Glory to Jesus Christ!
In last week’s newsletter (“Death Comes for the Great Schism”), I argued that intercommunion between Catholics and Greek Orthodox could be restored in as little as five years. Yesterday, I received an extremely thoughtful response from a reader. “I sincerely hope I am very, very wrong,” this gentleman said, “but I do not think your prediction about intercommunion within the next five years will be fulfilled. Like the Catholic Church, the Orthodox perspective is measured in centuries, not years.”
I agree wholeheartedly with that last line: Like the Catholic Church, the Orthodox perspective is measured in centuries, not years. Yet that’s precisely why I’m so optimsitic. The Great Schism has been healing for hundreds of years. Like every wound, the healing process moves so slowly that it can’t be “seen” moment to moment, or even year to year. Often, that healing begins with a scab—a scab that’s not much prettier than the wound. Sometimes it even heals the wrong way, and a bone must be rebroken so it can be mended properly.
From where I’m standing, the Great Schism between East and West began to heal as the result of a schism within the East.
In 1724, Cyril VI Tanas was elected Patriarch of Antioch. This caused a bit of a scandal in the Orthodox world, because Cyril was strongly in favor of reunion with Rome. The Ecumenical Patriarch, Jeremias III of Constantinople, was so incensed that he deposed Cyril and appointed an anti-Western priest named Sylvester.
Pope Pope Benedict XIII offered to recognize Cyril as the legitimate patriarch in exchange for… well, nothing, really. Rome’s only condition was the restoration of full communion between Rome and Antioch. Cyril accepted. Cyril’s followers came to be known as the Melkite Greek Catholic Church; Sylvester’s became the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate of Antioch.
Remarkably, the Melkite Church has remained virtually unchanged since the eighteenth century. Its liturgy, theology, and ecclesiology is virtually indistinguishable from its Orthodox counterparts.
Being a patriarchal church, the Melkites elect their own bishops. They continue to use the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom. Their service for the First Sunday of Lent commemorates St. Gregory Palamas. Their pontifical liturgy commemorates both the Pope of Rome and the Patriarch of Constantinople. In parts of the Middle East—including Jordan, Egypt, and Jerusalem—they continue to use the Julian Calendar. The Publican’s Prayer Book, which is published by the Eparchy of Newton, contains prayers by Orthodox saints such as Theophan the Recluse, Symeon the New Theologian, and Demetrius of Rostov.
Melkite receive the sacraments of Chrismation (Confirmation) and Holy Communion immediately following Baptism, as infants. They ordain married priests. They don’t acknowledge the distinction between “mortal” and “venial” sin; generally, they follow the Greek practice of only going to Confession four times a year, during the great seasons of penance. They use leavened bread to confect the Eucharist. They omit the filioque from the Creed. They do not acknowledge the Feast of the Immaculate Conception; according to the Eparchy of Newton’s website,
The “stain of original sin” was described by the sixteenth-century Council of Trent as “the privation of righteousness that each child contracts at its conception.” There is no such understanding in Eastern theology, and so to say that Mary was free of it has little meaning in the East.
The Melkite bishops walked out of the First Vatican Council. When papal emissaries demanded the Melkite patriarch, Gregory II Youssef, sign the final documents, he did so—but added a proviso from the Council of Florence: “except the rights and privileges of Eastern patriarchs.”
In 1995, by a vote of twenty-four to two, the Melkite Synod of Bishops overwhelmingly passed a “declaration of faith” written by Archbishop Elias Zoghby, which had only two points:
(1) I believe everything which Eastern Orthodoxy teaches.
(2) I am in communion with the Bishop of Rome as the first among the bishops, according to the limits recognized by the Holy Fathers of the East during the first millennium, before the separation.
After the 1995 synod came ot a close, the Patriarch of Antioch received a letter from the prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith: one Joseph Ratzinger. He was (predictably) displeased by the vote. Yet the bishops never recanted—nor were they asked to recant.
The term “Zoghbyite” is popular among Western converts to the Melkite Church. I doubt it carries much weight with the clergy—much less the laity, which is still overwhelmingly Arab. Yet, in their Divine Liturgy, the Melkites still refer to themselves as Orthodox (with a conspicuously large “O”).
And, I hasten to add, that’s not because they’re trying to strike a defiant pose. It’s because nothing has changed in the Melkite Church since 1724. Rome hasn’t asked them to change. And yet Rome affirms that the Melkites are 100% Catholic.
I know that much of the above can be said for other Eastern Catholic churches. Lately, the Byzantines/Ruthenians are becoming more bold in identifying with big-“O” Orthodoxy. In an appearance on Pints with Aquinas, Fr. Michael O’Loughlin (who I love) outright denied the Western—or at least the Augustinian—understanding of the filioque.
Still, the Melkite Church is a different kettle of fish. Of the twenty-three Eastern Catholic churches, only the Melkites are led by a member of the apostolic Pentarchy: the patriarchs of Rome (founded by Peter), Constantinople (founded by Andrew), Alexandria (founded by Mark), Antioch (founded by Peter before he went to Rome), and Jerusalem (founded by James).
So, when Orthodox weigh the costs of restoring intercommunion with the Catholic Church, they naturally look to see how Latins have treated the Melkites. They want to be sure that Rome will respect the authority of the Orthodox patriarchs, the integrity of the Orthodox churches, and the validity of the Orthodox faith. Three hundred years of Melkite history confirm that, yes, she will.
This is why I say that intercommunion may very well be imminent. It’s true, as my reader said, that “Like the Catholic Church, the Orthodox perspective is measured in centuries, not years.” But we now have three centuries’ worth of evidence that abject submission to the Latin Church is not a precondition for intercommunion.
I would also add that Rome has already approved intercommunion. Under canon law, Catholics are allowed to receive Holy Communion at Orthodox churches. (In fact, canon law states that Eastern Catholics may fulfill their Sunday obligation by attending Liturgy at an Orthodox Church!) Last month, Pope Francis added twenty-one Coptic martyrs executed by Isis to the Roman martyrology. In 2015, Francis declared an Armenian theologian named Gregory of Narek to be a Doctor of the Church.
There’s no question that Rome accepts the authority, integity, and validity of the Orthodox churches. Trouble is, the Orthodox still technically argue that Catholics are heretical and schismatic.
This line becomes more and more absurd with every “joint declaration” ratified by the Joint International Commission for Theological Dialogue
between the Roman Catholic Church and the Orthodox Church. But it’s worth noting that these declarations are generally ratified by the Greek Orthodox. For the most part, the Russian Orthodox are absent.
Indeed, it’s an open secret that this anti-Catholic line is being upheld mostly by the Orthodox churches that are broadly aligned with the Patriarch of Moscow. And they are “no petty people,” to quote W. B. Yeats. The Russian bloc accounts for sixty to seventy percent of the Orthodox faithful worldwide.
Historically, it would be inconceivable for the Greeks to establish intercommunion with the Catholic Church if they couldn’t bring the Russians along. Yet, as I pointed out in my last article, the Russians have effectively desposed two Greek patriarchs: the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople—the symbolic head of the Orthodox communion—and the Greek Patriarch of Alexandria.
And here we come to the crux of the matter. No one in the year 1723 would have expected the Patriarch of Rome and the Patriarch of Antioch to reestablish intercommunion. Yet a schism within the Orthodox Church drove Cyril VI Tanas to reconcile with Benedict XIII. Back then, Constaninople was the bigger fish. Antioch needed Rome—the biggest fish of all—to defend her authority against the Greek.
Today, Constantinople’s influence is waning. Moscow is the bigger fish, at least within the Orthodox communion. And the Russians are trying to throw their weight against the Greeks. But while the Russian bloc is composed of about 140 million souls, the Catholic Church claims over a billion.
Now Rome is offering Constantinople the same deal it offered Antioch in 1724: we will recognize you—unconditionally, no strings attached—if you simply restore intercommunion with us.
It’s true, ecumenism is a slow dance. But “church politics” can change in the blink of an eye. So, I stand by what I said before. I expect that communion between the Catholic Church and the Greek Orthodox will be restored within our lifetime. May it please God.
Friends: on a not-unrelated note, I’d be deeply grateful if you would keep our family in your prayers as we discern becoming Melkites.
This transition has been a source of great joy for us, and I want to tell you all about it.
First, though I want to make one thing clear. As many of you know, I’ve been going to the Latin Mass almost exclusively since I converted to Catholicism. And my wife and I were perfectly happy at our parish. I still love the TLM. I love the “trad” community. Above all, I love the traditional priests who have been my spiritual fathers for all these years. I can never thank them enough. More than anything, I would hate for them to think that our choice was any reflection on them.
What happened is this:
Back when I was an Anglican, I used to call myself Anglo-Orthodox rather than Anglo-Catholic. (I couldn’t stand those “Romanizers!”) Among other things, I developed a deep devotion to the Jesus Prayer.
Earlier this year, I had a question about the Prayer, and figured I should bring to an Eastern Catholic priest. So, I made an appointment with the local Melkite pastor.
We ended up talking for over three hours. Afterwards I went home and said to my wife, “Wherever we go to Mass, whatever ‘church’ we belong to, I’m an Eastern Christian. I always have been, and I always will be.”
Here’s the thing: the Melkite father didn’t change my mind about anything. Not a single thing. He never tried. He wasn’t looking to poach me. I just opened my heart to him about some struggles I was having—struggles I’ve had since I became a Catholic. He kept saying things like, “In the West they tend to emphasize this, whereas in the East we emphasize that…” And I kept saying, “That’s crazy! I’ve always believed that…!”
Over the course of our conversation, I felt this weight being lifted from my shoulders. It was the weight of loneliness. I realized that I’ve always had an Eastern phronema, or mindset. (As a matter of fact, I used to joke with a Ruthenian friend, “You’re a Byzantine Thomist and I’m a Latin Palamite.”) Now—lo and behold!—everything I love about Orthodoxy has a home in the Catholic Church.
For me, then, it didn’t feel like a conversion. It was a homecoming.
I know many Western Christians feel drawn to “the East,” but are nervous about exploring that attraction. They feel that Eastern Christianity is too alien, too “ethnic.” If that’s you, I would strongly recommend a book called The Orthodox Way by the late, great Metropolitan Kallistos Ware. He shows how the Eastern phronema is present in the thought and prayers of great Western Christians like Julian of Norwich, George Herbert, Gerard Manley Hopkins, and T. S. Eliot.
In other words, there’s nothing essentially Eastern about “the East.” It’s not a matter of geography. It’s a matter of which (valid) theological and spiritual tradition brings one closer to God.
This is the tragedy of the Great Schism. As I said, many Western Christians would benefit from exploring the Eastern phronema, but are afraid of betraying “the West.” Likewise, I’m sure that many Eastern Christians would benefit from exploring the Western phronema, but are afraid of betraying “the East.”
There is one Church—one house with many mansions. There is one catholic and orthodox Faith. There is one Christ, who “plays in ten thousand places,/ Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his/ To the Father through the features of men’s faces.”
Finally, I’m deeply grateful to everyone who became an annual subscriber last week.
It was such a success that I’m going to host another sweepstakes. Every tenth reader who becomes a yearly subscriber will receive a free signed copy of my book The Reactionary Mind.
Thank you all—truly—for your support. Whether you pay for a sub or not, you have my deepest gratitude.
Our family prays for my readers every night. Please pray for us!
UPDATE: A Melkite friend just sent me this note, regarding Patriarch Gregory II Youssef’s “adendum” to Vatican I: “You left out the part where the Pope placed his knee on the Melkite Patriarch’s shoulder.”
Indeed, I did. Here’s the whole story, from Wikipedia:
After the First Vatican Council concluded, an emissary of the Roman Curia was dispatched to secure the signatures of the patriarch and the Melkite delegation. Gregory and the Melkite bishops subscribed to it, but added the qualifying clause used at the Council of Florence: “except the rights and privileges of Eastern patriarchs.” He earned the enmity of Pope Pius IX for this; during his next visit to the pontiff before leaving Rome, when Gregory was kneeling the Pope placed his knee on the patriarch’s shoulder, just saying to him: Testa dura! (You headstrong!).
My friend writes:
In my mind, that is the most important part of the story! What it shows is not the all-encompassing power and rule of the Papacy. Could you imagine Peter placing his knee on the shoulder of Paul? No. Instead, it shows that the Melkite Patriarch, with all his qualifiers and objections, still humbly submitted to the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church, shepherded by the successor of St. Peter—despite the obscene haughtiness and self-righteous indulgence of the man who (perhaps just in that moment) thought of himself rather than Christ as the source of power. The Melkite Patriarch—as he is humiliated—does not break from the Church; rather, he is ruled by faith, not emotion.