Faith

Jake Meador, editor-in-chief of print and web publication Mere Orthodoxy, has noticed the rise in Christian denominational distinctiveness that stands in contrast to a “mere Christianity” type of ecumenical approach.

Younger people who have grown up without tradition or custom and often strapped to a screen for hours every day desire belonging, desire to enter into something that offers moral direction, identity, and a fixed way of life they don’t have to generate for themselves. But the only way to have something like that is through particularity and even some hard edges. So, Scrivener argues, Mere Christianity is out. Orthodoxy is back. Rome is back. Distinct Protestant traditions are back. In short, denominationalism is back.

I’ve seen this with the incredible explosion of interest in Eastern Orthodoxy, which is very distinctive. I’ve seen Presbyterians move to Rome. I’ve seen curiosity about Anglicanism. At this point, it seems the more your church leans into what makes it unique, the more attractive it is going to be for the seeker.

A new blog/newsletter to me as of today is Ghost Drive America, which belongs to Edwin Robinson.¹ Robinson writes about burnout five years after becoming Orthodox as part of a ROCOR church.

I haven’t been Orthodox quite as long as Robinson, but nevertheless, I identified with almost all his points. One in particular that struck me was his belief that his conversion would eventually draw in his family.

The pope is so hot right now. Everyone is discussing the long-awaited Magnifica Humanitas papal encyclical from the Roman Pontiff. It makes sense. In a world where much of the responsibility for moral leadership has been abdicated, we are in much need of a figure who can provide that leadership with reach and authority. Enter Pope Leo XIV, who took his name when he ascended to the papacy from the previous Pope Leo XIII, who dedicated much of his time to helping the world come to grips with industrialization.

I enjoyed this trip through Mt. Athos from the lense of an outsider. Of special interest to me were the descriptions of the icons, their history and their presence.

I expected I was the only person in the space, until I sensed another presence emanating, inexplicably, from the icon of St. Anne. Her face was blackened from centuries of devotional candles. The instinct of an art historian might be to accurately date it, or even to clean it. This was a welcome thought that put me safely in the driver’s seat of this encounter. But then all such ambition evaporated, and it felt more like the icon wanted to clean me. I looked into Anne and Mary’s blackened faces. With enough prayer and candle smoke, I suppose every icon is on its way to becoming black.

The story of the the Gatekeeper icon is one of those wonderous Orthodox tales of which I am so fond. The combination of the material and the spiritual lodges powerful concepts in my mind.