures. For both are canon—both Scripture and liturgy contain the norm or standard of Christian faith and practice.

V.

What I’ve discussed above is based on texts found in the Mass, the Breviary, and the Ritual. But liturgy is more than texts. If lex orandi was concerned only with the printed, spoken, or sung words, then the priest, ministers, and choir would simply need to declaim those words without any care for ambiance, musical style, or liturgical arts. However, orandi includes the setting as well as the jewel; the context as well as the text. That context is described in the rubrics, both general and picayune, in order to convey the credendi into hearts and minds. To say it another way, “the belief in the Real Presence is powerfully demonstrated, especially in the numerous gestures of reverence.” Perhaps these examples may suffice.

In the Latin Mass and in the Byzantine Divine Liturgy, it is not merely customary that the hand of the bishop or priest be reverenced with a ceremonial kiss (osculum). Rather, kissing the hand indicates that the one dressed up as Christ is to be treated as Christ, since the bishop or priest acts in the stead or even in the person of Christ (in persona Christi). This is, after all, why these presiders wear vestiture resembling both the clothing of Old Testament priests as well as that same clothing worn by the Christ-figure in some of the earliest crucifixes. For not some well-trained, articulate, intelligent theologian is standing before the faithful; rather “Christ is in our midst.” The orandi with kisses demonstrate this; as they do also when the altar is kissed at various points, when the Gospel book is kissed, and when various blessed objects are reverenced with a kiss. How the prayer is conducted creedally instructs that things are seen to be precious because of the Precious One.

Similarly, in the Western tradition, the priest is instructed never to look directly at the faithful (except, perhaps, during the homily). This “custody of the eyes” is not merely a court ceremonial from a bygone culture, a bygone era. Like the kisses, downcast eyes convey that the presider is not the center of attention; that he stands in for One greater than he; and that what matters most is the life-creating, life-transforming, life-invigorating Word who stands before the faithful in the person of the priest. The notions surrounding the custody of the eyes can also apply to other bodily expression by both priest and servers. In the mind of the orandi, gestures and movements, of whatever kind, are not grand and large, designed to attract attention or demand; rather, they are subtle in order not to distract but to indicate the credendi of Christ’s graciousness and kindly invitation.

The rubrics also direct that vestments, vessels, and other appointments are to be of the best quality possible. While this context certainly can and does teach, that is not its purpose. The credendi is derived from the liturgy, not driving it. And so, the orandi is not performance art nor a way to engage the emotions. Liturgical prayer invites one into an on-going celestial event; an event where we are blessed to experience, if only in brief glimpses, the magnificent sounds, sights, smells, and beauty of the “marriage feast of the Lamb in the kingdom which has no end.” 

VI.

Here, then, is the heart of the matter. Orthodox theology begins, is grounded in, and finds its nature and purpose in liturgy. Liturgy, as we’ve received it both West and East, is the sine non qua for Orthodoxy. Change, alter, edit, cancel, omit, or ignore liturgical texts with their actions, and you run the grave risk—if not the actual possibility—of changing the Orthodox faith. Now this doesn’t mean that liturgy hasn’t changed, or that it can’t change. Certainly, liturgy changes. For example, we know that the Agnus Dei was inserted into the Latin Mass in the late 7th century when Pope Sergius I imported this chant from his Antiochene Syrian heritage “to be sung by clergy and people at the time of the breaking of the Lord’s body.” But notice several aspects of this change. First, the insertion of the Agnus Dei is not a doctrinally driven correction or change, as if a teaching is being introduced or emphasized; or as if there was a previous dogmatic deficiency. Second, the use of the Agnus Dei is mandated by a bishop for pastoral reasons, rather than by some priest, theologian or committee who simply determines to alter or correct, to add or subtract. Third, the addition is “organic;” that is, it fits neatly into the regular order of things, and is not an archeological insertion. Fourth, the change has a commendable precedence within the liturgical use of the Church. And finally, the introduction of the Agnus Dei is slow and gradual; in this case, as most often occurs, the chant is initially used in the bishop’s cathedral or only whenever he celebrates, and over time is imitated by other bishops in their places.

What drives the change in orandi, then, is enhancing the prayer. Reductions in the Introit and other intervenient chants are made for the same reason—to enhance prayer by not overtaxing the ears of the worshippers, and by focusing our minds on one or two well-chosen phrases. In brief, piety rather than dogma is at the heart of organic liturgical emendations. And even then, liturgy changes in inches, over decades or centuries, rather than a jolting new ceremony or text that goes into effect on a specific day.

When doctrinal concerns drive the liturgy, however, the credendi rides roughshod over the orandi. In the best instances, this is an attempt to correct an imbalance. But even then, the tension is broken that necessarily and naturally exists between schools or regions that stammer to explain the mystery of God in His Church. Said another way, doctrinally driven change to liturgy inevitably flattens the doctrine and lessens the mystery. Flattening and lessening mystery is antithetical to the Orthodox phronema. And we’ve not even addressed the unintended consequences. For example, when Luther excised the Canon, he eliminated the embolism to the Our Father which, in turn, caused a four-hundred-year slide in the understanding of the incarnation to the point that nearly every Lutheran these days rejects one of Luther’s cardinal incarnational teachings; namely, that Mary is ever-Virgin.

By insisting that lex orandi establish and ground (statuat) lex credendi, Orthodox worship is properly ordered. Its purpose and nature are clear: to locate what we believe in the words and ceremonies—the text and rubrics—we employ in prayer.

 

By the Very Reverend John W. Fenton

Liturgical Theology is the study of Christian liturgy. Liturgy itself, broadly understood, studies the Church’s ritual, prayer, and worship practices. Generally, it does not include individual practices or prayers, and may even exclude so-called non-liturgical devotions such as Stations of the Cross, the Rosary, etc. Rather, it includes these subdisciplines:

• The texts that are used, and have been used in various times and places, for prayer, blessing, making and giving sacraments, and other forms of public worship.
• The ceremonies that are used in the liturgy, including the rubrics or directions that command or suggest those ceremonies. 
• The items or implements, the art and architecture, the music and instrumentation, the fabrics and colors, the sewing and clothing arts, and whatever else is necessary or used in the conduct of liturgy.
• The context of liturgy, including the cultural, linguistic, practical, geographic, musical, and historical influences on liturgy.
• The meaning and importance of liturgy itself, as a Christian activity; and its place in the Church.
• The level and significance of liturgical participation by the laity, choir, and various clergy.

In the Orthodox context, liturgical theology understands the Church’s official worship as the definitive primary source for any theology. This operational principle is reflected in the age-old adage lex orandi, lex credendi, which in its earliest formulation implies that the “law of faith,” or belief content, is determined, or shaped, by the “law of prayer,” or liturgical praxis. This last point—the place of liturgy within the framework of theological disciplines, is the most significant which I’ll address in a different series of lecture. For now, however, we want to consider the primary sources of Christian liturgy.

A scientific approach to liturgical theology indicates that the sources must be documents that either were actually used in liturgical worship, or that record liturgical events. Those who take this scientific approach usually begin with documents recorded after the Ascension of Our Lord—whether from the New Testament or from post-apostolic sources. Many understand that these documents are rooted in Hebraic tradition. In other words, Christian liturgy did not start from nothing, nor was it simply the brainstorm of Jesus and the Apostles. Rather, Christian liturgy builds on the Temple liturgy that was the pattern of prayer and ceremony known to the children of Abraham at the time of Christ. The extent to which the early Christians reformed, in a protestantizing way, those pre-Christian liturgical texts and rites is considered in yet another lecture I’ll offer.

For now, then, let us understand the challenges of examining the primary sources of Christian liturgy. A first challenge is that very few documents exist until the 4th and 5th centuries. One reason should be rather obvious: Christianity was a persecuted and, at times, literally an underground religion. Christians worshipped in catacombs or cemeteries; they followed strict security protocols; their highest ranking and leading members were often the first to be tortured and executed; they were outcasts not only from society but from their own families; and so they ministered to the poorest of the poor, the most downcast, and those with little hope of longevity. If records were kept, they were most likely destroyed either by the government or to safeguard others.

Another reason for few documents would be the difficulty of writing and copying documents, even in the best of times. Only the wealthy could afford and house books. And so many of our sources are either secreted away, or preserved by those who were not Christian but had received either some testimony or had some curious interest in cultish groups. Combine that with the fact that the need to survive does not produce many historians or historical records, and you can see the challenge.

I think, however, that the greatest reason there are few early records has less to do with persecution or wealth, and more to do with how worship is conducted. By its nature, Christian liturgy is best done when it is done without a book. The Psalms are sung by memory. The prayers follow a pattern that is inculcated in the mind but not necessarily written in a book. The ceremonies are conducted according to a flow that is natural in a structured culture. The songs follow the usual melodic forms for solemn prayer. And all of this is colored, influenced, and culturally dictated by the Old Testament temple worship.

This, to me, leads to one inescapable but rarely mentioned conclusion: the primary liturgical book for Christian liturgy in the earliest days was simply the Bible. This Bible was, at first, exclusively the Old Testament with worship leaning heavily into the Psalms, with readings from the Torah and Wisdom literature. In short order, it is reasonable to assume that some of the recently circulated “memoirs of the Apostles” (Gospels) and a few significant letters (Epistles) were read, as the bishop saw fit. But that was about it, at least for written documentary texts. And, frankly, the Bible is still the foundation for Christian liturgy. For the Scriptures are, and have been even in the Old Testament, a liturgical book first and foremost. In other words, the Scriptures are recorded and collected for use in the liturgy, and only later for outside reading, study, and sourcing in debate.

Yet even the Bible, as documentary liturgical text, gives us very little about how Temple or Christian liturgy was conducted. Only centuries later, from the sixth century through the 16th century, are directions or rubrics given that describe or prescribe how the rite is to be conducted. And even these fail in helping us see the liturgy. For even to this day, liturgical worship is learned not by reading a book or even watching a YouTube video. Liturgical worship is learned—truly embedded and inculcated in the heart—by experience; and not just once or twice, but by standing in the nave or at the altar week after week, month after month, year after year.

And this leads two my second major point. The science of liturgical theology relies heavily on the study of documents, architecture, art, and other ‘hard evidence.’ But Christian liturgy—in fact, all worship in any religion—is, by its very nature, experiential. In other words, the documents and other ‘hard evidence’ only give you an outline of what happens in liturgy, but not a complete or fulsome picture of the actual happening. And while anecdotal evidence may help color in some of the outline, even at its best this ‘soft evidence’ merely describes what happened in one or a few occurrences, during one era, in one location.

With the Scriptures, then, what should be the primary source for Liturgical Theology in order to gain a more well-rounded understanding of Christian liturgy? Coming from an Orthodox perspective, that primary source should be Tradition. And ‘tradition’ refers more to the Spirit’s work through the ages than to interesting ceremonial quirks, occasional rubrics, or theologized rituals. I would argue that even the preponderance of the earliest liturgical documents don’t capture the Tradition since they not only can’t explain how the rite is done, but they often describe the hierarchical liturgy—not the daily or Sunday worship in the typical parish church; in other words, not what most Christians in most times and places have experienced.

Where, then, is the Tradition manifest? The answer is not evidence-based in the sense that it can be examined minutely by an objective observer. Rather, the answer is evidence-based but more malleable, requiring someone with ‘inside’ information. For the Tradition of liturgy depends greatly on the phrase: “Here’s how we do it,” or “Here’s how I was taught,” or “Here’s what the bishop wants.” And that last phrase is, by far, the most important. Not just because the bishop’s role is to direct the liturgy in his diocese, or because the best priests look to and copy the bishop’s manner of serving, as best they can in their circumstances; but more importantly because the bishop is the guarantor and embodiment of the Tradition since he is both the conduit of the Spirit’s movement in the Church as well as a direct spiritual descendant of the Holy Apostles. Let me say that again. The evidence-based view of how liturgy is done is the bishop, in his time and place, precisely because he is the guarantor and embodiment of the Tradition since he is both the conduit of the Spirit’s movement in the Church as well as a direct spiritual descendant of the Holy Apostles

Now, this answer is not objectively, scientifically satisfying, because everyone knows that bishops will have different tastes, knowledge, attention, perspectives, and even liturgical theologies; and that different pastoral circumstances will dictate different solutions to specific details. For example, one bishop may insist on a declaimed canon or anaphora, another on an audible canon spoken over or in conjunction with the singing, and another a whispered canon. And the reasons may be myriad: time, instruction, theory, literacy of the communities, or simply preference. Yet, since Tradition as living because it is the Spirit’s ‘vehicle’ for continuing the Faith, the ‘living’ part in “Living Tradition” is the bishop himself, who has been graced by the Spirit to “rightly divide the word of Truth” in order “to be in word and conversation a wholesome example to the people committed to his charge; that he with them may attain unto everlasting life.”

The attainment of everlasting life is the goal of Christian liturgy. And the bishop’s primary role is to aid the liturgy so that his local church remains within the Tradition in a way that does not frustrate but sets forward our salvation. Because of him, then, the liturgy in a particular time and place brings the documentary evidence alive within a prescribed setting (architecture) using the arts (music, fabric, icon) that he deems beneficial. 

This “boots on the ground” view of liturgical theology is, to my mind, foundational in examining not only what liturgy is but also why it is. It recognizes that, more than any encyclical, catechism, textbook, preaching, or social media, the day in and day out experience, adoration, and imploring of God as the Body of Christ is the place and way in which we work out our salvation. That “we” includes the infants as well as the adults, the educationally challenged as well as the elites, the poorest as well as the richest, and every person from every ethic, cultural, linguistic background. But most of all, in the liturgy we, together beside and united to one another, present to Our Lord the offering of ourselves, beset and besmirched with so many and varied ungodly passions and fears. And the purpose of the liturgy is both to give us hope as well as to give us the wherewithal to continue to struggle, both downward and upward, into the kingdom of heaven.

If the discipline of liturgical study devolves into little more than academic presentations about what, how, where, and when Christian worship is or has been done, then it has missed its most important task—to aid bishops, priests, deacons, and laity in offering our best using our best. That was the initial impetus of the Liturgical Movement in the 20th century, both in the church of Rome and in the Orthodox churches, driven most notably by the diaspora Russians. These pioneers of Liturgical Theology understood that liturgy was not about history or dogma, but about the work of the Holy Spirit. What they missed—what both Catholics and Orthodox missed—was the vital role of the bishop. For he was the living embodiment of how liturgy is done, putting flesh on the skeleton and finishing touches on the framework.

The bishop’s role, then, is not merely a role; not a character or actor is the choreography called liturgy. The bishop’s role is fundamental. Implicitly or explicitly, passively or with clear direction, he helps breath life into the liturgy. To say it awkwardly, the bishop Spirits Jesus in our worship. To say it more elegantly using the words of Our Lord, the bishop leads us in worshiping in Spirit and in Truth. 

Let me conclude, then, with my thesis: the heart of an Orthodox study of Liturgical Theology begins and ends with understanding that St Ignatius is not talking about administration or ecclesial dogma, but is making a profoundly liturgical statement when he declares: “wherever the bishop appears, there let the people be; as wherever Jesus Christ is, there is the Catholic Church.”

 

By Fr. David McCready

In the first part of this article we saw that the Fathers, who are the teachers of our holy Orthodox faith, not only recognized the variety of different rites which prevailed in the early church, but actively extolled this diversity. Our conclusion, therefore, was that of Fr Schmemann: ‘Orthodoxy has no objection to the Western Rite as such.’¹

In this part, I want to look at the question as to whether or not the rites actually practiced today in the Antiochian Western Rite Vicariate are Orthodox. Continue reading “Western Rite Orthodoxy: An Apologia — Part 2”

By Fr. David McCready

Part 1: The Witness of Tradition

Cet animal est très méchant. Quand on l’attaque, il se défend. I was reminded of this old French saying the other day, when, in what was quite a stark critique of the western rite, a certain priest-blogger accused those who questioned his theses of being overly defensive! In his hostility to the western rite, this blogger represents, I believe, only a small minority of Orthodox; as a western-rite priest, and, before that, as a western-rite seminarian, I have in general encountered nothing but warmth and welcome from hierarchs, clergy, and lay-people alike, both in the Antiochian Archdiocese, and in other jurisdictions as well. This said, there are some folk who do have honest concerns and questions about the western rite, and it is them especially that I want to address. I shall begin by looking at how Tradition vindicates the principle of a western rite, looking at the witness of the Fathers, at the post-patristic period, and at the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Continue reading “Western Rite Orthodoxy: An Apologia — Part 1”