I’m Only Human

As a society, we fluctuate between extremes in how we see humankind and its potential. On the one hand, we love self-help books, we want to fix ourselves and to fulfill our individual dreams. On the other hand, we look at man as just another animal filled with its own sets of instincts and innate desires that need to be met. If we follow these to their natural conclusions, we’re led either to the temptation of pride or to despair. It’s this negative vision of humanity that causes us to say that exasperated expression, “I’m only human!”

 

Saint Irenaeus famously wrote, Gloria Dei est vivens homo, "The glory of God is man fully alive," or,  "the glory of God is a living man." He went on to say that "the life of a man is the vision of God.” So there must be something more to being human than society assumes. There must be something more profound in our human experience, if it’s through being human that we encounter and know the Living God.

 

What are we actually saying when we refer to ourselves as only human? After all, what we say matters, and our words about God and mankind reveal what we believe about ourselves and God. Here are three reasons Orthodox Christians probably shouldn’t say we’re “only human.”

 

1. It denies the work of Christ

 

If we refer to ourselves as “only human,” what does that say about our belief in the work of Jesus Christ? It gets to something deeper: why Jesus even came in the first place. Father Thomas Hopko, of blessed memory, has a beautiful reflection on Jesus Christ as a man that’s really worth listening to (along with any and all of his podcasts!).

 

Something truly remarkable happened 2000 years ago. God - in all of His glory and power - became human. He entered into our experience, He took on our humanity and lifted it up, lifted us up into a relationship with Him. And in case we forget this mystery, we confess our belief “in one Lord Jesus Christ...Who for us men and for our salvation came down from heaven and was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary and became man.” And on Pascha we hear the words from the Gospel of John, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God...and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:1, 14). That God became human is key to our understanding of ourselves and God.

 

"Though He was in the form of God, [Jesus] did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men." (Philippians 2:6-7). God did all of this, He tells us, so that we "may have life and have it abundantly" (John 10:10). When we have put on Christ (Galatians 3:27) in baptism, when we have been grafted into Christ (John 15: 1; Romans 11:17), when we “become partakers of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1) by receiving Christ in Eucharist, we have this abundant life.

 

Jesus didn’t become human so that we could be “only human”; He became human so that we could be more truly human.

 

2. We lose hope

 

Usually when someone says that they’re “only human,” they’re making a statement of defeat. Somehow there’s no reason to keep on, no reason to grow further, because this state we’re in is inescapable. We might think it’s pointless to fight against our temptations or pointless to surrender and let God work in our lives because each time we try, we fail.

 

But St. Paul tells us to “be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain” (1 Corinthians 15:58). To internalize a vision of ourselves as only human, we lose hope in the work that God is doing in our lives. So St. Paul reminds us again:

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

The life of a Christian is a life of hope and expectation. Imperfect though we may be, God can and does work in our lives. We have reason to hope.

 

3. We make excuses

 

As soon as we accept being “only human,” we’re not only losing hope and denying the work of Jesus, but also making an excuse not to move forward. We become like the paralytic who waits for years at the pool but is never healed. To him and to us Jesus asks, “Do you want to be healed?” We identify with the sick man who answers Him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me” (John 5:6-7). The sick man’s paralysis and our humanity are not the issue; that’s not what keeps us back. Our excuses help us to avoid answering Jesus’ question, “Do you want to be healed?”

 

So we make excuses and keep ourselves from prayer or from being the hands and feet of Christ in our communities because we’re just one person or because we’re only human. We forget the words of St. Paul when he urges us to “not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up. So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith” (Galatians 6:9-10).

 

Each one of us has limitations; that’s true. But we have to give ourselves an honest evaluation of our motives and the excuses we make. God became man so that we could be raised up into a relationship with Him. He wouldn’t have done that work without also giving us the strength to carry the weight of that responsibility.

 

*****

 

We worship a God who intimately knows the experience of being human. After Christ, our being human is no longer a barrier to an encounter with the Living God. Jesus Christ revealed to us the fullness of what it means to be human and makes that goal of unity with Him possible.

 

How we speak about ourselves as being human reveals what we believe about being human. It can reveal our need to reflect on the work of Christ and His human experience. And while saying, “I’m only human,” can lead us to despair, we have reason to hope. And though we might just want to make excuses, Scripture calls us to move forward with the strength of Jesus Christ - our God Who became human.

 

How does reflecting on the humanity of Christ inspire you to live a Christian life today? What excuses are you making that keep you from moving forward in your walk with Christ?

 

 

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Sam is the Pastoral Assistant at Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church in Virginia Beach, Virginia. He grew up in Powhatan, Virginia and studied International Affairs and Spanish at James Madison University. Sam received his MDiv from Holy Cross Greek Orthodox School of Theology in 2013. He loves food, languages, genealogy, and good coffee.

Photo Credit: depositphotos

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So You Say You Want a Miracle

During Holy Week, I gathered with friends at their apartment, and we got to discussing miracles.

 

We talked seeing saints, myrrh-streaming icons, and the like. We’ve all heard marvelous and amazing miracle stories from people in every walk of life: friends, campers, family members, and priests. It was amazing to be able to share those stories with these girls who I knew understood why these experiences are transformative.

 

When I hear about people who have experienced miracles, who have heard the voice of Christ, or who have seen Him or His saints, I can’t help but think, “I want that.” I want an experience that shows me that without a doubt that Christ is real, that He is with me, and that I am in communion with Him. I want a story to tell anyone who doubts. Especially myself, when I doubt.

 

In other words, a super awesome miracle moment that changes my life forever.

 

Now, I realize that this is not how life works. You don’t ask for a miracle and get one.

 

You live your faith, and you attempt to be as Christ-like as you can be. You attend church services, you go to confession, you receive communion. And perhaps most importantly: you open your heart.

 

I’ve noticed that my heart has often been closed to the presence of Christ. Like, I’m just not thinking that in any moment, Christ is there. I don’t think about Him constantly when I’m walking to the train or when I’m at work or even when I’m in church. I don’t always thank Him when things go well (though I do usually pray to Him when things don’t go my way…).

 

But when my heart is open, I can see His presence in my life. A friend isn’t just a friend, a good day isn’t just a good day, a tear isn’t just a tear; they are all experiences of Christ. They provide us with moments to be thankful and know that God is with us.

 

Now, I’ve experienced transformative things in the church. I’ve seen the miraculous icons that drip myrrh. I’ve heard stories that can only be explained through faith.

 

None of these experiences are necessarily the personal, perfect miracle story that I want. They let me know that Christ is real but they don’t provide me with a super awesome miracle moment that changes my life forever.

 

But, I have to accept that my “super awesome miracle moment that changes my life forever” is not going to happen on my timing. It may have already happened, and I didn’t realize it.

 

Christ has done things for me and me only; the little miracles in life that I overlook. The “everyday” miracles, like waking up in the morning, like an answered prayer, like amazing timing, like a plane landing after crazy turbulence, or like meeting people who inspire you to be a better person and make you want to be closer to Christ because they are so close to Christ that they exude Him.

 

These are the experiences that should make you want to open your heart to Christ, to grow closer to Him. “Little miracles” are the ones that help you keep your heart open to Christ’s presence when you are sure that you can’t go on.

 

So, if I never get my super awesome miracle moment that changes my life forever, I will continue to subsist on the little miracles, and know that they are enough.

 

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Maria is the Administrative Coordinator of Y2AM. She is a New York native who isn't completely sold on the city's charm, yet has never left. A proud graduate of Fordham University and occasional runner, she is happiest whenever chocolate, a sale, or a good Gilmore Girls reference is involved.

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Hearing Our Story in a Parable

When I meet a new person, my immediate impulse is to try to find something familiar in the other, something we share in common. It’s my way of connecting, of identifying a shared experience or interest. It breaks down the awkwardness of, “Who’s this person?” and, “What can we talk about besides the weather?” I do the same thing with a book, TV show, or movie. If I’m going to commit to reading or watching something, I want to enter into the experience as more than just a passive observer. If I’m not active in a relationship, in a book or program, I tend to get bored with it and let it go.

 

I’ve found the same to be true of my reading of Scripture and the prayers of the Church. If I read a passage of the Gospel or a prayer and I don’t seek to identify with the words, it remains just a passive experience. It’s like I’m watching it happen to someone behind a glass wall. But when I let myself wonder, “How do Christ’s words apply to me?” then I know Christ is speaking to me. And when I ask, “When have I felt like King David in this Psalm?” his words become mine.

 

This is especially helpful in reading and understanding the parables of Jesus. In the Parable of the Sower and the Seed, Jesus is speaking about the different ways we might receive His message (Matthew 13:1-9,18-23). You could say this is the whole message of the Gospel: of God’s love for us from the Old Testament, through the New Testament and into today through the life of the Church. Jesus calls his message a seed and those of us who hear His message are one of four types of soil.

 

All of us have or will experience being all four types of soil - the path, on the rocks, among thorns, and good soil. At some point in our life, we will struggle with focusing on our faith and balancing the expectations of the world. See how each type applies or has applied to you in your life.

 

1. On the path

 

The first type that Christ talks about in this parable is the seed that fell on the path but was eaten up by birds. Christ says that this represents those who hear the message but don’t understand it and the evil one snatches the message from their hearts (Matthew 13: 4, 19).

 

The first thing I notice here is that we need to – at least in part – understand the message of the Gospel that has been given to us. There will always be elements of mystery, but we cannot rest at knowing what we know today. If we stop learning, if we give up without understanding our faith, we will be like the seed that fell on the path.

 

Even after seminary, I find that there is so much about our faith that I don’t know or don’t understand. When I discover something I’m not sure of, I can either passively ignore the fact, or I can make the effort to learn more. I can ask my question to someone I trust, or I can seek out the answer by reading Scripture, learning about the saints, and in prayer.

 

So many of us struggle to pay attention when we go to church (especially when we’re younger). But if we don’t ask questions and if we don’t understand what we’re doing in the Liturgy, we aren’t going to feel connected or even get the point in going to church. Sometimes you might learn something about God or the Church, and you will be excited about it, but you don't learn more. Maybe you experienced this at camp, and you came back excited about your week of being spiritually plugged in. Or, maybe you have questions about the faith, but you’re not sure who to ask. In this parable, Christ speaks to us and calls us to learn and to get connected so that we can discover the richness of our faith.

 

2. On the rocks

 

Next, Jesus speaks about the seed that fell on the rocks. Because there was little soil, the plants grew but then withered in the sun. Jesus says these represent those who receive the message with joy, but when their faith is tested by hard times they fall away.

 

There are many things that can challenge our faith. Even those who have a strong faith in Jesus Christ can have a hard time handling the death of loved ones, serious sickness, or the experience of being bullied. It can be difficult to sense the presence of a loving God when one’s experience of life is full of so much injustice and pain.

 

All of us are going to face a moment when our faith is challenged by turmoil. Maybe we had a good connection to our Church community as kids, but we never grew very deep in our faith. We had fun at GOYA, but we never encountered Christ as a person we could rely on. Our challenge today is to make sure we aren’t like the rocky soil, with shallow faith, susceptible to falling away from Christ.

 

The life of Christ, the Panagia, and especially the martyrs shows us that being a Christian doesn’t guarantee an easy life. So how do we live with hope in Christ like the martyrs, instead of losing hope and being like rocky soil? I find courage by reading the lives of the saints; they inspire me not to lose hope in tough times. These readings show us how the martyrs and other saints kept their faith in God and His goodness despite the challenges they encountered. No matter what we may be worried about or what we are facing, God can and will help us get through it.

 

3. Among the Thorns

 

The third place that the seeds fell in Jesus’ parable was a place overtaken by thorns. He says that this represents those of us who are overtaken by the cares of this world. In other words, those who were committed to Christ but who let life get the better of us. Jesus describes this as being choked by the cares of the world.

 

There are so many things in our lives that compete for our time and many of them will try to draw our attention away from God. We worry about school, work, family, social events, social status, money. On Sundays, we have conflicts with work and sports, with studying and extracurricular activities. Sunday might even be the one day we get to sleep in during a busy week. “There’s just SO MUCH to do!”

 

“Let us lay aside all earthly cares…,” we hear during the Great Entrance of the Divine Liturgy. We hear it every Sunday because letting go of all of the noise around us doesn’t come naturally or easily. We have to be reminded to let go of things for an hour or two on Sunday, to just be in the presence of God and not be swallowed up by our to-do list.

 

So many of us today fall into this category of being sown among the thorns. “Life is just so busy,” is so true that it not only keeps us from Church on Sunday, but also keeps us from reading Scripture and from prayer. Eventually, it stops being true and starts to be our excuse from staying away (though we can’t quite remember the reason). We get so burnt out by life that we see Church as just another thing on our to-do list, and we can’t handle anything more. Instead, our faith is truly the one thing that helps keep us afloat, with a clear mind and proper perspective to handle the “cares of this world”.

 

4. The Good Soil

 

The last and ideal situation Christ describes as being good soil where the plant bears a great harvest. The seed didn’t just grow and develop into a good plant, but produced even more seed. The Christian who becomes the good soil is the one who allows the message of Christ to take root in their heart and cultivates a love for and relationship with Christ.

 

Each person is different, and faith and even relationships don’t come as naturally to each person. So while one person might understand the Christian message from a young age, it might take others until they’re a young adult or a parent for it to sink in. The point isn’t when we become this good soil for the Gospel but that we allow God to work in our lives to become that good soil today.

 

To continue with Jesus’ gardening metaphor a moment, it takes a bit of work for some soil to become good soil. If an area is rocky or if there’s hard dirt, you’re going to have to till it up, remove the stones, add fresh soil, and then it will be ready for planting. The same is true for us; there may be things we need to let go of, we may need to have our hardness of heart challenged and our hearts softened as we let God work in our lives.

 

I need to pray each day to remember that I’m not in charge of my life. I need to read Scripture to remember the great depth of God’s love for me. I need to attend the Liturgy to see the rest of Christ’s Body in the faces of my brothers and sisters in Christ and to receive Him in the Eucharist. I’m not good soil on my own. I have to be worked on, and Jesus does that work on me in and through the Church. And the more this is a way of life for me, the more this will naturally bear fruit in all of my relationships.

 

*****

 

The Parable of the Sower and the Seed is a message to all of us to be aware of how we are cultivating a relationship with Christ today. We aren’t perfect, and even as good soil, we are still going to make mistakes. Our goal today is to do our best to live a life that is pleasing to God.

 

When we bring our faith into our daily lives instead of just going to church on Sunday, we see how much God can do when we let Him. We start to ask questions, to be able to endure hard times, to not let life overwhelm us, and to have a peace of mind we cannot have on our own.

 

How have you experienced being these four types of soil? Which of these do you most identify with today? What is something simple you can do each day to make your faith more active?

 

Want more from Y2AM? Subscribe to our email list and get weekly tips for your spiritual life every Monday! And you can support Y2AM even more by becoming a monthly Patreon supporter. As little as $1 a month can help us continue the work we’re doing.

 

Sam is the Pastoral Assistant at Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church in Virginia Beach, Virginia. He grew up in Powhatan, Virginia and studied International Affairs and Spanish at James Madison University. Sam received his MDiv from Holy Cross Greek Orthodox School of Theology in 2013. He loves food, languages, genealogy, and good coffee.

Photo Credit: depositphotos

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“Why Good Priests Matter”

I lost my patience recently. Then, I lost my temper. These are two things that I rarely experience, and, as self-flattering as this pronouncement may appear, they are behaviors I would like to believe would not be associated with me by those who know me. Yet, under the escalating weight of a host of professional demands and other pressures that had been building for several weeks, I reacted with anger and indignation at two young men, both of whom are my juniors in age and station, and both of who unfairly suffered my misdirected frustration. My immediate embarrassment and my subsequent apology to these two young men were genuine and sincere, but I remained very upset and disappointed with myself. I shared my distress with a Greek Orthodox priest and friend who himself was privy to the situation that had produced my pique. In so doing, I was reminded why priests—good priests—matter.

I have been a steward, and, in some cases, a parish council member, of Greek Orthodox communities in places as diverse as a predominantly working-class, immigrant parish in an industrial city in northern Indiana; an enormous suburban church in New Jersey; an affluent, professional congregation in Manhattan; and a large, once-thriving parish in a Boston area town. One thing that I found to be a constant in all of these different congregations was the decisive, determinant role that the priest played in shaping the life and character of the parish community. Priests clearly at peace with themselves and happy with their pastoral ministry tended to lead communities that were united, whole, and spiritually alive. To what extent each—priest or parish—had either a positive or negative influence on the other could be debated. Nonetheless, what was clear and recurrent in my experience was the simple, and perhaps not surprising, fact that priests who were in harmony with their calling not only deepened the unity and well-being of their parishes, but, in those instances where churches had experienced strife, they were able to restore health and love to their communities. Conversely, priests in personal crisis, whose calling was imperiled, inexorably exported their own crises into their parishes.

We are all “priests.” Indeed, Orthodox Christianity proceeds from the understanding that inasmuch as the whole body of the faithful—His Church—forms a holy and royal priesthood, we, the people of God, are all priests. Nonetheless, it is recognized from the time of the Apostles that within the universal priesthood of believers there is a special, sacramental priesthood, hence the distinction between clergy and laity. The sacramental priest—known originally and formally as presbyteros (from “elder,” as in the Jewish rabbinic tradition)—is established through the sacrament of ordination. Ordination, which invests a new priest with the ecclesial authority to administer sacraments, is performed by a bishop, with the consent of the people of God—meaning, in practice, a congregation which completes the ordination by shouting “Axios, Worthy!”

Dispensing the sacraments—holy rites, mysteries, in which Orthodox Christians experience the reality of God through the enacting of His Grace—are the exclusive responsibility and prerogative of the priesthood. Nonetheless, the effectiveness and fullness of the sacraments are not dependent on the personal virtue or character of the administering priest. Precisely because the sacraments are understood to constitute the presence of Christ acting through the Holy Spirit, the priest, despite considerable popular misunderstanding among Orthodox faithful (and even among some priests), is neither a vessel nor an intermediary between God’s Grace and God’s people. Instead, Orthodox teaching explains that the priest is an icon of Christ. His role is weighty, a fact reflected in every aspect of a priest’s life, both public and private, both pastoral and non-ministerial.

The priesthood is a calling, meaning a dedication to a way of life, not merely a chosen profession. In short, this means that a man has been called by God to commit his life to serve God’s Grace. The priest assumes throughout his life the responsibility of uniting all the people of God together in Christ and sacramentally manifesting the presence of Christ in the Church.

In carrying out his calling, the ordinary parish priest must do extraordinary things: he must preach the message of Christ; promote love and peace; enrich the religious and theological literacy of his communicants; deepen his community’s understanding of the teachings of the Church; and foster awareness and respect for the Orthodox Church’s history and traditions. Furthermore, he has to accomplish all this in the midst of answering the day-to-day needs and demands and challenges of a parish community. Above all, the priest must live a life that is always unwaveringly centered on Christ’s love, and that is consistent with the principles, morality, and ethics he—the priest—preaches. I recall from my youth, a visiting priest at my parents’ Sunday table confiding to my sympathetic father that the priesthood is simultaneously both the greatest blessing and the greatest cross to bear. Truly, only a genuine calling can lead to the making of a priest capable of facing and fulfilling such imposing, yet stirring, responsibilities.

I have known many extraordinary priests. Few among us have not had our lives blessed or have not been inspired by a great priest. All the same, Orthodoxy correctly affirms that priests do not manifest the presence of Christ through their talents, charisma, knowledge, or other personal attributes, but through their sacramental function, which is not affected or influenced by a priest’s qualities. But what is also clear is that a priest’s imprint extends beyond his sacramental functions. In that sense, and in that sphere of life in the Church, we most often encounter the benefit and grace of a good priest.

The priest in whom I confided my recent story of pressure, anger, and regret is an extraordinary priest and a good man. He responded to me with this liberating Christian perspective:

Aleko, I understand. Just know that there is so much love in the world, that no matter what others say to us it can never diminish God's love for us. Try to focus and search for this love even in the most trying circumstances. You will see that you will find joy in even the uncomfortable times and with the most difficult people. God loves you, as do I.

In my friend priest’s earnest words to me I sensed the presence of Christ’s message of love, and so I was reminded of why good priests matter. Their commitment to live according to God’s love, along with their ability to fervently convey that love to the world, is what makes priests not only important, but also, good.

Dr. Alexandros K. Kyrou is Professor of History at Salem State University in Salem, Massachusetts, where he teaches on the Balkans, Byzantium, and the Ottoman Empire.

Abducted Syrian Bishops Serve as Models of Christian Service

This month marked four years since two Christian hierarchs were abducted at gunpoint in Syria. While Metropolitan Paul of the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate of Antioch and Bishop John, the Syriac Orthodox bishop of Aleppo, were en route from Antioch to Aleppo, they were stopped by unknown assailants and taken hostage. The deacon driving their car was shot and killed.

The bishops’ whereabouts and status remain unknown. As Syria has been embroiled in a devastatingly violent and multifaceted civil war since 2011, various factions immediately blamed each other for the abductions.

The extended disappearance of the bishops has had a marked and heart-rending effect on the Christian population both in Syria and around the world. Both men were known as prominent and dedicated clerics in their communities.

And there’s one more important detail to the story that I haven’t mentioned yet.

The bishops were returning from a humanitarian mission when they were kidnapped.

In today’s charged political climate, much of the conversation here in the United States and in Europe centers on security over humanity and dignity. Civil authorities endlessly debate the merits of offering humanitarian aid and of safe haven in our own communities, particularly to the victims of violence in the Middle East.

Metropolitan Paul and Bishop John, both residents of Aleppo, probably knew better than anybody how dangerous it was to venture out past their front gates and into the world. And yet they did it anyway.

They took their Christian role as servants very seriously, “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45).

The bishops could easily have decided that it would have been too risky to travel. They could very well have remained secure in their homes, offices and cathedrals.

But they didn’t. They went out into the world to serve.

As Christians, our ambition is to follow the example of Jesus; to live a Life in Christ.

And though we still do not know where Meropolitan Paul and Bishop John are, their service reminds us that our individual and collective potential for helping others is far greater than the power of death.

Indeed, the anniversary of their abduction during this Paschal season emphasizes the power of Christ in the world. Christians, after all, are not deterred by danger; we go out into the world and open the doors to our communities in service for many.

Andrew Romanov is a Fellow at the U.N. for the Department of Inter-Orthodox, Ecumenical and Interfaith Relations of the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America (un.goarch.org).

The Archdiocese is an accredited Non-Governmental Organization at the United Nations through the Department of Public Information (UN DPI) and has General Consultative Status under the Economic and Social Council of the UN (ECOSOC). It has been actively working at the United Nations for 30 years.

 
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