The Forerunner (Summer 2005)

St Irenaeus of Lyons is among the greatest theologians of early Christendom (second century), and one of the most lauded of patristic sources in academic study today. Yet he is a man largely unknown in wider circles. Who is this man whose name means 'peacemaker', who is often called a 'bridge between East and West?' What do we know of the person, life and context of thought of a man whom scholars regularly title the 'first theologian' in the proper sense of that term? In a Fellowship of St John the Baptist residential study weekend held in Shrewsbury this February, the person and thought of St Irenaeus came under sustained review and discussion, addressing the classic refrains of Irenaean consideration: creation, the human person, the power of the incarnation, and the hope of the life in Christ.

Born in the early second century in Asia Minor, Irenaeus was brought up at the feet of St Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna and disciple of St John the Theologian, and considered himself throughout his life the spiritual grandchild of the apostles. Upon moving to Rome in the middle of the century, Irenaeus took with him this profoundly Greek-Eastern theological upbringing, which thereafter he would express in the context of a new land and a new tongue. Second-century Rome was a venue of considerable theological ferment. Here Irenaeus became familiar with and met great saints (Victor, pope of the city, and Justin the philosopher and martyr) as well as great heretics (Valentinus, Ptolemy, the 'Gnostics'), and encountered, too, disputes within the emerging Christian community. The debate over the date of Pascha was in full force, and while the Roman pontiff took a hard line in its resolution, Irenaeus earned a reputation for living up to his name ('peacemaker') in exhorting the pope to the peaceful resolution which eventually followed. After a move to Lyons in southern Gaul sometime after 160, Irenaeus succeeded the bishop of a church known for its catalogue of martyrs and considerable fortitude. Perhaps (as a late tradition has it) becoming a martyr himself, Irenaeus spent the remainder of his lengthy life in Lyons, writing against emerging traditions of thought he saw as perverting the authentic teaching of Christ through the apostles.

At the heart of Irenaeus' theological vision stands the human creature, born of dust and divine breath, the Divine Image around which the whole cosmos is situated. Partly in response to resonant voices in the world around him, but primarily through an 'apostolic reading' of scripture, Irenaeus puts forward a dynamic vision of creation grounded in the centrality of the Father’s love and power as Creator, calling all things into being through his Son and Spirit.

While the Nicene Council, which began the Church’s formal articulation of Trinitarian doctrine, was still some 140 years in the future, Irenaeus already based his vision of creation on the scriptural witness to the common action of the Father, Son and Spirit, the latter two called by him the 'hands' of God through which creation is realised. And at the pinnacle of this creation stands its chief and master: the human person. In exploring the Christian vision of humanity Irenaeus lays the groundwork for centuries of reflection to come - for example, he is the first to dwell substantially on the fact of humanity as image or eikon of God - but also puts forward readings that will remain uniquely his. In perhaps his boldest claim (but not one without precedent in the early Church), Irenaeus states that Adam and Eve were children, without flaw in their design and creation, yet intended for growth and maturity - dynamically changing creatures on a course of development into, and not starting from, a state of perfection. The human person, a childlike being of dust, breath and a union with the Spirit of God, advances from infancy to adulthood.

As such, we find in Irenaeus a deeply historical theologian. All of creation, the whole of the cosmos, is in motion and advance from its beginnings to its ultimate ends. Stagnancy is the ultimate perversion of God’s created order. Yet Irenaeus also presents a lesson on reading history: for the Christian, history begins always and ever at the empty tomb. The faithful look authentically to their cosmic beginnings, as well as to their future ends, only from the perspective of the risen Lord whose incarnate life reveals the full reality and meaning of all history. The love of God that proffers the incarnation stands behind every act of God in the economy. In this light, Irenaeus offers unique readings of the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Paradise, God’s response to the sin of Cain, the tower at Babel - in each he sees God’s reaction based not in indignation or wrath, but in love and with the ultimate aim of correction and human advancement. Throughout, Irenaeus weaves together themes of sin and salvation, falls and growth, good and evil, matter and spirit, into a picture of history fulfilled in the incarnation, yet awaiting its ultimate manifestation in the future, when Christ shall return and lead humanity, and indeed all the cosmos, to its fulfilment in the Father.

If 'the beginnings', when read from the perspective of the empty tomb, reveal something of our human character and nature, 'the ends' in turn tell us something of our coming development and growth. Irenaeus is deeply 'eschatological', rooted in the future life as much as the past, and his conception of the consummation of history and human growth lies at the heart of his understanding of salvation. Christ’s chief work - the 'recapitulation' of human life - provides the means of human progress into perfection. The 'New Adam' transforms the old, even as the 'New Eve' (the Mother of God) transforms humanity's first mother. The child, trained in obedience and illumined by the Spirit, ascends henceforth into life.

Four lecture and discussion sessions provided the context in which the thought of this remarkable Church Father was explored by participants in the February study weekend. Throughout, it became clear that Irenaeus, while one of the Church's earliest writers, is nonetheless a theologian of profound contemporary relevance and interest.

'So, what's it going to be tonight?' asked our babysitter, some years ago, 'Church? A Bible study? Or a fun evening out at the prison?' We laughed, but he was right. In the early years we looked forward to our prison visits with a mixture of excitement, anticipation and anxiety.

Our involvement started through a friendship with a member of the Prison Fellowship, who asked us to do presentations to the prisoners. We would convene at our house, having rushed home from work for the hour long drive to the prison. Most of the journey would be spent in discussing what each of us had prepared, or not prepared, as the case often was. The fact is that we felt terribly inadequate. We would get together on a Sunday after lunch, and agree on the topic or focus for the presentation, and then struggle to think of anything that seemed relevant to their situation. 'What have we got to say to them that might be helpful?' we would moan.

The first chaplain we worked with was an ex-borstal boy himself, who was very much 'one of the lads.' His relationship with them was like that of an older brother. They liked and respected him, and there was a free and easy atmosphere in the chaplaincy. Occasionally we would get troublemakers who would call out silly remarks and try to impress each other while we were talking. It wasn't until we very tentatively tried our first attempt at worship that we realised that many of them were nervous. When we began singing, there were waves of uncontrollable giggles. Despite this setback, at this time we had our first encouragement when the chaplain told us that they liked our presentations best of all the groups simply because we were ourselves and didn't try to put on a show.

After a time our presentations settled into a pattern, and a very Orthodox one at that. We would focus on whatever Feast was current, and two or three people would speak, interspersed with a few short hymns, ending with a time of open prayer. Gradually, we learned to make points by telling stories, the more personal the better.

We will always be indebted to the next - and current - chaplain, who altered the atmosphere in the chaplaincy in a subtle but very marked way. For a start, as a woman, they related to her quite differently from the previous chaplain. She became their friend, older sister or very often mother. They could let go and cry in her office - a near impossibility with a man. Secondly, she began by eliminating all those prisoners who were only coming to get out of their cells. She then spent long hours getting to know the remaining ones, and encouraging them in their search for faith. Gradually, the chaplaincy began to seem like a haven of peace in a very noisy and violent place, a place where they could be themselves and relax.

Knowing that most of the groups who came to the prison chaplaincy relied on rousing hymns and talks as their staple fare, and remembering the waves of giggles which had met our first attempt at singing Orthodox music, it was a long time before we dared to introduce Orthodox worship. When we finally did, we did it properly, or as properly as possible in the circumstances. We lit many lampadki, turned out the harsh overhead lights and, as it was around the time of Theophany, ended the service by inviting them to come up and drink some holy water. There was practically a stampede to get there first, and that was when we first realised that Orthodoxy had something distinctive and precious to offer to these - by and large - totally secularised young men. The soft lights had the instantaneous effect of helping them to relax, and the music was no longer greeted with giggles. They showed great eagerness to take something away with them, be it small paper icons, or even, once, a handful of incense which a prisoner persuaded me to give him before I realised that it would cause consternation amongst the drugs squad, and had to ask for it back.

Once they understood that censing means censing the image of God in each person, they would bow their heads with reverence when the censer came near them. Without mentioning anything about it, we would notice a number of people imitating us and crossing themselves. One of us would always start by going around the room asking each prisoner for names to be prayed for, and then they would all be mentioned in a long litany. All of them had family problems; most were very young parents with girlfriends and babies, and many of the relationships would break up before they got outside.

'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they shall inherit the kingdom of God'. Having puzzled over the meaning of these words for years, I think that I have at last discovered something of their meaning during our fifteen years of visiting prisoners. I was once asked by a prisoner during a Bible Study why I liked coming in. My answer was instantaneous and completely truthful. 'Because I get a lot out of it, and feel close to God here', I replied. Prison is a terrible place; it is violent, brutal, lonely and full of despair. Yet despite this, or probably because of it, God is present there in a very immediate way. This is where the poverty of spirit comes in. Prisoners have little to lose, at least if a safe and caring environment is created for them where they can drop their pretences. They crave goodness. Their pain is so strong that they are more receptive to God's mercy.

What has Orthodoxy got to offer prisoners? The present generation of prisoners has largely been brought up with very little idea of Christianity. Christian culture has mostly bypassed them, and with it the tiresome prejudices against 'smells and bells'. Their response to the physical side of worship is usually simple and open. If it's a good thing, let's have it, and whatever comes along with it, be it holy water or icons- and the more the better. And we believe that they respond favourably to our theology. We often speak about dealing with failure and difficulties. We don't pretend to have it all 'sorted', and this is surely helpful to them, when they face such huge problems. We often use icons to illustrate points we are making or even as illustrations of stories we are telling. Many prisoners are illiterate, or semi-literate, and greatly appreciate this simple approach. The third point is that they respond to beauty - the beauty of the music and the beauty of the icons - and, as we all know, truth and beauty are closely intertwined.

Two stories come to mind, which illustrate something of what conversion may mean in prison. One is of a prisoner, who was converted in prison, and was so successful an evangelist that his fame spread around the prison population in the South West of England. We eventually made contact with him, and found him indeed to be a very impressive person. He ended up marrying one of his visitors and set up a centre for ex-prisoners with her. Sadly, he turned out to be a fraud, and went off leaving her with huge debts. Or was he a fraud? Maybe it would be better to say that his problems simply got the better of him. The story is not finished.

The second story is of a young prisoner, who we first noticed listening very quietly and attentively over a number of months. As time went on, his face changed and became more open and as if filled with light. He asked for and got the job of chaplaincy orderly, and he, the other orderly and the chaplain began every day with prayer. He confessed that he felt called to be a minister. The time came for his release and the chaplain arranged for him to go into a Christian-run hostel for ex-prisoners, so that he could avoid going home, which was drug-ridden. We kept in touch for a year or so, but were saddened and dismayed to hear that after a time he went back to prison. A few years after that a member of our parish met him at a Christian centre, and was told a story of terrible disappointments. He was, once again, struggling to get his life back on line.

The final point I would like to make is that, in answer to our nagging question in the early years of our prison visits, 'What have we got to say that would be helpful to them?', we can only be helpful to them if our emptiness meets with their emptiness. In some mysterious way, we become channels of God's grace. Any attempt to evangelise from a superior vantage point would meet with resistance, be it active or passive. The previous prison chaplain once told us that an evangelist came in and began to harangue the prisoners about how they were all sinners. There was nearly a riot, and he had to be hustled out of the chaplaincy.

Prison visiting brings you to a realisation of your own emptiness, and of your own inability to help. We know that many of them face great problems when they leave prison, and that many will reoffend. We can't pretend that we witness spectacular conversions which change the lives of hundreds of people. We can, however, testify to the fact that we have seen many unspectacular conversions, and have helped in a very small way, through God's grace, to keep these tiny but bright flames alight.

Tucked deep in the hilly beauty of the Peak District – the sheep our sole companions, an old barn our chapel, and the ancient church of St Bertram watching over us from a distance… – what better a context for the first Orthodox Youth Festival? The mere sight of Dovedale House with its surrounding countryside adumbrated success; for indeed the festival was an achievement at every level. The first night, Greek dancers came to teach us traditional dances from Crete, Cyprus, Epirus. These ideal ice-breakers caused us to step on each others' toes, watch each others' feet intently and collide into one another every time we heard the command: Strophi! ('Turn'!)

Stimulating talks covered such important topics as 'Our Role as Young Orthodox Christians in Britain', 'Mission in the Orthodox Church', 'How to Live our Faith', 'Vocations', 'The Royal Priesthood'. Emphasis was placed on how we can be positive witnesses in our different contexts by learning to listen, preaching the Gospel by both example and word, recognising the importance of tolerance, patience and humility. Lively discussions and honest questions revealed how much we could learn from each other and how important it was for us to play active parts both in our parish life and in the wider community.

Not content merely to challenge us mentally and spiritually, the organising committee proceeded to put us through the greatest trial of all. It happened when we were each prepared to take a scenic stroll through the hills to St Bertram’s well. There we would conduct the service of the Blessing of the Waters. But shortly after we set off, we found ourselves wading through thick, soggy mud (it enveloped most of us well before the end of the walk), balancing ourselves precariously on stones in order to cross a river, and clambering on all fours up what seemed to be an endless mountainside.… Nevertheless, the service was beautiful and the sheep, too, insisted on contributing their own sound effects as we chanted 'O Lord, save Thy people and bless Thine inheritance…'.

The festival was indeed a success, especially because it provided an opportunity for us to share questions and thoughts with one another, to make new and valuable friendships, to share cultural traditions through lively Balkan dancing, multilingual singing and farcical acting, to share information about various local international activities and youth movements. The growing sense of unity reached its peak at the Sunday Liturgy, when the old barn resounded with Russian, Greek, Romanian, Arabic, and English voices.

The effects of the festival have been far-reaching: the songs we learnt together keep ringing in our ears; there is an email list for communicating with each other, for talking about the festival, for sending pictures, for planning new events. The Orthodox Students Groups from Birmingham and Oxford are planning a trip to the Bath parish in late May and other visits to parishes around Britain are being arranged for the future. All of us are eager to experience other such events throughout the year. We hope that many more young people may learn about similar activities and have an opportunity to experience the fun, unity and spiritual renewal we all felt at this first Orthodox Youth Festival.

Our warmest thanks go to the Fellowship of St John the Baptist for making possible this event. An extremely valuable occasion, it benefited everyone in many different ways. We hope that the Fellowship will continue to support us in our future endeavours. The Festival also created an opportunity for the young adults of the Church to discover what the Fellowship of St John the Baptist is. We now feel encouraged to support its work and contribute a strong youthful voice.

Many thanks are also due to the speakers for sharing their knowledge and insights, and to the committee for its scrupulous organisational skills, its foresight in organising the programme, and its dedication. May this be the first of many more Orthodox Youth programmes.

We stood before the altar and the icons of Christ and the Mother of God, the chapel's bare stone walls lit by the light of candles. After Vespers had ended, we stood and sat in silence, until one by one we slipped out the door to noisier things.

Despite the fact that this comes close to the clichéd beginning one often finds in reviews of Orthodox events, this moment summed up for me the tremendous spirit of unity that pervaded everything we did in these four days. In the Akathist, Vespers, evening prayers and Divine Liturgy, there was a true spirit of united prayer. We were diverse - from several different jurisdictions, of different ethnic backgrounds, but we all had something in common apart from our Orthodox faith: a desire to witness to it as a body and a desire for unity.

I found the fact that we all met so many new people extremely encouraging - a sign that one of the Festival's aims was being fulfilled. All of us were conscious that this was the first event of its kind in Britain - or perhaps the first in over forty years.

I asked one participant whether she felt isolated where she was, expecting that she would sigh and tell of her difficulties in being the only Orthodox Christian under sixty for seven leagues in every direction. 'Oh, no', she replied. 'I have a large circle of Orthodox friends at home. It’s nice to see so many people here that I don’t know.'

We hope that the work of this event will be continued by others to come.

Signed by The Rt Revd Colin Fletcher, Bishop of Dorchester

Chair, Churches Together in Oxfordshire

This statement was issued in April 2003 on behalf of and by Churches Together in Oxfordshire. What, you may ask, does it have to do with the Orthodox Fellowship of St John the Baptist?

First, there is the solidarity that the Orthodox Church ought to have with all people who are trying to be peacemakers at the present time. We need to be aware that we are part of the peace movement in all its manifestations. There is little point of supporting or belonging to, for example, the 'Orthodox Peace Movement', if we are not involved with all those who seek peace. Second, there is the integral part that the Orthodox Christians ought to be playing in the drawing together of Christians in common social action and concern that is represented by the ecumenical movement. If we have failed to be involved in trying to make clear to 'Churches Together' groups the teaching of the Fathers and the Ecumenical Councils on social action and concern, we cannot criticise groups that fail to show concern for people's social needs and aspirations.

And, as people of faith, there is the involvement that we ought to have in allowing people to be free to practise their religion in peace, and in preventing persecution of anyone because of their religion. We cannot expect that in other countries where Christianity is not the majority faith, Christians are granted freedom to practise their faith, if we do not allow other people to practise their faith in this country where they are in a minority.

This does not mean that we ought to water down our beliefs in order to allow others to practise their faith. But it does mean that in order to better practise our faith we need to know what we believe. And we need to know what other faiths teach, so that if necessary we can respond to those who follow them in the firm conviction that, as we sing in church, 'Who is so great a God as our God; he alone does marvellous things'.

Thalia CONOMOS is an undergraduate student in Reading, studying fabric and textile designs, her own work includes motifs and patterns from Romania, Turkey and Greece where she has been for Orthodox young people's camps. She has also attended Orthodox youth events in England and abroad, this year she will be a camp leader at a girls’ summer camp just outside Thessaloniki. About 100 school-age girls attend three weeks filled with services, singing, swimming, sports, studying the Bible, and sightseeing.

Bede GERRARD is County Ecumenical Officer for Oxfordshire and a Reader in the Orthodox Church at Canterbury Road, Oxford. He is Treasurer of the Orthodox Fellowship of St John the Baptist.

Fr Michael HARPER is Dean of the Antiochian Orthodox Deanery of the United Kingdom and Ireland. He is priest of St Botolph's Orthodox Church in the City of London, and Deputy Director of 'The Way'.

Ann JOHNSON is Presbytera of the Parish of St John of Kronstadt in Bath. She is a teacher, currently working in Primary Special Needs.

James JOHNSON is studying at King's College London for an MA in Late Antique and Byzantine Studies, and tutors children in English language and literature. He is President of the Greek Orthodox Youth of Great Britain Summer Camp Committee and has been involved with Syndesmos as an intern in the Athens secretariat and as a representative at the 2003 General Assembly in Albania.

Dr Matthew C. STEENBERG is Fellow in Patristic Theology and Church History at Greyfriars Hall, University of Oxford. He is a member of the Sourozh Diocese and worships at the Church of the Holy Trinity and the Annunciation, Oxford.