No Other Foundation

There have been a number of times throughout my ministry that I have been asked by inquirers or parishioners if I would be their spiritual father. My answer is always the same: “No, but I am happy to be your pastor and your friend”. Sometimes I explain more fully: “People in parishes don’t need a spiritual father; they need a pastor.” My guess is that my attitude is a common one among parish clergy. And yet despite this our 1998 OCA clergy guidelines (repeated in the 2023 update) affirms that “the priest is the spiritual father of his parish and every parishioner ought to respect him as such”. What is going on?

In 1918 G. K. Chesterton wrote a series of five articles for the New Witness condemning the (then current) move in England to enact more liberal divorce laws. The articles were collected and published in 1920 under the title The Superstition of Divorce (image inset), a first-edition of which was given to me as a kind gift by a very dear friend. In the book Chesterton argues at length against the legalization of divorce. In his “Conclusion” added in 1920 he says that the book was really a mere pamphlet and that pamphlets of necessity wrote about passing things and that he hoped the fad of legalized divorce would be one of them. Of course, it wasn’t.

One might imagine that the very first words of the Orthodox Liturgy consisted of a blessing pronounced by the priest saying, “Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit!” It is not so. The very first words of the Liturgy consist not of a blessing by the priest but of an observation by the deacon. He turns to the priest and says, “It is time for the Lord to act!” Then follows a brief dialogue between priest and deacon which ends with the deacon exiting the altar to stand before the Royal Doors to invite the priest to offer the loud initial blessing. It is only after this that the priest intones “Blessed is the Kingdom”. Most of the people are not aware of this bit in the service books, either because their congregation does not include a deacon or because the exchange between priest and deacon is conducted in low voices.

In 2010 country singer Miranda Lambert recorded and released a song written by Tom Douglas and Allen Shamblin entitled “The House that Built Me”. It was a clever song as well as a moving one, playing on the notion that we build houses; houses do not build us. The point of the song, however, was that the house the singer once lived in did build her— i.e. it was responsible for the kind of girl she became. In the song, the singer confessed, “You leave home, you move on, and you do the best you can. I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am.”

I have just finished reading the excellent and admirably honest autobiography of Anthony Hopkins entitled We Did OK, Kid. Hopkins seems to have been (he is still alive) one of those people who grew wiser, better, and kinder with age. Throughout the book, however, I thought I could discern a life suffused with loneliness and sadness.