After fighting erupted between Azerbaijan and Armenia in Nagorno-Karabakh in the fall of 2020, Dn. Ezras (Ryan) Tellalian felt compelled to travel to the war-torn land and “offered myself to the people.”
Deacon Ezras, an alumnus of St. Vladimir’s Seminary and member of the Armenian Apostolic Church, arrived in the region (known as “Artsakh” by Armenians) in mid-October. He travelled there with Michael Krikorian, a journalist who had worked for the Los Angeles Times for several years.
“I came not only as a photographer, but with my other identities as a psychologist and deacon….” Dn. Ezras wrote on the Fordham University blog, Public Orthodoxy. “I offered myself to the people, to help in whatever way I could, and am confident that God was leading me.”
While in the warzone, Dn. Ezras stayed in a shelter near a church with other civilians and clergy, including Archbishop Pargev, who ministered to them. At the shelter, clergy and laity prayed daily offices according to the Armenian Rite.
“What else could they do in such circumstances, but pray unceasingly?”
Deacon Ezras recounted on Public Orthodoxy how the people daily prayed for their suffering brethren as well as their enemies.
“We prayed prayed for our people in Azeri captivity, but also for Azeris, Turks, Syrian mercenaries—our malefactors, enemies, those who hate us and would torture us, those who might kill us at any moment. Can you imagine this?
“This is our faith. This is what we do as Christians.”
Deacon Ezras Tellalian is a Ph.D. student in clinical psychology at The New School for Social Research. He holds an M.A. in psychology from the same institution, an M.Div. from St. Vladimir’s Seminary (’09), and a certificate in Armenian Studies from St. Nersess Armenian Seminary. Deacon Ezras also worked as a staff member in various capacities at St. Vladimir’s, including IT. He is a fourth-generation Armenian-American, the great-grandson of genocide victims. His photography is available at rezras.com.
As a newborn, I didn’t breathe for my first two weeks. Perhaps I just didn’t feel like it, I don’t really know the reason. As a result, I was hooked up to a machine that took all the blood out of my body, oxygenated it, and then put it back in. Thinking about it now, it’s pretty cool. It sounds like something out of Star Trek. It went on for a week or two. The only real human interaction I had during that time was with my dad. He would sit next to the contraption I was isolated in and sing to me. Just sing. Eventually, I came home from the hospital. Home was filled with music. My parents, my dad especially, would just walk around the house singing…constantly. My parents were never into the music of the 80’s (I don’t know why), so the music they would often sing was church music. Beautiful hymns.
In the car, the tapes were not Michael Jackson or Van Halen, they were from St. Vladimir’s Seminary. Tuesday nights was choir rehearsal, and both parents would go—which of course meant I went. I could say that I spent my formative years immersed in the music of the Orthodox Church. As a result of this, I always felt very comfortable in the choir loft or at the chanter’s stand. As a kid, I would just stand there. One particular Sunday, however, all that changed. I went up into the choir loft as I would often do, just wandered up there, and the new choir director told me to leave. I wasn’t allowed there because I was too young. I remember it vividly—I was crushed.
Across the country, school districts have money problems that cause cutbacks in their music education programs. Programs that supported three or four music teachers are now relying on one to do all those jobs. As a result, the kids miss out on some wonderful opportunities. In parish life, if kids are talented, their parents might suggest that they sing in the choir. Unfortunately, the kids that are not considered talented are left out. More often than not, kids experience what I experienced. As a result, our youth feel left out liturgically.
During college and post-college years, I spent my summers as a counselor at the Antiochian Village. The most beautiful choir I have ever heard is found there: over 300 children singing to the glory of God, in unison. Perhaps the most amazing thing is how well they know the music of our church. When on the Challenge Course, a group will often sing a hymn while hiking or following the completion of a task. When walking from one activity to another, they sing to St. Raphael. During the morning program chanting lessons, all they want to sing is their favorite hymn. How many of us can even name their favorite hymn, let alone sing all the words from memory?
Many faith traditions utilize youth choirs. Protestant and Catholic churches often have hymns offered by children’s voices or children’s bell choirs. A close friend from college was the music director of a Roman Catholic Church in the Pittsburgh area. They had one mass entirely led by the children: the children were the choir, the cantors, and sometimes even the piano/organ players. Similarly, in many Antiochian parishes, Saturday nights often bring “Camp Vespers.” The teens of the church sing and chant Vespers just like they would at camp during the summer. This can become the foundation for a youth choir in a parish.
It is important to note that calling it “Camp Vespers” is somewhat a misnomer. Vespers is Vespers, though the practice of congregational singing is what is unique to the camp setting. Additionally, we do not want to not exclude children that have not been to summer camp. That said, the idea behind a “Camp Vespers” is what is important. Maybe it begins as a once a month occurrence on Saturdays, then twice a month, eventually every Saturday is “Youth Vespers,” and further down the line it is simply everyone singing Vespers together. The youth choir can then begin participating on Sundays. The children can sing during communion and gradually have the children singing more and more.
The keys to having a successful youth choir are bringing the children together for the first time (possibly the most difficult), strong leadership, and consistency. One way to ensure this is the integration of music education into the current education already happening within the parish. Sunday School can begin each week with singing all together and learning the hymns of liturgy for that week. Additionally, youth participation ensures the continuity of our church choirs. We begin training the next generation of our choirs with our youth. Our youth learn the Divine Liturgy and begin to take ownership of the Church as full and equal participants.
The music of our Church is some of the most beautiful music in the world and also some of the most powerful. It unites people from around the world and calls people to Christ. We must invite our children to participate in making this music.
During the Cherubic Hymn we sing:
We who mystically represent the Cherubim, and sing to the life-giving Trinity the thrice-holy hymn, let us now lay aside all earthly cares: that we may receive the King of all, who comes invisibly upborne by the Angelic Hosts. Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.
How can we keep our children from representing the Cherubim and singing to the life-giving Trinity?
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Gregory J. Abdalah is the Youth Pastor of St. George Antiochian Orthodox Church in Phoenix, Arizona and has been working in youth ministry in various capacities for 15 years. Greg holds a Bachelor of Music in Vocal Performance from Duquesne University, Pittsburgh, PA and a Master of Divinity from St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary and is currently in the midst of a Doctor of Ministry from SVOTS. He serves as the President of the SVOTS Alumni Association, and on the SVOTS Board of Trustees.
Originally printed in The Word, January 2005. Updated, December 2015.
Let us commend ourselves…
The first few days after the miscarriage were foggy and confusing. We were devastated. Afraid. Empty. We weren’t so much angry with God as numb. We shut down and withdrew. Why did we have to let go of the child we never met? Our emotional turmoil mirrored the winter weather: swirling snow shut everything down, and we were shut inside with our grief.
On the third day, God gave us a great gift to begin the slow process of healing. The blizzard dissipated, leaving everything hushed by a serene blanket of white snow. With everyone else inside to enjoy the day off, cozy with family before their fireplaces, the world outside remained quiet and pure, unspoiled. A new beginning. We alone emerged, tentatively, into that peaceful silence; tentatively, we entrusted part of our broken selves back to the Creator.
The next place we felt comfortable was in church, the Saturday night Vigil. We didn’t have to make meaningless small talk or look anyone in the eye. Others prayed by candlelight; we simply stood, holding onto the stillness from the previous day, letting the prayers wash over us. Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee. The prayers in preparation for Sunday, the day of resurrection already, but not yet. For Thy Name’s sake have I waited for Thee. We sat in the hushed service together, keeping watch before the icon of St. Anna the Prophetess, who is practiced at receiving children. We decided to commend our lost child to her, and to remember her with the same name. From the morning watch until night, let Israel hope in the Lord. Perhaps we could relearn how to commend ourselves to Christ, too.
Let us commend each other…
The close community at St. Vladimir’s carried us. Two priests came to see us shortly after it happened. They listened, they prayed; they assured us we could always call on them. They were kind and wise in their brevity. Perhaps one of the best lessons in the art of pastoral care.
The best gift our friends gave us at first was space. The second best was food. The evening after our loss came a knock at the door: no one there, just a bag of groceries and warm comfort food. And a note: We’ve been there; we’re here for you. Two of our closest friends. First there was a wave of guilt—how had we not known and acknowledged their pain? Then a stronger feeling, like a firm embrace: they loved us anyway, and there was nothing we could do about it.
We were not prepared for the gentle compassion we received. No one smothered us, but somehow, discretely, we were assured of everyone’s support. Family sent cards. A baby blanket in memoriam. We were even less prepared for the number of friends who had also miscarried. Obadiah. Innocent. Anna. They all had names, icons in the family prayer corner. How had we never noticed? Another couple of our closest friends invited us in. They had been there, too. You’ll never forget her. It still hits us unexpectedly after three years. Tears. Hugs. A deep bond that only comes with vulnerability and shared experience. Only in reflecting back do we see how we made it through.
With every act of kindness toward us, every tear shed with us, every prayer said secretly for us: our friends and family commended us to Christ when we were too lost and lethargic to know where to turn.
Let us commend all our life unto Christ our God.
Slowly the pain dulled, the sobs came less frequently, and we returned to life as usual. We mercifully receded from the spotlight. Nothing would ever be the same, but neither did it have to remain bleak. There were new pains, new fears, new questions; but we were finding a new resilience, and new wisdom. God had not left us during the most painful time of our lives, and in fact, we had never been closer to or more loved by our friends. As we practiced haltingly giving every thorny part of our life over to God, we found that the pain was not to be avoided or merely endured, but could actually be cultivated into the most precious fruitbearing tree. Now the flaming sword no longer guards the gates of Eden; Behold, through the Cross joy has come into all the world. Enter again into paradise.
After forty days of mourning, of lamentation, of the cold beginning of a New York spring—Pascha. In spite of ourselves, we dove into the celebration. Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life. Still not yet, not fully. But it felt closer; more certain. We grew to believe with more zeal than ever before. The child that never saw the light of day—her story did not, in fact, end before it began. We hope to meet her one day.
After forty days of paschal joy, of the hope of resurrection and reunion, of sunny days and blooming flowers, we had a memorial service and found out we were pregnant again. At the beginning of this year, our son was born, healthy and happy, by the grace of God. He cannot replace Anna, or erase the scar from our hearts; neither will he be overshadowed by her. Rather, he will grow up under the watchful protection of the Prophetess Anna and the Wonderworker Nicholas. And standing together in our prayer corner, before their icons and by their prayers, we three together will learn to commend ourselves, and each other, and all our life unto Christ our God.
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Andrew, Melissa, and Nicholas Cannon live at St. Vladimir’s, where Andrew is in his final semester of his studies in the Master of Arts program.
Saint Vladimir’s Seminary graduate Botros Sadek took a major step in his academic career in the fall of 2020, earning his Ph.D. from Claremont Graduate University (CGU) in California.
Dr. Botros Sadek defended his doctoral dissertation via Zoom.On August 21 via Zoom Dr. Sadek successfully defended his dissertation, “The Development of Auricular Confession in the Coptic Tradition: A Theological and Historical Study in the Book of Confession by Kyrillus III, Patriarch of Alexandria (+1243 AD).”
Sadek joined CGU after graduating with an M.A. and Th.M. from St. Vladimir’s in 2015 and 2016, respectively. At CGU, he studied Christian history with a concentration in Coptic studies. He also holds an M.B.A. and a degree in engineering.
Sadek’s Th.M. thesis on Mariology was published in Arabic in January 2020.
Born and raised in Egypt, Dr. Botros Sadek is a member of the Coptic Orthodox Church. Before joining Seminary, he worked for more than twenty years in a multinational company, holding different technical, educational and managerial positions.
In January 2020, Dr. Sadek’s Th.M. thesis from St. Vladimir’s Seminary, Mariology as Christology: A Reading in the Coptic Theotokia, was published in Arabic. The thesis was supervised by the renowned Orthodox scholar Fr. John Behr, a former dean and professor at St. Vladimir’s, in 2016. Sadek is now working on translating his M.A. thesis, “Dioscorus of Alexandria: Condemnation by Association,” into Arabic to be published in Cairo.
Imagine, if you will, life as a deaf person. More specifically, imagine all of the things that you can do in the course of a day that would be nearly impossible, or at least significantly more difficult, if you were deaf. How would you wake up in the morning if you couldn’t hear your alarm clock? How would you answer the phone at work if you can’t hear the person on the other end? How could you talk to someone at the grocery store if they couldn’t speak American Sign Language?
Now imagine life as a deaf person in the first century, and not just a deaf person, but mute as well. This existence would have been one of severe limitations, and of austere loneliness and isolation. There were no subtitles, no sign language, no detailed communication whatsoever! This is the picture that the Gospel paints for us today; the man that Jesus heals had to be brought to him, a man who was deaf and without speech. But it is the way that Jesus heals him that is so peculiar; Jesus heals a deaf man by speaking to him. Think about that for just a moment; how many times would someone have spoken a word, or a multitude of words to this man? The words would have entered his ears and then evaporated into the ether, unheard and unheeded, and the speaker, with a puzzled look, would have eventually given up and walked away.
How many of us are just like this deaf man? The words of those around us enter our ears, good words from good people. But even though they enter our ears, they remain unheard and unheeded. Maybe it’s the council that the priest gives to us when we go to confession. Maybe it’s the advice that our parents give when we’re making big life-decisions. Or maybe it’s something that we read in a book of sayings of the fathers. Whatever the source of the words, so often we, like the deaf man, move on without actually hearing what was said.
But why is it so important for us to hear these words?
So often, after we are approached or reproached, admonished or encouraged, we remain unchanged. For better or for worse, the words of those around us inspire and encourage us. They comfort us, they motivate us, they amaze us, they edify us, and sometimes they trouble us; and these experiences have the power to transform us. And it is the opening of our ears that is the gateway to this transformation. But there is something different about Jesus’ words; they are uttered by the Son of God, and he who hears those words will live. “Be opened!” These words didn’t just enter his ears; they sank deep into his heart, changing him.
Here at the liturgy, we encounter words like the ones that healed the deaf man, words of life. Every Sunday, as we gather for the liturgy, we have an encounter much the same as the one that Jesus had with the deaf man. We listen to the reading of the Gospel, the good news of Jesus Christ, the epic story of how God came as a man to save his creation from the clutches of death.
We have the amazing ability to be healed, to be TRANSFORMED! Now, there is no guarantee that when these words enter our ears we will hear them, much less obey. But it is these words that have the power to sink deep into our hearts, into the marrow of our bones, into our very beings, opening our ears and transforming the way that we live our lives. These words, these words of transformation, are the words of Jesus Christ.
Now, I know what you’re going to say next; “But Father, there’s so much more to liturgy than listening to the Gospel!” And while I’m hesitant to agree with that statement, you’re right; the liturgy is a Gospel encounter, and an important part of that is hearing the Gospel read and preached, but the work of the liturgy is more varied than just that.
Again we see an example of this in today’s Gospel lesson. Jesus speaks words of life that transform the deaf man, but he also touches the deaf man, on his tongue. Now, of course we can be rational and say that it makes sense that Jesus would touch a mute man’s tongue to heal him, where else would he touch him? But this intimate action has deeper significance for us than just cold, rational, logical analog. The deaf man receives words of life, and also the touch of Christ on his tongue, loosing it and allowing him to speak plainly. And what is the first thing that the man does with his newly found speech? He speaks to everyone he meets, telling them of the miraculous things that Jesus Christ had done for him! So too do we, after receiving the sweet Savior on our tongues, receive the ability and the zeal to tell everyone about the marvelous things he has done for us and all mankind! Just as the Psalmist says, so too can we say, “My soul is satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you.” Our tongues are not just loosened to speak plainly, but powerfully, and with praise.
And so, on this memorial Saturday, the last of the Lenten season for this year, we are given this story of complete healing for our own healing. We are told of the truth of Christ, that whoever hears his words and believes in the one who sent him has eternal life and will not be condemned; he has crossed over from death to life. Because they have heard and believed the words of he who was sent, they are transformed. This is who we pray for at the great entrance when we commemorate those who have fallen asleep in the hope of the resurrection of the life to come.
This is that hope; to hear the words of Christ, to let them renew and transform us, and to have tongues that are able to praise, bless, and worship Christ, telling everyone that we meet of the incomparable glory of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
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Father Ryan Bishop is a third-year seminarian at St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary. Fr. Ryan earned a Bachelor of Arts in Biblical Studies from Columbia Bible College in 2006, and a Joinery Foundations Certificate in 2008. After several years in the cabinetry industry, he decided to work for himself from home, making furniture and looking after his two children. In 2013, the Bishop family embarked on their journey to New York, in order for Fr. Ryan to participate in the Master of Divinity program at St. Vladimir’s. He was ordained to the Holy Priesthood on February 28, 2016, by His Eminence Irenée, Archbishop of Ottawa and the Archdiocese of Canada.
Priest Justin Mathews (Class of ’07) works along the “dividing line” of Kansas City, MO—Troost Avenue. He is the executive director ofReconciliation Services, an organization working to help address the wounds from generations of racial and economic inequality in the surrounding neighborhood.
The kind of hardship and suffering found there, Fr. Justin points out—which can also be found in cities throughout the United States—is heart-wrenching.
“The rates of trauma and PTSD in the urban neighborhoods in the United States that are crippled under gun violence and debilitating social issues...approach that of veterans returning home from war,” he said. “It is a warzone.”
In a candid and moving interview with St. Vladimir’s Seminary’s Ginny Nieuwsma, Fr. Justin explains how he got to Troost Avenue, what lies behind the particular brokenness there—and in America in general—and what Orthodox Christian communities everywhere can learn from it.
This Giving Tuesday, December 1, 2020, St. Vladimir’s Seminary is tithing 10% of funds donated to the Seminary that day to Reconciliation Services’ ministry.ClickHEREto donate.
Priest Daniel Greeson has begun a “new venture,” launching a blog commissioned by Ancient Faith Ministries. Every Thought Captive launched in early November 2020 and aims to provide Orthodox Christian commentary on contemporary social, political, and moral issues.
“We aim to take ‘Every Thought Captive’ to the obedience of Jesus Christ....” writes Fr. Daniel. “The very act of taking something captive implies struggle. This [blog] will welcome the struggle and exhibit wrestling with the ideas and presuppositions of our age.”
Father Daniel will be the principal blogger and editor, but the blog will also feature other Orthodox Christian voices.
The Rev. Daniel Greeson is rector of St. Anne Orthodox Church, Oak Ridge, TN. He graduated from St. Vladimir’s Seminary with a Master of Divinity (M.Div.) degree in 2018 and was ordained to the priesthood later that year. Before attending St. Vladimir’s, Fr. Daniel graduated with a Master of Theological Studies (M.T.S.) from Vanderbilt Divinity School and later worked in the title insurance industry.
We celebrate athletes that run and jump, throw and catch better and faster than anyone else. We marvel at entrepreneurs who start companies that earn billions of dollars. We idolize the actors and musicians who are at the top of their craft. Everyone loves a winner.
We live in a culture that worships winners. It’s all about winning elections, winning arguments, winning friends and influencing people. Winning may be our greatest obsession. What does it take to win? What strategy will give us an advantage over our opponent? What kind of training and preparation will give us the edge that we need to come out on top? We work and plan and scheme to figure out a way to win, and then we dream about the glory that will be ours.
This is probably what Peter was thinking when he and the disciples entered Caesarea Philippi with Jesus. It was there, in that city with its famous pagan temple, that Jesus asked the disciples, “Who do men say that I am?” The disciples said, “Some people think that you are John the Baptist, some say that you are Elijah, and others say that you are one of the prophets.” But then, Peter, going for the win, says, “You are the Christ, God’s anointed, the messiah!” Peter does not think of Jesus as some member of the supporting cast; he says that Jesus is the Christ, the one that God sent to deliver His people. But Jesus immediately commands them not to tell anyone about him. Isn’t that strange? Why does Jesus tell them not to say anything about him? It is because Peter was wrong.
Yes, Jesus is the Christ, but what Peter has in mind when he says that Jesus is the “Christ” is completely off base. Peter thinks the Christ will be the great hero who ends up with more money and more power and is more feared than the Emperor of Rome. Peter thinks that the Christ will raise up an army to fight for the Hebrew people and crush their Roman oppressors. Peter thinks that the Christ is going to be a winner on the world’s terms.
Jesus must have known exactly what Peter was thinking.
And this is why Jesus immediately starts telling his disciples that the Christ, the Son of Man, must suffer many things, and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes and be killed, and after three days be raised.
Yes, Jesus is the Christ, but he’s a different kind of Christ than the one Peter was looking for. After Jesus spells out very plainly to the disciples that the Christ is not going to bring about victory on human terms, Jesus began to teach the disciples that the Son of man must suffer many things, that he would be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes, that he would be killed, and after three days rise again. Jesus told them all of this in plain unequivocal language. But then Peter took him, and began to rebuke him. Peter takes Jesus aside and rebukes him. Peter actually rebukes Jesus.
In other words, Peter speaks to Jesus like some sort of campaign manager, “Lord, what are you talking about? Rejection, suffering, being killed…are you kidding me?!? This is not what God’s anointed is supposed to do, and this is certainly NOT what you are going to do!”
Peter thinks that he knows better than Jesus, Peter thinks that Jesus needs to be corrected about what it means to be the Christ. And how easy is it for us to make the same mistake. In our effort to win our own victories, how easy is it to tell God what to do and how to do it?
“Lord, make sure that I get a big payoff.”
“Lord, make sure that my plans work out this time.”
“Lord, do exactly what I want, so that I can win.”
Sometimes we may think that God has strayed from the playbook, things aren’t turning out as we planned so maybe we need to give God a reminder about what God is supposed to do. Peter definitely thought that he had to tell Jesus what to do in order to achieve an earthly victory. That’s why Jesus says to Peter, “Get behind me Satan. For you are not on the side of God but on the side of men.” Jesus tells Peter and us that winning, according to the rules of this world, is a false victory. Christ says “Whoever would save his life would lose it.” An earthly victory is a false victory because, for every army that marches home in victory, there are scores of widows and orphans who weep in the ashes and rubble of defeat. For every billionaire entrepreneur, there are millions of people living in poverty. For everyone who wins an argument, there is someone who is left in anger and resentment. And the bottom line is that we don’t always win. More often than not, when we lose, or when our plans don’t work out, in our desperation we can so easily turn against God and turn against the people we love.
This is exactly what happened to Peter when he denied Jesus on the night before the Crucifixion. In the cold, darkness of that courtyard outside of the house of the high priest, Peter watched and waited, hoping that somehow his plans and schemes for the messiah could still be salvaged. But when the bystanders said, “Hey, aren’t you one of Jesus’ friends; Yeah, you are one of Jesus’ disciples; You are a Galilean, you must be on of Jesus’ followers.” Three times, Peter denied that he knew Jesus, invoking a curse and swearing, “I do not know this man Jesus.”
And when Peter realized what he had done, he broke down and wept. Everything had gone wrong, and in his desperation, he had denied and abandoned Jesus. Peter’s life had become a living hell. To worship the false-victory of this world is to live in hell. Perhaps in that moment, Peter remembered Jesus’ words, “Get behind me Satan.” But in that moment, maybe Peter also remembered what Jesus right after that. Jesus says to His disciples, “Whoever desires to come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.” These are the same words that Jesus speaks to us on this third Sunday of Great Lent, the Sunday of the Cross.
Jesus does not say, “whoever desires to come after me should go out and get himself crucified.” Jesus specifically says, “take up the cross and follow me”—which is the complete opposite of everything we know about winning. To carry your cross is to experience the absolute shame of defeat. It is like the condemned man who is commanded to prepare the noose for his own hanging. It is like the victims in the concentration camp who are forced to dig the pit that will become their own mass grave.
In Jesus’ time, the ritual of forcing a condemned man to carry his cross was murderous mockery. Carrying the cross was part of the bloody Roman propaganda that said, “Behold this man, who disobeyed our commands.
Look at how we crush him and strip him of his last shred of dignity.
Look at how we force him to carry the cross that we will use to execute him.
Look at the power of the Empire, look at how we have won.”
And Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Word of God, submits to the Cross willingly, to show that God’s victory is not the victory of this world. Christ’s death on the Cross is the sign that the power of God is greater than the most hideous power of this world. For in the very midst of the humiliation, and agony of crucifixion, as they nailed his hands and feet to the Cross, Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”
And at that moment, the world was forever changed. Because the hateful power of this world was defeated by the Love of God.
By carrying his cross, Jesus shows that the evil of man is powerless against the mercy of God. By carrying his cross, Jesus marches straight into the depths of hell and broke the bonds of sin and death. By carrying his cross, Jesus shows us a way out of the darkness of sin into the pure light of forgiveness. This is the victory of Christ, and this is why we bow down before the Cross.
Jesus’ victory on the Cross is the most unlikely victory that the world has ever seen. Because in the Resurrection, Jesus did not return to take vengeance on the people who betrayed him and murdered him. In the Resurrection, Jesus returned and forgave Peter. And then Jesus sent his disciples out to preach the good news to the very people who had killed him, the gentiles, the Romans.
We see this so clearly in Acts, when Paul and Silas had been arrested and beaten and thrown into jail. There they are in that dark, dank prison, singing hymns and praising God when all of a sudden there was an earthquake and the doors were opened, and all the chains of the prisoners were loosed. When the jailer woke up, and saw what had happened, he assumed that all of the prisoners had escaped, and in his despair, he was about to kill himself. But Paul cried out, “Don’t harm yourself, we are all here.” In that moment, it would have been so easy for Paul to have said, “Ha, let that jailer get what he deserves.” But instead he saved the man from his despair. The jailer cried out, “What must I do to be saved?” And Paul told him about the love and mercy and power of Jesus, the Crucified Messiah.
This is the victory of the Gospel: those small, bright moments of reconciliation, when people who would otherwise be enemies, turn and embrace one another in the love of Christ. This is what it means to take up the cross and follow Christ.
Paul and Silas, and Peter and all the other disciples took up the Cross and followed Christ. They were given divine courage to endure the same kind of humiliation that Christ endured, and to share the love and mercy of God with everyone.
And today, as we fall down before the Holy Cross, as it is lifted up and we praise it in our hymns and songs, we are strengthened with the same divine courage. We face the evil, and the anger of this world, and we take up our cross and follow Christ, showing mercy and forgiveness to everyone around us, glorifying Jesus Christ. For Jesus’ victory, His victory on the Cross, the victory of God’s love, is our one true and lasting victory.
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The Rev. Dr. J. Sergius Halvorsen (SVOTS ’96) received his M.Div. from St. Vladimir’s Seminary and completed his doctoral dissertation at Drew University in 2002. From 2000 to 2011 he taught at Holy Apostles College and Seminary in Cromwell Connecticut, where he also served as Director of Distance Learning. He was ordained to the priesthood in February 2004, and currently serves on the faculty of SVOTS as Assistant Professor of Homiletics and Rhetoric and Director of the Doctor of Ministry Program.
Priest David McCready, a recent alumnus of St. Vladimir’s Seminary, has penned a reflection on a term that “came to dominate in the west, the dread word transubstantiation.” Father David’s article, “Reflections on the Eucharist,” was published on the blog ofThe Orthodox Westwebsite in October 2020.
In the reflection, Fr. David asks, “Was transubstantiation a point of controversy between east and west?” He explores the writings of Scripture and several ancient and contemporary theologians in addressing the question.
Father David, a native of Belfast, was raised in the Church of Ireland and served as an Anglican priest before coming to St. Vladimir’s Seminary as a student of the Antiochian Archdiocese. He holds a number of degrees, including a Ph.D. from Trinity College in Dublin. He completed a non-degree track at St. Vladimir’s Seminary in 2019 and was ordained to the Holy Priesthood a few months later, in August 2019, by the hand of hand His Grace JOHN, Auxiliary of the Diocese of Worcester and New England. Since the ordination, Fr. David has served as pastor of St. Columba Orthodox Church in Lafeyette, CO, a parish under the Western Rite Vicariate of the Antiochian Orthodox Christian Archdiocese of North America (AOCANA).
To mark the appointment, Fr. Alessandro celebrated the Divine Liturgy Wednesday, September 23, 2020 at the Chancery’s St. Sergius Chapel for the Feast of the Conception of St. John the Forerunner. At the conclusion of the Divine Liturgy, His Beatitude, Metropolitan Tikhon welcomed Fr. Alessandro to the Chancery.
Father Alessandro is the Rector of St. Innocent Church in Olmstead Falls, Ohio, under the omophorion of fellow St. Vladimir’s Alumnus His Eminence, Archbishop Paul (’94) and the OCA’s Diocese of the Midwest. Father Alessandro will work remotely from Ohio part-time, and in person at the Chancery (currently located in Syosset, NY) once a month.
Father Alessandro was born and raised in Palermo, Italy. Raised in a Roman Catholic family, Fr. Alessandro was chrismated in the Orthodox Church at the age of 17. In Italy, he attended a linguistic lyceum where he studied Italian, English, and French literature for five years. He later studied at the University of Palermo where he graduated with a bachelor’s degree in international relations and political science. Prior to enrolling at St. Vladimir’s Seminary in Yonkers, NY in 2011, he and his wife, Matushka Anna—who is currently the Seminary’s graphic designer—were members of St. Gregory of Nyssa Orthodox Church in Columbus, OH. Father Alessandro was an active student during his time at St. Vladimir’s, serving as student council president and graduating with a commendation for service to the community when he completed his Master of Divinity (M.Div.) degree in 2014. He was ordained to the priesthood by His Beatitude on the Feast of Ascension on May 29, 2014 at the Seminary’s Three Hierarchs Chapel. He was assigned to St. Innocent Church the same year. In recent years, Fr. Alessandro has also served as president of the Greater Cleveland Council of Orthodox Clergy and spiritual advisor for ZOE for Life!
Father Alessandro and Mat. Anna have two sons, Luca and Nicolas.
The community of St. Vladimir’s Seminary wishes Fr. Alessandro, Mat. Anna, Luca, and Nicolas many years!
