Lesson Thirteen: The Death of God

The Death of God - Have Morals, Truth and Civility Fared Better?

Dr Thomas J.J. Altizer

October 24, 2012

Spent a little while this afternoon in my favorite bookstore, owned by a friend who is an agnostic theosophist. He is struggling to come to faith, any faith, I think. I found an old volume "the death of god" (not capital letters which was the vogue at the time) published in 1966, written by an old acquaintance of mine, Thomas J.J. Altizer the infamous professor of Bible and religion at Emory University where he taught from 1956 to 1968. I met him at Manuel's Tavern located at N. Highland and Ponce de Leon in Atlanta where he liked to hang out. 

When I met him he was just about to become famous. I was a teenager willing to listen to anyone's story. (Don't ask what a teenager was doing in a bar - that answer would take a book, I think I would entitle it "The Emancipated Minor." )  J.J. introduced me to modern American theology and single malt scotch. Trust me when I tell you that modern American theology only has context after about three shots of scotch. 

In his book he said, "Observing that the waters of European theology are at present somewhat stagnant, Karl Barth recently said that what we need in Europe and America is not a renewal of an older form of theology but a 'theology of freedom' that looks ahead and strives forward."' 

Here it is 46 years later in the autumn of 2012. Tell me J.J., how did that work out for us? I think you got your wish! One could write volumes about this failure, about the devolution of society and culture, about the exponential increase of every violence and evil, about the destruction of the family, the insanity of a culture that can believe a Human Being can Violate the Natural Law of Non-Contradiction and that a Man can be a WIFE and Mother; and that a Woman, can be a HUSBAND and Father. It is insanity incapable of understanding the "nature" the anatomy of the Human Being, created in the image of God, Male and Female.  I could tell J.J., about the explosion of the Occult, Satanism, Scientology, New Ageism, the present carnage of Political Islam/Jihadism, the worldwide Luciferian movement that is claiming as its own the philosophy of the Saints of the Middle Ages, supplanting Lucifer as the benevolent "knowledge creator" and Jehovah as an evil attack from the ream of darkness.  I could tell him about a host of other spiritualistic religious sicknesses, suicide cults and prosperity Gospel cults, trying to fill the void created by American theology and American religionism.  I could tell him his hope of theological freedom has borne fruit, how one in five children are on some kind of psychotropic drugs, under the care of Marxist psycho-political operators or their dupes, how one in four adults is on mind altering psychotropic drugs, and prescription drugs have become the new tobacco industry with far deadlier result and all the other expressions of the Culture of Death that "theological freedom" has produced.

Piedmont Park, Atlanta In the Hippy Days

Seeing J J's book was like meeting an old friend. At my young age, I was a closed book, really a blank screen, willing to let anyone feel comfortable projecting their image on me, absorbing like a sponge, not "belief" but information.  I had a basis to judge as true or false the thoughts I encountered because I had met Jesus Christ in such a special way at the age of thirteen, (a later lesson) that would never allow me to doubt HIS reality. It was a huge blessing because at the same time I had lost all faith in every religious form and doubted every theology. But somehow through the theological/philosophical forest, Jesus Christ was real, but everything else was suspect. 

If you are old enough to remember that era in Atlanta, I sometimes played piano at a hippy dive on 14th street; I have been trying to recall the name of that basement club but cannot pull it out. There I watched the street people, listened to anything anyone wanted to say. This was my "secret life" away from the religion and the community of my parents and extended family.  It was an education. I met  Stokley Carmichael the black power guru, and witnessed Jesus Christ to him and he mocked me, he thought I was a joke, but he liked me. I met the marxist, the peaceniks, the free love evangelists, the prostitutes, the runaways. It was an interesting, even revolutionary time to be alive. I also witnessed the racial tensions, the riots, the peace marches, it was the era between the assassinations of JFK and Dr King. 

Despite the turbulent times, the era held a common delusion I did not share.  In that era, were you to claim there was actual evil in the world you would cause gales of laughter, so caught in Social Darwinism was society.  It was locked in a humanistic belief in evolutionary human perfection. Much like today, just like the Biblical Literalists are ever expecting the rapture, so then and now the evolutionary Darwinists are expecting the sudden evolutionary step.  It was this sick delusion that had created this era. It was what I described in a previous lesson, "just love and be nice"; the age of peace has arrived, but on mind altering drugs and easy sex, while Vietnam was raging and civil unrest was the norm. Only a few years and the free love hippy generation turned into an MKUltra horror show, the CIA providing the drugs, the Mansion Family Massacres and one of the innocent looking Beach Boys almost losing his soul and his life under the influence of that demonic and charismatic evil that posses Charles Manson. It was the beginning of Doctor Jeffrey McDonald's decades of persecution. It was the era when the sicko-psychopath pedophile Dr Kinsey had hypnotized people into narcissistic idolatrous sexuality and the prophet of the sexual revolution Hugh Hefner was making his mark. Timothy Leary was dropping acid in public, (also a CIA asset) Malcolm X and Stokely Carmichael were preaching race hatred, and Dr King was hounded by the FBI. The first picture I saw of J. Edgar Hover in drag was circulating, and in a real way the world had gone mad. We have not recovered, but millions are wiser.  

  

Seeing that book "the death of god" on the shelf was almost like stepping through a tunnel in time and would that it were possible to share the "before and after" reality of that 46 year experience, in a meaningful way and the lessons learned. Sadly each generation has to learn these lessons again and again, and in 2012 in the face of the new atheism, legal pot, once again the government supplying the drugs, who can guess what society will appear 46 years from now.

I stopped at my favorite tobacco shop and spent some time talking with my Hindu Indian friend. The book and the experience of those days still very much on my mind, he told me that he had read Altizer's Memoirs, Living the Death of God. I didn't know he had written it; I haven't read it yet, but am curious. When I left, having sampled and purchased 3 ounces of a pipe tobacco blend called "Cherry Bon Bon" awesome stuff, I passed a Greek Orthodox Church, which represents the poster-child of what the 60s post-modernists were rejecting. It reminded me of a lifetime of experience between those two worlds, and so many characters. My oldest brother and best friend, Bill (memory eternal) use to say to me, "The world used to have characters. There are too few characters, now." He was talking about the homogenizing culture of the 70s and 80s recovering in shock, and in a sick way from the 60s. "But" he would remind me, "your life has no shortage of characters." Yes, I collected characters, because characters tell stories, and teach lessons. Bill would not have wasted much time talking to J.J., that is why he saw too few characters.

 Altizer was not so radical, but then he was the opposite of "Orthodox." He taught that the immanence of the holy spirit was God emptying himself into matter and that the transcendent God thus "suicided," and that God's emptying himself, through the crucifixion, ceased to exist except as matter. No longer would followers be able to dismiss the present world as transient. They would have to embrace the present completely, and keep all meaning in the here and now. 

 Like I say, J.J. wasn't so radical as the headlines he generated, "God is Dead!" He wasn't saying God is dead, exactly. He was just another heretic mixing modern philosophy with ancient theology and a touch of New Age mysticism, claiming to have discovered something. Orthodoxy thoroughly accepts the immanence of God, his creative energies coursing BEING into existence nano-second by nano-second, what I call for convenience "The primary Grace of Being." There is not a monad of energy that fires this BEING without HIM.  And further the understanding and the EXPERIENCE of The Way, teaches us, by that experience, the Godhead did not have to suicide to be immanent and indeed did not suicide, since all things exist "of Him, in Him, through Him, by Him." Simply put, God can circumscribe Being, but Being cannot circumscribe God. Like most post-modern theologians, I think what Altizer struggled to reject was not God, but the Person Jesus Christ. He merely created a new form of Unitarianism, a Godless one.  Anyway, I digress, that Greek Orthodox Church had a sign on the marque out front that read, "We had better discover our only hope and help, or brace for the worst."  Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn said it clearly, "Men have forgotten God; that's why all this has happened." 

"Over a half century ago, while I was still a child, I recall hearing a number of old people offer the following explanation for the great disasters that had befallen Russia: 'Men have forgotten God; that’s why all this has happened.' Since then I have spent well-nigh 50 years working on the history of our revolution; in the process I have read hundreds of books, collected hundreds of personal testimonies, and have already contributed eight volumes of my own toward the effort of clearing away the rubble left by that upheaval. But if I were asked today to formulate as concisely as possible the main cause of the ruinous revolution that swallowed up some 60 million of our people, I could not put it more accurately than to repeat: 'Men have forgotten God; that’s why all this has happened.'” -- Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, (Edward E. Ericson, Jr., “Solzhenitsyn – Voice from the Gulag,” Eternity, October 1985, pp. 23-4)

We should not fear those who do not believe, or those who believe wrongly, if we have met Jesus Christ truly. When sincere seekers are tied to Christ, even the works and words of heretical theologians, agnostics and atheists can be turned to blessing. "All things work together for the good of those that Love the Lord and are the called according to his purpose."

My dear brother, now reposed, at the time in the 60s was a bitter Marxist/Atheist. I think he took his little brother seriously for the first time when home on leave from the military, he spent time at Manuel's one evening, with J.J. and me. By that time J.J. had become famous, or infamous, all according to your view. Don was just impressed that I was "friends" with a man who had caused Time magazine and news papers across the country to publish at Easter time, a blazoned headline, "GOD IS DEAD." In the eyes of a Marxist Atheist that was "street credit" whether he understood the sophistication of J.J's theology or not. I don't think he did. 

I had no idea who or what my brother would become, who or what I would become. But that night J.J. quoted Don a line, from a footnote of his book, (he just happened to have with him) seeing me frustrated dealing with my atheist brother. He said, "Dostoevsky has a special meaning for the word atheist that does perhaps fit your brother Don. In a fragment from The Possessed that does not appear in the final draft, but which has been published recently under the title Stavrogin's Confession, the monk Tikhon says: 'Complete atheism is more respectable than worldly indifference . . . A complete atheist stands on the last rung but one before absolute faith (he may or may not step higher), but an indifferent man has no longer any faith at all, nothing but an ugly fear, and that only on rare occasions, if he is a sentimental man."

That image of my brother, on the last rung of the ladder, I realized to be more true than not, because he was curious and always wanted to engage in deep conversation. He loved examining everything. I kept my brother in conversation, discussing every idea under the sun, for nearly two decades, until life and friendship, love, which is the presence of God, the drawing of the Holy Spirit, created great faith in him. And this happened by MANY means. I lived to see him become one of the Vice Presidents of Delta Airlines, a man of such strong faith that he faced death with peace and resolve at a young age, just in his fifties struck down with a rare form of incurable leukemia.  

He had been in hospital for a week, some days touch and go, but it appeared by weeks end that he had so much improved that he sent the rest of the family home, (some who had gathered from hundreds of miles, were already many hours away) and when I arrived that Sunday afternoon, he told his wife and others to go to dinner, to take time and relax. He knew the week had been rough on them. When they left, he turned to me and said, "You know what I have to do and I didn’t want to do this without you." He looked strong and the doctors were talking about releasing him. What he was saying was incongruent. I could not make his visual image, match his words, yet, in my gut I knew the eternal meaning of what he was saying. Yet, knowing the answer I asked anyway, "Are you saying what I think you are saying?" He just nodded, yes. When I started to speak, to of course offer an alternative to "giving up the ghost" he said, "Butch, all the words have been spoken, just BE here with me."  You see I knew he had taken great care to build and complete the part he was to keep. So much so, I knew even though by then I was a priest, he was so much more complete than me. The sanctity I could see in him, shamed me that day, like another day, standing before Saint Sarah. I knew I had much struggle ahead and that it would not be easy. I could not help but envy him and even that envy shamed me. 

I sat by tears streaming feeling such peace, grief and anxiety all at the same time.  About twenty minutes later he said, "Something is happening, I'm going to call the nurse."  He went unconscious in a matter of minutes and reposed a few hours later peacefully having never regained consciousness.  The presence of the Holy Spirit was like a bright fog in his room. When the church talks about the air turning luminous in the presence of sanctity, it is not a metaphor. All I could hear was that prayer I had prayed thousands of times, "That the Lord may obtain for us pardon of our sins, a sound mind and a Christian and peaceful end to our lives, Grant this, O Lord."

Don was so non-assuming, when he was promoted to be one of the several vice presidents of Delta Airlines, he didn't tell me, I don't think he told anyone. I knew he had risen near the top, but I had no idea that near. Standing wake, a fellow introduced himself, that he was a friend of Don's and that he knew who I was, he said, "You're Butch, I recognize you from your pictures. You are a priest, prison chaplain, composer, piano tuner, recording and visual artist, Don bragged about you quite a bit." I asked him how he knew Don and he said Delta. So I asked him what he did. He said he was over system avionics. I asked, "Like the computers that fly the planes and all the instrumentation?" He nodded yes, I asked in surprise, “over the whole system?"  He said, "Worldwide." 
"Wow! That's impressive. Who do YOU report to?" 
He said, "Until Sunday, him" pointing at Don in the coffin, "VP of Operations."  I've told this story to other siblings and they look at me funny, he didn't tell them either. That, my friend, is a man who understood what was important.

 
So simple the faith and courage to face physical death without terror, what a blessing for a younger brother to witness, especially the death of a former atheist/marxist who came to unshakable faith SUDDENLY and seriously, stepping off that last rung, as J.J. had stated it, nearly 40 years before.  Dostoevsky was right, the step from Atheism to great and unshakable faith is but one rung in the ladder, even upon the very ladder of Jacob. (ref Genesis Chapter 28)

Those unwilling to doubt, unwilling to challenge, unwilling to question will never gain the unshakable faith of The Way. They are the first path clingers to the known, superstitious and sometimes bitter people whose driving force is fear, their religion is sickness and every doubt is a demonic shadow, a wicked plot with no healing properties. Such is not The Way.

The Way is not a road map, it is not a theory, it is the willingness to seek what is TRUTH. Even if you believe there is no God, FIND the TRUTH of it; prove it to yourself. That was how Don found the faith. He used the method that I quoted of Dr. Judy Wood, "When you have eliminated all possibilities, you have to accept the facts, no matter how implausible those facts may seem." AND he did not take this in a theory so he could impress his friends with arrogant atheism; rather he tested his non-God theory in LIFE, in the experience of his LIVING, by willingly having others who believe call on God for him. Most atheists, whose atheism is shallow, would find this frightening. In FEAR they would MOCK the idea of "testing" to see if God is real. It was for Don the witness of impossible situations resolved by prayer, he witnessed it over, and over again, in the experience of his life, destroying the possibility of coincidence. Making of coincidence a statistical impossibility. He would say to me, "You know I don't believe, but if you would pray about x, y, or z. I would appreciate it."  The reason he used this language was because he knew that if he gave me the language of the indifferent, you know, "Send so and so some kind thoughts."  I would say, "No, rather I'll pray for them." He was on The Way, experiencing The Way, for the first part of the hike, claiming all the while that The Way did not exist. 

Even after he started attending Church, for the sake of his children born to him when he was in his late thirties, it was as a social convenience and political advantage; he was still a skeptic. But changed when he witnessed a friend’s four-year-old girl's sight restored by prayer. (I wrote the story down somewhere when he told me about it, twenty plus years ago. I will try to find it and include it in a subsequent lesson) 

Those willing to actually seek the Truth will FIND HIM. Those following a theory, or experiencing through a mediator, dealing merely with mental abstractions, rationalizing and/or romanticizing will rarely find TRUTH. Our only hope is Truth, and TRUTH is a person who walked among us and taught us; Who suffered for us, Who conquered death, hell and the grave; Who comes to us in person and makes himself known to us. His name is Jesus Christ and it is highly doubtful in this culture of American Religionism that you have heard much that is true about Him.

One does not need to be a philosopher or great theologian to recognize the truth desperately needed for this time, "We had better discover our only hope and help, or brace for the worst." 

Here was my Icon corner before I knew what Icons were, 1963. It was here where I would pray on those days I sipped scotch with Thomas J.J. Altizer. I hope he has stepped over those millions of words and stepped from that last rung to unshakable faith.
"Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on us."

My Brothers, Donald and Bill, pray for me that God will grant me repentance before the end.

Archpriest Symeon Elias and Friends.  

LESSON Twelve: Miracles, Signs, Wonders

 

& Two Hundred Ninety Eight Other Human Weaknesses that are NOT The Way
by Archpriest Symeon Elias. - May, 30th 2002

Mat 7:15 – 23: "But beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves. You will know them by their fruits. Do men gather grape clusters from thorns, or figs from thistles? Thus every good tree produces good fruit, but a rotten tree produces evil fruit. A good tree cannot produce evil fruit, nor can a rotten tree produce good fruit. Every tree not producing good fruit is cut down and cast into the fire. Consequently, by their fruits you shall know them. "Not everyone who says to Me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father who is in heaven. Many will say to Me in that day, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in Your name, and in Your name we cast out demons, and in Your name we did many mighty works?' "And then I will confess to them, 'I never knew you! Depart from Me, you who work iniquity!'


Shortly after I became Orthodox, I attended a service celebrating a weeping Icon. I was there both to witness the "incardination” of a group of monks, some who were friends, into the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia (ROCOR) and to see the Icon. It became a “wisdom teaching” event. Here is a little context; I was elated at finding Orthodoxy, realizing in it, the answers to a question that had plagued me all my life. You see every single idea in the West's Rational Theology ends in dichotomy and produces cults holding polar opposite views, like the confusion of predestination vs free will in theological Calvinism and to a certain extent in the teaching of Blessed Augustine of Hippo, and Thomas Aquinas. Or they end in irrational anomalies to be taken upon "faith."  Or they are reduced to mind numbing equations and chains of rationalism, some with solid foundations some standing on flimsy philosophy, and some of it simply floating in midair, completely without foundation. All these latter may be exampled in the contradictions evidenced in Aquinas' Summa, Parts I and II vs Part III. Frankly, I and all the early Church fathers, and most of the Orthodox Fathers of history find it so much simpler to place faith in Jesus Christ and all that means from the sixty-thousand foot overview of man's history, placing it all "in the Light of Christ," which in fact is quite a complete Ontology and solidly scriptural and in accord with all early Tradition, than faith is an irrational anomaly taken on faith, in a rational theology. 

I had struggled with the dogmatic assertions of each denomination with which I had been associated, some officially, some unofficially. I had become cynical of theology, thinking it totally man made and unable to bear the weight and reality of God, as I had come to know him by experience.  As I explored the Orthodox Fathers, but more, as I was exposed to the wealth of Orthodox liturgy, prayers and songs, I discovered that indeed this theology deserved the name “sacred” because it did carry the weight and reality of what I had come to know of God by experience. My bishop read some of my writings accomplished a decade before I became Orthodox and he said, "Fr Symeon was orthodox long before he was Orthodox." That grasp of orthodoxy was centered in Christ. It was from the start, grappling with the idea that we are to be found IN him. And this is the crux of The Way, how we come to be, more than the "adopted sons" as Saint Paul used in one analogy, but more his sons by the Divine Human flesh and blood, or as the Roman's say, the Body, Soul and Divinity" of Jesus Christ and then how we experience that organically connected life IN Him. The early fathers, and later Orthodox fathers, and the Apostles taught and wrote "organically" and not legally.

My excitement at that discovery was natural and quite understandable; it was like coming home, an experience shared by many American converts of the late 20th century. I could have written tomes about the wonder of it all. For the first time in my memory my guard was down and hoping to imbibe The Faith quickly, feeling like much time had been wasted, (I was middle aged) I was willing to accept anything labeled Orthodox. I had discovered, as to the sacred theology of Orthodoxy, that my skepticism, which had served me so well, and had allowed me to escape so much heresy as I kept moving towards a more solid and "orthodox/catholic Christianity, walking through the swamp of competing western theologies; that skepticism did not serve me well in Orthodoxy. It slowed my progress. I can give many examples of "pet" understandings that needed to be sacrificed to embrace what is real.

In each instance of skepticism, with greater exposure to the depth of Tradition, I discovered the Orthodox teaching was correct and by that I mean actually contained Jesus Christ in it, reflected in the lived experience of the faith and not some empty rationalistic theory of Christ. Further that such teaching reflected what was catholic, that is what had been taught everywhere, by all who were part of the undivided Catholic and Orthodox Church of her first one-thousand years, that being the era of first the Apostles, then their successors, the Apostolic Fathers; the Ante-Nicene Fathers, and the Post-Nicene Fathers. By that time I had taken it as a necessity to force myself to let my guard down so that I might drink it all in, more quickly. However, with good motives, I assumed too much; what I assumed was that a “church” that could produce and hold the true “Symbol” of the apostolic faith unchanged since The Cross of Christ, would also hold an expression in the world that was as perfect or at least nearly so. I was about to learn that her earthly expression is anything but perfect and that I had come a very long way to, in some ways, end up exactly where I began.  Yet on the other hand . . .

Here’s what happen that night; during the service I realized that the ROCOR priest who traveled the world "sharing the glory" of this weeping Icon was a charlatan. What I noticed first was an odd movement with his hands and a little ritual of unnecessary movements he used as he handled the Icon and captured myrrh "flowing from it."  Looking around the room seeing people with expectant faces, some with eyes rimmed with tears, I was instantly heartsick. I recognized the demonic liar in front of me; and I do not exaggerate. There is nothing more cynical, nothing more heartless than a con man in clergy-clothing.  This is not a harsh judgment on my part as we can see from the words of the Apostle Peter to Simon the Magician, when Simon Magus tried to buy the anointing of the Holy Spirit so he could match the wonders he was seeing at the Apostle’s hands. Saint Peter read his heart and said: (Act 8:23) "For I see thou art in the gall of bitterness and in the bonds of iniquity."

After the service the magician approached me and asked rhetorically, “Isn’t it glorious?” As he walked by I caught him by the arm, leaned over and said quietly, hoping not to be overheard, “Yes you are very talented, but not as gifted as you may think. Your act won’t hold up for long. If it does, then there is something in Orthodoxy that is robbing people of I.Q. points.” His eyes registered fear and he literally hissed as he tried to speak. Not wanting a scene, I turned and walked away. With the monks, I think I was persona non grata for a while. But that is okay, because years later they gave me a seven-foot Steinway Grand Piano. Who ever in middle age gets such a marvelous gift!?  

Act 13:6- And when they had gone through the whole island, as far as Paphos, they found a certain man, a magician, a false prophet, a Jew, whose name was Bar-Jesu: Who was with the proconsul Sergius Paulus, a prudent man. He, sending for Barnabas and Saul, desired to hear the word of God. But Elymas the magician (for so his name is interpreted) withstood them, seeking to turn away the proconsul from the faith. Then Saul, otherwise Paul, filled with the Holy Ghost, looking upon him, Said: O full of all guile and of all deceit, child of the devil, enemy of all justice, thou ceases not to pervert the right ways of the Lord. And now behold, the hand of the Lord is upon thee: and thou shalt be blind, not seeing the sun for a time. And immediately there fell a mist and darkness upon him: and going about, he sought some one to lead him by the hand. Then the proconsul, when he had seen what was done, believed, admiring at the doctrine of the Lord.”


Notice what Paul did not say; he did not ask, “Why do you interfere with the spread of the Gospel?” That is how this story is taken so often, as if Elymas the Magician’s role was to block the Proconsul from hearing the Gospel. That was incidental, at least to Elymas; what was primary to him was to keep the Proconsul under his influence. The same spirit is alive in the Church today where certain hierarchs, pastors and super-bishops compromised to Cultural Marxism, seek to extend their influence to control local churches and government officials. What is the same is the worldly “power seeking” crippling the witness of the Gospel and True Unity in Christ. The Kingdom of God is Christ Himself, and not some pan-religious, multi-cultural, Politically Correct, Unitarian Ecumenicism. Just as the false religion of Simon Magus and the Power of LIFE held by the apostles could not mix, that demarcation line remains between the Life Engendering Gospel of the Cross, and the bloodless ecumenical philosophies and religions.  The Holy Spirit, Himself, spoke to the reality of the situation saying, “O full of all guile and of all deceit, child of the devil, enemy of all justice, thou ceases not to pervert the right ways of the Lord.” Which is exactly what the production of the faux-miraculous is, or any other means to mesmerize or through fear to “Lord Over” and extend worldly power to the detriment of the Gospel; it is a perversion of the right ways of the Lord; An aping of The Way. Elymas was a Jew, it could be assumed that he had the Proconsul’s ear and attention, exercised influence by providing him with a “perversion” of the true religion and that it was a lucrative endeavor. It could be assumed that he cloaked himself in Judaic Mysticism, presenting himself as a spiritually powerful person. As any con man would, he “positioned” himself appropriately for his “mark.” To him Paul and Barnabus were nothing more than competition.

Our magician, on that faithful wisdom teaching night, also cloaked himself appropriately for the consumption of his marks, which happened to be sincere orthodox people. He cloaked himself as a humble priest, a willing servant who in all humility was given the responsibility of this wonder, this myrrh-streaming Icon. Today there are so-called “super-bishops” trying to use the magic of their position to gather power unto themselves in an imperial model to the destruction of local churches, and their core is not Christ, but the spirit of this world, in lockstep with the Luciferian Globalists, and in capitulation to them, and it continues to be a lucrative endeavor. This night, the magician’s audience included His Grace, Bishop Gabriel of Manhattan, a house of monks, a who’s who list of ROCOR priests in attendance (a list including at least two well known “experts” and authors on all things Orthodox), and sadly, that audience was so spiritually blind it was unable to see the thing as it really was. It was a sobering moment for me. (A note from two decades later - I can attest that much spiritual growth has happened in these quarters.)

I had attended with Father Nestor, who at the time was assisting me in my prison ministry, at Hays State Prison. As we drove home he asked, “Did you believe that?” He was a generation younger and I didn’t want to shake his faith so I obfuscated saying, “I really don’t know what to think, except that the myrrh smelled sickening, like those Rose-scented hand-lotions old women use.” He held up a cotton swap in a plastic bag and said, “I’m going to keep this and see if it cankers.” I remained silent and then he said, “Didn’t you think the guy handling the Icon acted strange?” By that I knew he grasped the trickery, so then we spoke openly of it.

The scene that night was doubly ironic, since the ROCOR under Bishop Gabriel were touting themselves and certain old calendar Greeks, in public gatherings and all over the Internet as the last bastion of True Orthodoxy left in the world. I heard this from his own lips as he gave a speech to his clergy about the difference between “official orthodoxy” and “true orthodoxy.” His words were the first words from an Orthodox official I wrote down on my “lie list.” BTW my "lie list" was books long from my decades of Protestant experience. The pretense of “jurisdictional purity” seems to crop up more often these days in Orthodoxy, as certain prelates try to mimic the imperialism of Rome. (And “New Rome” Moscow). Maybe it is a reaction to the political changes in the world and the non-imperial structure of the New World, certainly these things are putting extreme pressure on the “old order” institutional Churches. In the U.S. the Standing Council of Orthodox Bishops in America – who in the beginning were just that, have changed their name to The Standing Council of Canonical Orthodox Bishops in America, perverting the meaning of Canonical, trying to set up an imperial order in the U.S., seeking to consolidate power in the hands of a few prelates; more about this later (or maybe not, since it is inside baseball talk.) With this claim of purity, this weeping-Icon con could not have been more ironic, or a better lesson for me. Sometime later the con man was exposed amid sexual scandal, found dead in a homosexual brothel, etc. Then it was openly exposed that he was a career magician, and not a very good one, who turned keeper of a "miraculous" weeping icon. Sad, sad, sad.

Here is what I mean by “traveling a long journey to in some ways end-up where I started.”  As a boy I was quiet and observant, the wrong attributes to be thrown into the 1940s, 50s and 60s Pentecostal Revival Show Circuit. Luckily that wasn’t my only Christian exposure. At the age of seven I discovered the Monastery of Our Lady of the Holy Spirit, in Conyers, Georgia. The beauty of the worship, and the unbelievable dedication of the monks, left an indelible impression on me. In the coming years I found every excuse to sneak-away from ordinary life and spend time there. As a young teen, already six foot tall, I would sneak into the monastery, dawn a "borrowed" hooded robe, even attending Chapters Meetings, to see the ditty-gritty reality of the discipline of the communal life. I spent hours in their extensive library. Back then they were under a strict vow of silence, which made it easier to blend in. I never got caught; I think rather my occasional visits were tolerated with a "wink, wink."  

My father was “Holiness” by actions, theology and his understanding of proper worship; my Mother was “Pentecostal” and sadly all their lives did not understand the difference between the two movements. She took his quiet devotion and service to others as “lukewarm spirituality” and he held the suspicion that her “emotive” demonstrations bordered on mental instability. This was confirmed by a "nervous breakdown” in the early 40s and other “dis-associative episodes” in Moms 40s and early 50s. It took years to come to understand the reality of this underlying tension in our house, which colored my childhood.

My Father had huge respect for Dr Paul Barth, the American/German Theologian and Evangelist who founded the Tabernacle Church in the early 1900s on what is now the parking lot of the Atlanta Baseball Stadium near the Georgia State Capital building. Dr Barth also founded Beulah Heights Bible College in 1919, now Beulah Heights University. I was raised on the Beulah Heights College campus and genuinely loved the place, and still do. Oddly, for a period of time, per capita, it produced more Orthodox converts than any other “evangelical” school in the country. Something that wasn’t intentional I’m sure. I never knew Dr. Barth but I have strong memories of his widow; I remember her loving presence, dignity and sense of the sacred very well. She walked faithfully to the light she grasped and was a power for the betterment of many people who crossed her path, my parents included. But to my mother, she was “dried bones.”  I share this to put into context what I am about to share.

I had the worshipful services of Barth Memorial (the church attached to the School) where the "communion services" that happened once a month were so especially filled with sanctity.  I also had the experience of some very, very worshipful chapel services at Beulah Heights and a list of teachers willing to share their faith and teach me, so I wasn’t at the mercy of my mother’s radical Pentecostalism, though I was certainly exposed to it. In that exposure I became very bitter watching the cynical manipulation of the sincere simple people who flocked to those huge circus tents, old theatre buildings and store fronts. It wasn’t all bad, I got to meet Oral Roberts when he was still a young man, became close friends with his first business manager, the Reverend Bill Lee. Unfortunately or fortunately according to ones perspective I also met a who’s who list of pure charlatans.  I saw shills planted in the audience to fake miracles. I remember one year the infamous evangelist A.A. Allen ran a six week revival at the old Lakewood Fair Grounds. A couple nights into that revival a woman who had suffered a “spinal injury” was pulled out of her wheelchair and she danced on the platform. While the service continued she literally ran up and down the isles praising God for her miracle. The next month we traveled to Chattanooga (or Greenville) and my mother and her friends didn’t seem to notice that it was the same woman, different makeup and wearing a different wig, this time delivered from a horrible tumor that had her stomach hugely bloated. (Use of an inflated device, deflated on cue.) But I noticed; I wasn’t fooled by the different style of clothes, color of hair nor the theatrical makeup aging her, because I had observed her face clearly as she ran the isles of the first revival as I wondered, “is this real?”

I didn’t dare mention this because I learned quickly that such skepticism was met with censure and disdain and even suspicions of demon possession. For my mother, if you didn't buy the Pentecostal hype, something evil was blocking you. The second that I even hinted that this evangelist or this miracle was suspect my mother would launch into her “touch not God’s anointed” speech and she would prophesy doom upon me. Her favorite negative prophecy over me was that I was rebellious and that I would end up in prison. As it turned out, she was right, just not the way she was thinking. (I did become a prison chaplain.)

The orthodox magician’s act was near amateur prestidigitation, cloaked in the robes of a priest, surrounded by the sounds of a cultured choir, the smell of incense, the light of hundreds of candles, in what would have been otherwise a wonderfully worshipful service. But do not be deceived at its core it was comparable to the circus tricks I witnessed in those revival shows. I find it likely that had I openly challenged the streaming-icon magician that night that the reaction would have been the same censure, disdain, and presumption of “demonic” knowledge. Simply stated, religious blindness is religious blindness, regardless of the name of the religion; or better-stated, religious sickness is religious sickness regardless of the nature of the cultic devotion.

The simple people at those revival meetings in decades past (and even today) never questioned why prayer-cards were handed out as people arrived. Nor did they know of the ear piece-receiver worn by the “man of god” as his assistants fed the con man his "spiritual insights" off the prayer cards previously collected. Some of the "revival evangelists" were much more talented and were "mentalists" raveling the mental acuity of the great Kreskin. (Google "The Great Kreskin") I witnessed slight of hand producing raw meat purported to be "tumors" or the damage of demons. (The Chattanooga incident not the first) Like a child learns a second language when in a multi-language household, I learned to read the signals between the preachers and the “spotters.” The same technique used by auctioneers even today, to ferret out the “suggestible.” I learned to LOVE the sound of a Hammond B3 Organ and Leslie speakers as it was employed to hype-up the crowd, and used like sound track to fill, add emotion and punctuate the “prophetic” words of the preacher. These shows were professional and polished in their garish reality, every moment, every expression, every note, every miracle timed for the best result, timed to loosen the wallet. I learned also to discern the hypnotic techniques employed, the manipulation of crowds and individuals by repetition and suggestion. What a Carney show! Yet what a colorful childhood! And I wouldn’t trade it for gold. However, upon entering the blessed and consecrated confines of the Orthodox Church, I really expected something better.

That night the Lord made sure that I learned the needful lesson that Orthodoxy-The Church is NOT a utopia, that the spirit of Christ and the spirit of anti-christ are present in her as she battles the evils of the world militantly to become the Church Triumphant, which is and is to come. There is no sin or failure not present in those calling Her, their own; some are goats and some are sheep that is just the way it is and the way it was prophesied it would be from the very lips of our Lord.

Some take Jesus’ statement that “the gates of hell will not prevail against, My church” as a statement that it could not be wounded, diseased, scattered into churches with some showing the light of the Gospel clearly and others more dimly. Many Orthodox take it to mean that with all the “imperfections in the church observable by history” she has remained perfect at her core, since the core of the Church is Christ, Himself. This by the way is absolutely true and how that perfection is measure, by CHRIST, via the wisdom of the Holy Spirit. Those outside her confines, without Jesus Christ in their hearts, uninformed by the Holy Spirit of God, see only her flawed, and at times, shameful and sinful presentation in history and current events. Make no mistake, the Church has failed the West; it is measurable and real failure. For the Christian, honest observation will expose that just as Christ’s earthly body sweat blood in fear, was betrayed, scourged, torn, beaten, shackled, lead to destruction, even hung on a cross and suffered death, his earthly body the Church remains vulnerable to any kind of attack, wound, betrayal and so on; and just as the gates of hell did not prevail at the crucifixion, though by every earthly appearance it seem so, and even Satan himself for a short moment thought he had won; neither will the gates of hell prevail against the church, though it may very well appear so to the world.

The wonder and blessing of Orthodoxy Catholicism is that in her worship, in the words of her liturgies, songs and prayers is a full expression of the Apostolic Faith, unrivaled anywhere else in Christendom. That this full expression does not protect her from the Shadow of Simon Magus or Bar-Jesus the Magician is little wonder.

A Roman Catholic friend recently told me that miracles were invitations to faith and how can that not be so? Indeed any genuine miracle/wonder is a blessing. Even if under the hand of a charlatan, a miracle may be genuine, by virtue of the simple, innocent faith of the person who genuinely and innocently reaches to God, and indeed such miracles have been blessings that instill greater faith. God is not absent from the heathen and pagan worlds, not absent from the life of the slaves of Islam, nor the natives under the spell of shamans. And so it is my opinion that God uses many, many means to show mercy to both those that know him and those that do not yet know his name. Or as scripture says, “the rain falls on the just and unjust, alike.” However, miracles are also in the arsenal of the deceiver, are part and parcel of pagan religious practice, voodoo, shamanism, and the like. So let us make something crystal clear, THE FAITH once and for all delivered unto the saint, is NOT the witness, production or experience of miracles, though such may engender faith enough to enter upon The Way.

The very term “faith healing” as is commonly understood in this culture, is a misnomer. Faith is an act of volition - the WILL to open oneself to deep and sincere belief in God; and more specifically for the Christian, to open oneself to Life in Christ Jesus, via the guidance of the Holy Spirit. By it's very nature it cannot have reality if it is not healing. So never confuse the wonder and mystery of the Altar, or any other aspect of genuine Orthodox Christian Sacramental Worship with a "miracle of any sort." In every instance it is simply the experience of the Eternal Moment, which is by its nature HEALING, the experience of things as they are in heaven; that eternal moment, which we are allowed to share by these sacramental means, through "HE who is without corruption upon earth and also occupies Eternity."

I've witnessed and experienced many things most would call "miracle" both before and after my conversion to Orthodoxy but my FAITH is not predicated on them. I'm not suggesting that there are no true weeping Icons but the truth is, I have never seen one and  such signs have no meaning for me, literally no meaning. Let me share a wonder I do respect. My dog Sammy Lee, 16 years of age, had to have several skin growths removed, and of course each spot had to be shaved. All the wounds healed nicely, but his hair was slow to re-grow. He really looked pathetic for a while. After a year all the spots were normal, except one which was about five inches square and it was as bawled as the day of surgery. I suddenly grew tired of looking at him like that, and truthfully felt sorry for him every time my wife and her sisters would joke saying he looked like "Frankenweenie."  So after almost a full year, I prayed "Lord Have Mercy on Sam" and anointed the spot with oil from Saint John Maximovitch's tomb. And three weeks later the hair was normal length and the spot disappeared into his fir. Do not think that I am dismissing any reality of HEALING. I am just removing it from the hands of Simon Mangus. 

At this point in life I don’t believe I would even walk across the street to see a weeping Icon, except for my concern not to offend a weak believer, since their fragile “faith” could be predicated upon such.  I do suggest and even say boldly that from times of old, charlatans have sought to deceive and even wrong-minded men with "good" motives have tried to attract "devotees" with trickery.  The religion of Simon the Sorcerer and Bar-Jesus the Magician has 'shadowed' the Church from its very first days. Where there is the real, there is always the counterfeit.

What's with all this sign seeking? Here Saint Paul talks about the spiritual blindness that befell the Pagan world, where they lost their ability to “see God in All Things.”
Rom 1:19-21 Because that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God hath shewed it unto them. For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse: Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened.

With this understanding Jesus’ words become clearer, those who have lost the ability to see God as Saint Paul described (being clearly seen and understood by the things that he made) seek “signs” to find him. “But he answered and said unto them, ‘An evil and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign; and there shall no sign be given to it, but the sign of the prophet Jonas:’” Can we gauge the pure blasphemy that is "naturalism"?  It is a state of being in which the MIRACLE of the natural order of things is totally ignored, and what is a miracle is judged and accepted to BE a miracle only if it "seems" to step outside the natural order of things! Why is it blasphemy, because it in arrogance refuses to be thankful for mere BEING, which is the REAL miracle, upon miracle, upon miracle, upon miracle to the Quintilianth power times INFINITY. 

One very telling barometer of the spiritual state of the average Orthodox "devotee" is the time and money spent scurrying to the reports of weeping icons. Qualitatively this 'seeking after signs and miracles' is no different than Romans flocking to Mary apparitions and statues of Jesus and saints crying or for that matter the Revival Carney Shows. Even making a pilgrimage is a thumb in God's eye. 

I remember in the 1980s a favorite aunt was struggling with lung cancer, in the course of two days I got four calls from my precious siblings inviting me to accompany them to the Prayer Tower, at the now defamed and defunct Jim Bakker ministry called the PTL Center. I remember fighting back both anger and tears marveling at the blindness of it. The last call was from my brother Don, and he was a baby christian at the time and he loved to put a lot of pressure on me to do "family type things"; so when he had finished his sales pitch, I said, "I will gladly go with you, and encourage my wife to come along, if you can answer one question for me."
"Okay, what's that."
"Can you tell me the time and date that God moved, and the reason for it, which is a real inconvenience to me, since now it seems that I have to drive hundreds of miles to speak with him."

This is not different than Orthodox and Roman Catholic Shrines, even though people do upon occasion find healing. But it is a perversion of the reality of The Way. The Way is NOT religious, The Way is not pilgrimages and feast and fasts. The Way is the discovery of the immediacy of the Presence of Jesus Christ, via the Holy Spirit, and living in that "communion" 24/7.  THE WAY, for even the poor prison inmate believer, makes of his cell a Shrine of the Holy Spirit, like my home is a shrine, like my car when I am in, it is a shrine, if indeed I am "in communion" with Jesus Christ. If indeed if I am living in him and He in me. 

People are so spiritually poverty stricken, (another way to state this is people are so deluded, blinded by sin) that they hunger to see God "break into nature"; To break the laws of nature.  This is a true degradation of The Faith, since the Faith holds, as cardinal Truth, that God imbues ALL THINGS, is everywhere present, coursing BEING into existence. "Thou art everywhere present and fillest all things, treasury of blessing and giver of Life, come and abide in me and cleanse me from all sin. Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal!  Have mercy on me."  The Faith holds that He is the One “Enlightening every man coming into the world” (John Chapter One) that the very breath, nerve impulse, and heart beat of the most profane man on earth and even the lowliest of creatures is a "witness" of the presence of God, who holds ALL THINGS yet is contained by none.

Those with hearts that have become pure enough to "see God" (Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God) realize that their very power of "cognition" the ability to see, to hear, to know is by the power of that Divine Spark given to all, even the worst among us. It is the primary Grace and Mercy of BEING, without which NOTHING, that has BEING, can exist. These profound words from the First Chapter of the Gospel of Saint John are there for a purpose, the greatest of which is to keep people of Faith from ever sinking to the level of the Deists or Theist, or those tainted with Dualism and/or Gnosticism.  We are not meant to "wonder" or be "amazed" at a profound healing, or any other means that "appears" to be God manipulating the "natural order of things." Why?  Because, we are to be thankful for ALL THINGS. If one has eyes to see, one realizes that every moment that exists, every nano-second is a "miracle of God" as he eternally courses BEING into existence. One nano-second that His power were removed, ALL the "worlds" would vaporize into nothingness.

I believe that it is much more difficult to have this “vision” of God in modern and urban times. Those whose lives are swallowed up by the artificial, by mass-media, by insulating structures, survival via processed, frozen and canned foods, cultures caught in their own peculiar mythologies technological advancement. Millions of these people have never experienced the wonder of nature.  And sadly because of the prevalence of the philosophy of ultra-materialism some so-called “naturalists” and some whose lives are wrapped up in “nature” cannot experience nature, even though they see it with their own eyes. What I mean by the “experience of nature” as oppose to merely seeing nature is suddenly being dumbstruck by the miracle of it all, like I explained walking out of that church in the last lesson, with renewed vision, seeing the wonder of it all in the countryside.

Have you ever had that fearful, awesome, marvelous and wondrous moment, where something sort of snaps in your mind and you realize the miracle of IT ALL?  Where one looks at ones own hands or a leaf moving on a bush, or the light in a person's eye, or the affection of a pet and in that profound moment you realize the strangeness and miracle of IT ALL; a rare moment where all the preconceived ideas are suspended and you question who YOU are in it, what the meaning of IT ALL could be? 

Most of us are so caught up in the "motion" of life, the cadence and rhythm, the ambitions, prides, lusts, i.e. passions that we never perceive the Eternal Moment of IT ALL.  IT ALL is miracle. When one grasps that, then any particular Mercy of healing or "wonder" is accepted with profound thankfulness, as ALL LIFE is accepted with profound thankfulness. (Please realize that by using the word Life, I am not meaning the narrow definition of the materialists, the mere biological function of organisms, though such is "A" manifestation of Life.)

I have seen literally hundreds of what people would classify as "true miracles." So in no way am I minimizing the blessedness of that, rather I am putting it in context. Those who are "swayed" by miracles, signs and wonders are of the least faith, and impure; they do not have eyes to see God's omnipresence, nor humility to accept his omnipotence. In the "sign seeking" God is reduced to the level of the "little fairy floating around just outside of the perceptions of our five senses causing little disruptions in the natural order of things." 

Sign seeking is a profane act, a profanity shared by the lowest forms of spiritualism and cults. What is Eternal and OF Eternity is REAL, so when Jesus said, "This man was born blind that the Glory of the Father might be revealed" that statement also meant, "so that in healing him you may know what is REAL." "What difference if I say, 'take up thy bed and walk' or 'your sins are forgiven'"?  There was (is) no difference since either way he was "revealing what is REAL".  Profound implications here if one can grasp it.

I want to encourage you to “action” to become a warrior in your spiritual walk, become the person with “eyes to see and ears to hear.” I hear the call to chivalry ringing in my mind, “Let us be worthy of great adventures! Let us be worthy of great battles! Let us be worthy of great suffering!” In the Eternal Moment, for the good of all those placed in our sphere to love, we must act as Warriors disdaining sin, viewing it as a disease and hindrance to our "warrior's power" to boldly battle the myriad evils of the world and the very evil 'one' himself. This is the call to all true Warriors of the Faith. At the same time as sinful beings we must seek the acceptance (within ourselves) of our own Healing/Salvation. It is only in this context that we can grasp the real meaning of "all that is without Faith is sin."  The following two statements mean absolutely the same thing: By Faith - we grasp reality and are healed. By Faith - we grasp reality and are "saved."
1Pe 2:21 For to this you were called, because Christ also suffered for us, leaving behind an example for you, that you should follow in His footsteps, "Who committed no sin, nor was deceit found in His mouth"; who, being verbally abused, did not return verbal insults, when He suffered, He did not threaten, but committed Himself to Him who judges righteously; who Himself bore our sins in His body on the tree, in order that having died to sins, we might live unto righteousness--by whose stripes you were healed. 4 For you were like sheep going astray, but you have turned back now to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls.”

What' s the old saying, "I pray, not to change God or cause Him to act, but to change me." (I think that's a paraphrase of C S Lewis) anyway, do you understand what it means?  It has profound implications for anyone seeking a sign, anyone struggling with God to get HIM to act. Healing is what's REAL, HIS intimate Presence in ALL THINGS is what's REAL, and HIS creating and sustaining BEING IN HIMSELF is what's REAL. So then, finding and accepting what is REAL, what already is, what is Eternal produces miracles; for if there is an eternity, by its definition it cannot have had a beginning nor an ending, therefore it is also NOW - and only what is connected to Eternity has reality. This is why in the Western Tradition one affirms, "world without end" and the Eastern form, "now and ever and unto the ages of ages..." that's the "plane" of our prayers, the "reality" of our devotions.  "Thy Will be done - on earth as it is in heaven." Another way to say it, "Thy Will be done - in the biologically changing world blinded by sin, as in the un-changeable, un-hampered reality of the eternal moment." 


This lesson was just about the evil and blasphemy of seeking signs. Seeking signs is most certainly NOT "The Way."  Next lesson we will get to the "Two Hundred Ninety Eight Other Human Weaknesses that are NOT The Way".

Lesson Eleven: Except Ye Become As Little Children

(https://youtu.be/S1-LCnGojnw  In case this video is taken down, it is a gorgeous little blond girl, 6 or 7 or 8 years of age, playing a full size harp, unable to reach all the strings.)

++++++

The little darl'n can only reach three quarters of the instrument, yet she has command of that three-fourths. If I could design my heaven, I would have one of these installed in every room.

It reminds me of an experience in the 1970s. I was tuning at the University of Georgia, in the basement band room, an old nine-foot Mason & Hamlin Concert Grand (that was a bear to tune). And in walks this little girl with a tiny violin. She walked up to the piano like we were old friends, she smiled at me and then started to make screeching sounds, as she tuned the tiny instrument and walked around me from side to side. She was tiny, 4 years old, oriental and small for her age. That one-quarter violin was perfectly proportioned to her size. She looked at me with a wink (honest like a tiny elf who knew a joke) and started playing this beautiful music on that tiny violin that would rip your heart out. It was passionate and sweet and had that “something” which is impossible to define that makes music real, a song of the soul and not the brain making the body saw notes.  That capacity is so real that I can tell in the first five notes played by anyone, if they are about to play music or just notes in order.

It was very much like the Twilight Zone for me. I had never heard of the Suzuki Program, nor knew of the existence of a one-quarter violin - and I thought I knew most every musical instrument that existed. That was pure hubris, because I have discovered new instruments again and again across the years - the last being the Chapman Stick - a few years ago.  Anyway, adding insult to injury, other children arrived and began to play harmonies and counter melodies on various instruments. Before long there were over one hundred kids in the room and they were not making noise.

The teacher walked in and apologized for interrupting my tuning and asked how much time I needed to finish. I said 5 to 8 minutes. She instructed the crew to remain silent. And if you can imagine the discipline of 100 plus children in a room, each with noise making devices in their hands, remaining quite? They did; it was absolute silence. I could not even hear them breathing, and I had (emphasis on the past tense) unusually keen hearing. When I finished I checked the piano tuning by playing a series of cords and intervals that would immediate tell me if I was successful in tuning the piano or if I had failed (really I only played them to hear them and enjoy the effects of the tuning.) The teacher asked, "Are you finished?" I nodded in the affirmative. She thanked the children for being silent so I could finish and I thanked them, too. Then she did the most extraordinary thing, she asked them if they could play the series of cords I had played while I was checking the tuning. And trust me, the series was complex. I had created it, to check for classical intervals in all twelve keys and jazz intervals in broken cords and flated 5th. She counted 7 counts, because my check was in 7/4 time (one two, one two, one two three,) And the approximation was unbelievable, not perfect, but OH MY GOD! - one hundred minds, ages four to thirteen. (BTW the Materialists are FOOLS - the human spirit is not firing of electrons in the brain.) The fact that they had that "playing by ear" skill, that musical acuity BLEW ME AWAY - and broke a prejudice I had held that classical musicians played always mechanically, many of them do, the best ones do not.

A decade later, I was privileged to become a "musical confidant" of the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra's new “top violinist, who took the job of Concert MASTER - at the age of nineteen. His mother was a Suzuki teacher. While Concert Master under Musical Director Robert Shaw, "we" won 13 Grammy Awards for best classical presentations and recordings.

The back-story is that the Suzuki group was comprised of musical prodigies, brought from all over, to be raised on the University of Georgia campus. And only the ones that were older were being taught how to read music. They were taught to listen and repeat and play by rote and play creatively, from their heart, from their soul, from their spirit, years before they were exposed to the artificial dots on a page, a mere schematic of music, not the music itself.

Everything I have said in this lesson so far is a direct analogy to the reality of the Ancient Christian Life, The Way. It did not come off a page, it was learned by example, called Tradition, and the Apostles and their Successors were Tradition’s directors; it created a language of spiritual understanding and communication, a GROWTH that was unconscious, inside strict rule of discipline. It required individual “tuning” the personal spiritual work of repentance and purification, by fasting, prayer and meditation, a solitary place called the prayer closet, where one could make the screeching sounds necessary to prepare the instrument to SING.  But it found its driving motivation and the witness of its spiritual reality SINGING, in communal performance called worship; the Divine Liturgy being the most important "performance." Like the children in that Suzuki Orchestra had to have the discipline to have their instrument prepared, to be “in tune,” for performance, they had to be in tune and sensitive to the others, in degrees of subtlety that boggles the mind. So the Ancient Christians worshiped followed the liturgical forms, while remaining open and sensitive to the nuanced and subtle sounds produced by the hearts, souls and spirits of others. In so doing, they created a common voice powered by the Holy Spirit, that joined the voices of angels, where heaven opened and the worship became, thy will be done on earth as in heaven, the visible joining of the Church Militant with the Church Triumphant, comprised of the saints of all ages, together with heavenly host singing ‘Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabaoth, heaven and earth are filled with your glory. Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna in the Highest, Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord, Hosanna in the Highest.  Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, Have mercy on us. Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, Have mercy on us. Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, Have mercy on us. And if you have ears to hear and eye to see, I have just explained the context of all of Saint John’s Apocalypse to you. The Book of Revelations is all about what this worship is, what its meaning is, what its goal is, how it is done, where it is done, (around the throne of God) who is in attendance, what their rolls are, and in very graphic terms it describes everything that competes to despoil it, everything in rebellion that seeks to ape it, parrot it, rape it, and destroy it, and the very real fact that what is being destroyed is the death and the work of every evil force of all time, by the triumph of the Blood of the perfect and unspotted Lamb, who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God who taketh away the sins of the world, grant us your peace.



Except ye become as a little child, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. “Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.”

Unknown and powerful saints.

In the middle 70s, I tuned in a Church my great, great Grand father founded, before the Civil War, on Georgia Highway 166, near the Douglas/Carroll county line. I had extra time, so after I tuned I started playing. Before long what I was playing was simple, sincere, without pretense and I knew to be a prayer. The spirit in that chapel became so sweet and warm I was dreading having to stand and leave.  A young woman, early twenties, had arrived silently carrying a harp, and set it down and listened to me playing. She never opened her mouth, just sat for a few minutes listening to me play.  We nodded to each other and smiled, simply acknowledging the presence of the other. I stopped playing and started packing my tools, assuming she wanted to rehearse. She walked toward me and I noticed that her footsteps did not make any noise.  She motioned for me to give her the piano, and the sound of the wooden bench scraping the floor as I literally scrambled to my feet getting out of her way was somehow shocking to me, I felt like a clumsy ox and worried that I had scratched the plank floor. My heavy foot falls sounded like thunder, on that old wooden floor, and creaked and popped under my enormous weight. She realized that fear had risen in me, and it wasn’t just fear, it was filthy fear, the sure knowledge of my sinfulness, because I was suddenly aware as she walked toward me that I was in the presence of pure sanctity, and that this young woman was a saint or an angel; I did not know which. She looked at me with pity, and motioned with her hands lifted at the elbow, towards me. I felt the fear drain from my heart, and all I felt then was the warm sweetness of the room, and the dread in my heart that this moment would end, grief at the idea of having to leave this place, and this person. She sat down at the piano and started to play, and it was so different, so haunting it almost took my breath away.

I watched over her shoulder, trying to catch the movements and patterns of her fingers on the keyboard, to see if what she was playing matched the keys she was depressing.  I realized she really was playing the instrument, not “manipulating it” for want of a better term.  She then motioned for me to sit at the piano, and she played harp for me for probably 30 minutes or more, playing on the Harp what she had previously played on the piano.  I played along with her sounds and patterns, using only my right hand, the patterns were new to me, but somehow, fit my hand like a familiar glove. I recorded in my mind and upon my fingers, not what she was playing but the style of it. Then quicker than she had arrived, she disappeared with her harp and the room that was warm was suddenly cold. Poof, gone! And were it not for the fact that suddenly I could play the piano like a HARP, I would have thought the episode an illusion, an hallucination.

“Reality” hit me like a jolt of adrenaline and I thought, surely I’m already late to my next tuning appointment.  But when I looked at my watch, only twenty-two minutes had elapsed, it seemed like it had been much, much longer. I still had more time than that to kill, but I could no longer stand the emptiness of that room. I packed up and walked out into the warm sunshine, and the surrounding scenery was very breath taking, it held almost the “glory” the warm sweetness I had just experienced. I remembered that I had not noticed that beauty on my way over, or as I arrived. I had instead been living in my head, not in the world of experience, attending the world by rote, going through the motions, not honoring the moment. Motions were just means to an end. I realized that it was not just my music that was forever changed, but that it was me; I was seeing differently.

I want to point out that the beauty I was experiencing contained no “theory” even though the music had clear structure, and the sudden realization of the beauty in nature was “eyes open” seeing it in a new way. Standing in front of that Church enjoying the sunshine and the shade, the symphonic movement of the air, the wonder of existence, ultimately lead me to oil painting in the out of doors. In years to come the oil painting was just an excuse to touch “that world.” Now, I want to caution against accusing me of necromancy, that is “communication with the dead.”  Firstly there was nothing dead about the young woman I met, and no she was not a deceiving angel of light, in fact she was pretty in a way, not beautiful, and very humble and unpretentious in her demeanor. And what she engendered was reverent fear and the witness of sanctity.

The caretaker arrived in his pick-up truck, and quickly approached me.  Against all better judgment I decided to tell what had just happened. I started and ended by saying, “I know you will think I’m crazy but . . . “ He said, “No, Butch, I believe you. Believe me, I of all people know you are telling the truth. I was cutting the grass in the cemetery a few years back and hit something I think was an iron stake, and the blade broke and half of it hit me so hard it partly lodge in this leg” He pulled up his pants and showed me “and I was bleeding so badly, I was immediately in shock, next thing I knew someone was picking me up, and it was a young woman, who probably weighed half what I weigh. (He was a small man.) She carried me and laid me down next to the road, just as a car stopped seeing me in trouble, bleeding and unable to stand. I turned to thank her and there was no one there.  (remember this was pre-cell phone days and he was in a life and death situation, unable to walk, bleeding profusely and isolated on an old country road, half a mile from the closest neighbor). I had to have three pints of blood for they got me sowed up, and later they had to put a pin in this shank, cause I kept re-breaking it.”
“Did you speak with her?”
“No, but I think from the first second I knew who she was.  You know, you can’t get any of the ladies of the church to come here alone. They all have seen Sarah or are frightened to. My wife seen her, too. More than thirty years ago, during the war, things was scarce, she was pregnant, and in danger of loosing our second son. She was kneeling at the altar begging God to help her and a young woman started praying next to her, they were about the same age. She laid her hands on my wife’s stomach and said, “not to worry, sister,” smiled and disappeared. My wife was so frightened she got up and ran out of the church and ran all the way to the house, which you know is almost half a mile, she came screaming to me in the field that she had seen an angel.”

“You said, ‘second son’ so he was born?”
“Yeah, he played UGA football and is a lawyer, thinking about getting into politics.”  He motioned for me to follow him. We walked deep into the old part of the cemetery and he pointed at a headstone that looked too new to match the rest of the family. He said, “Look at the dates.” They were all in the 1880s, mother, father, two sons, a young friend, and the daughter Sarah. They all died within two months of one another. Sarah was the last to die and had buried the others, or at least watched them buried. He said, “It was some hellish influenza, some of the really old folk said years back.  Look around, it wiped out about two thirds of the congregation. I’ve looked at all the stones, the ones you can still read, this was the last family that lost anyone, and near as I can figure, Sarah was the last to die. I’m thinking that hell produced a saint.” 

To this day I know it and all these forty plus years later, I cannot invoke her memory without touching the deepest part of my heart. Her “music lesson” changed me. I have never played a sound, "as a prayer" since, that was not locked in HER style. One day, after the doctor gives me a terminal diagnosis, I will tell all of the story, because Sarah is a Warrior. Listen to this music - five lessons when I was five, and six lessons when I was twenty-two . . .those lessons do not explain this.

( https://soundcloud.com/piano-butch-robinson/classical-romance-by-piano-butch-robinson )

“For in the resurrection they neither marry, nor are given in marriage, but are as the angels of God in heaven. But as touching the resurrection of the dead, have ye not read that which was spoken unto you by God, saying, ‘I AM the God of Abraham, and the God of Issac, and the God of Jacob?’ God is not the God of the dead, but the living.” And remember Jesus did not say, I will be the Resurrection and the Life; he said, I AM the resurrection and the life.

I told this story to a dear friend, a fellow musician, who happens to be Jewish, and played him this piece (the link above) and he said, “Nice...enchanting, ethereal qualities...would be amazing with a harp!”  I could not help but needle him a little, so I answered,

“<smile> I love you, man, and love your music, but you just obfuscated the point. But I love you enough to let you off the hook. BTW the MAGIC word, "ethereal" is used by naturalists, who do not have a CLUE of the spiritual reality to which they have been exposed.”

He answered, “The inspiration? It's obviously there, and is why the two would compliment each other...as a tribute...I used "ethereal" in the sense of heavenly... Maybe I'm just tired...just a few minutes ago finished installing one set of drawers in our new cabinets...new butcher-block counter, new window, New backsplash onyx tiles getting grouted tomorrow...late, long hours!” 

S.E. thought I was fussing at him. He sent me a picture of the woodwork, and it was gorgeous, he is a master at woodworking. I duly and rightly extended my appreciation of his creative talents and then shamelessly needled again him saying,

“<smile> BTW the Magic word ‘Heaven and Heavenly’ is used by naturalists, who have been influence by Plato, but who still do not have a CLUE of the spiritual reality to which they have been exposed.”

S.E. ended the conversation saying, “That's as close as my language capabilities can get to describing the indescribable...how do you put into words the inspiration, the creative process, the manifestation of that on an instrument, the translation/transmission of all that to another's senses...? One of the grandest of human endeavors, while being the most mysterious...”

I waited till the next day to respond, to press the impression of sanctity deeper, “Yes, the ancients were smarter than the modern materialists are, locked as they are in a closed circle of reality devoid of a creator and beneficent God. I am not talking about you, of course, but the general impoverishment of the cultural language created by ‘naturalism.’ The ancients knew that Truth, Beauty, Goodness, and Liberty could not be separated, and that such communication of a spiritual language that out paces the mortal and common reasoning abilities, today we call the function of the brain, were of a higher intelligence, contact with something more than the mortal soul, or "sarx" (the flesh we hold in common with the beasts). Even most of the Greek Pagan Philosophers understood this.

“The Greeks who were the progenitors of Western Civilization had a word for it, NOUS, sometimes translated heart and sometimes mind, and some moderns translate it heart/mind - but I don't like that because it is not of the lesser "emotions" but rather spiritual intelligence, the capacity of the human to communicate spiritually, in non-verbal reality, that functions on a higher intelligence. ‘The Noetic Capacity’ (Noetic – of the NOUS) is spiritual; it is spiritual capacity, different than psychic capacity (of the soul), which can be used for good or ill. 

“The Noetic Capacity is there though dampened and dying and dead in too many humans. So they prefer music that is primarily based on the common sexual urge, as the infamous Simon Cowell has repeatedly said, “rock n roll and pop music is all about sex,” though that is a lie, some of it is just fun and about novelty and humor, and some of it about anger, greed, pride, jealousy etc. There is a whole genre of it that is about gnawing common grief, that longing that haunts the hearts, the constantly longing human psyche of man. Some of it is purely demonic and destructive to the human person, an invitation to sorcery and necromancy. Most can't imagine anything higher; they never connect with anything higher. It is life on a feed lot.” +++

“And of the angels he saith, Who maketh his angels spirits, and his ministers a flame of fire.”

“Let brotherly love continue.  Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

Some have also entertained sanctified persons, i.e., saints, both aware, and unaware, just as humans have experienced angels both aware, and unaware.

In the synergistic working of Christ’s Holy Spirit, acting on knowledge above our reasoning, sometimes we are even allowed to be mistaken as angels. <smile> I was an angel once, and snapped a priest/monk out of years of depression following a mission to Africa that turned terribly wrong.  The priests were ordered by the dictator to watch the torture and execution of the “enemies of the state.” He had returned a shadow of the man I had known not well, but beyond a two dimensional relationship. It fact he was instrumental in helping me lead a dear friend to Christ, and break him out of his rebellion to God, which really was not a rebellion against Jesus Christ, but against the ignorance and harshness of his fundamentalist and silly birth religion. I saw my friend’s heart, I had watched him twice place himself in mortal danger to save others from injury or death; the second incident was from certain death and he had saved us all – a story for another time. So I knew Father Anthony more than casually. Prior to his mission to Africa, when I would arrive at the monastery he would smile and greet me by name. But after Africa, there arrived a hollow-eyed man, who even when I prompted him as to who I was, had no memory of me. I could tell that he didn’t like me, and I could not judge him for that, after all, what’s to like?  But then I thought that my calling on his memory was an aggravation to him, maybe even painful.  So for several years on my visits to the monastery, I would avoid him. I always enjoyed seeing him at a distance and wondered if the old friend would ever walk up to me and say “Butch.”

One day, tired from driving, returning from a long trip, I stopped by this time driven just to greet him. I just had the urge to say, “Hello” and say something encouraging. While there I would visit an ancient medieval altar, used for centuries, a huge timber as the top, with worn smooth depressions where the candles, chalice and paten had been placed and removed thousands and thousand of times. The thought of the living Christ’s present on that altar, always struck a cord deeply in my heart, and I found myself laying my hands on that ancient wood, and praying in silence, a physical contact with all those priests and deacons, and faithful across time. All whom I pictured in vision struggling so seriously and lovingly in their own era. So this day Father Anthony was working in the Guest House office. I think I will let him tell it in his own words.

Excerpt from “Praying in the Cellar: A Guide To Facing Your Fears and Finding God” by Anthony Delisi, O.C.S.O.  “The Book of Acts (chapter 12) reveals the power of angels.  Where are these angels of light today? Why was Peter freed, while on the other hand James was beheaded? Is the intervention of angels so rare that when it does happen it is written in the Scriptures?  Or, is the opposite nearer the truth?

“Perhaps we are being reminded of the nearness of angels and of their reality?  I have never seen an angel. Or, have I?  Some years back, a bearded stranger walked into our guesthouse and spoke to me while I was working in the office. He said, “The Father is pleased with this place.” I answered that the Father is pleased with many places, but he insisted that the Father was please with this place.  I then asked, “Where are you from?”  He answered, “I am from near and I am from afar.” Then, he repeated those words once more.  I asked him if he wanted to stay for supper, but as I looked up I noticed that he had already left. I was not sure if he heard me, so I got up from behind the desk and went to the door, but no one was there.  Was he an angel?

“Perhaps I have not recognized angels in human disguise.  The early church thought Peter was an angel. We live in a world of mysteries. We see so much when we stand in Your light. But, what is it that we do not yet see?” + + +

In this case Father Anthony’s angel was, yours truly. But what wonder it is still since every time I have seen him since, the light had returned to his eyes and he has become a prolific writer. You see I had the impression, rightly or wrongly that after the horrors of Africa that changed him, that the patient endurance of dullness had grown irksome to him. I drove miles out of the way on my trip, with a burning desire to say to his face, not just that God was pleased with the work of the Guest House, which he most assuredly is, but that God loved and was pleased with Father Anthony.  It was odd that he did not ask me my name, the usual first step in an introduction, “Hello, I’m Father Anthony” begging the question “and what’s your name.”  No he went straight for “where are you from.”  I did not want to engender the pain of him trying to remember me, as I had once, after he returned from Africa. I did not want to say, “I know you don’t remember me but I’m Butch Robinson, raised on the campus of Beulah Heights Bible College, Timothy Stayton introduced us years ago, when we were teens, and you helped catechize my friend Doug R., you know who was beheaded with a chainsaw?”  No, I did not want to watch him strain to remember so I said without thinking, but having the double meaning in my mind, that I was from near (since I loved the dear father, and remember all our encounters) and from afar (since whatever happened in Africa wiped away his memory of me.)

How did I manage to disappear?  I took Father Anthony’s rebuff, “The Father is please with a lot of places” as a rejection of what I said and I was reminding him that his work was sacred, of love, a power for the good, beautiful, a real comfort and solace in this world for thousands, etc., etc. So, when the phone rang, the part he may or may not remember, I hesitated, and turned and walked down the hall to the conference room where that lovely old altar is kept in “retirement.” (Someone told me recently that it was not an altar, just a very old table. Frankly I don't know.)  The room was dark, but I did not need any light, because that altar literally glows in my eyes. I walked to it, placed my hands on it, as I had several times in my life and prayed, this time especially for Father Anthony. I heard commotion outside, in the hallway, and heard the door open and saw Fr Anthony peer into the dark, turn and literally trot down the hallway. Little did I know he was chasing an angel.  When the coast was clear, I slipped out of the building and continued my journey.

Father Anthony asked, “We see so much when we stand in Your light. But, what is it that we do not yet see?” I answer, in this culture everyone is blind, and spiritually blind to the point of insanity, where they think a man can be a wife and mother and a woman can be a husband and father. Even Christians, who are not that blind, are still to a great extent non-spiritual, thinking that being spiritual is being a spiritualist, and looking for wonders, and God to over power them by force, or having reduced God to silly sentimentality etc., even in the Apostolic Catholic Churches so many have accepted a “schematic” and not the LIFE. There is a reason for it, we have forgotten in the sea of Luciferian Propaganda, the reason that Jesus said, “those who have purified their hearts, see me” he actually said “Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God” same meaning; He was not talking about some far off date in the afterlife, some reward in eternity, but here now, God’s presence and actions in EVERYTHING.

This entire lesson was to give example to the “take away” from the last lesson, “St Symeon speaks of even the highest expression of Orthodox 'mystical experience, seeing the Divine Light' as second to the living presence of the Holy Spirit, in the Liturgy of Living. (The Synergistic Experience of the Life of God in Christ by the Holy Spirit as our everyday state.) He said, 'If you have seen Christ but He has not yet granted you to drink of this beverage, fall down before Him and lament . . . and since you see Christ, lift up your eyes to Him unceasingly and always keep Him as the one spectator of your dejection and affliction.' The beverage is the 'life of the Holy Spirit itself' dwelling in us and with us, and as he describes above, to produce faith with works. The fulfillment of his promise, “and I will dwell in them and they in me.”

As shocking to those whose religion is theoretical and maybe even a perfect schematic and road map of the way, my friend in Christ, Saint Sarah is still working and producing faith with works, and why not, because God the Father is still working! And her faith gained in a horrible influenza plague, in the 1880’s where her entire world was taken away in a matter of two months, is still producing faith with works. Sarah had managed to create in Christ the part she got to keep, which was her whole real self. Now she is standing ready, guarding a community, I assume even now these 40 plus years later, to come to the aid of those in need, and to do so upon an instant.

What was I praying when Saint Sarah walked into the chapel carrying a harp? I was pouring out my grief and anger upon the keyboard, a young man in the throes of bitterness, just like someone does in a prayer closet when their faith and spiritual vision has grown so shallow and dim, all they can manage is “Why God? Why.” That grief and anger which no one on the outside was allowed to see, she saw it, and gave me the tools to wash it out of myself, to eventually purge it from my life. 

Whatever it was zapping the light from Father Anthony’s eyes, the event’s too gruesome to speak, even the sinner Butch, in obedience to make that visit and say that thing, that seemed so obvious and unneeded to say, was able create something NEW by saying it. 

I could name hundreds of like events, hundreds, some that are personal experience and some to which I am personal witness. Like the angels singing harmony with my sister Linda, as my sister Charlotte slept and her husband was gasping his last hours, his soul struggling to be set at liberty. She sat quietly singing, not wanting to awaken Charlotte, but I was focused on Don in prayer, and thought other people had arrived in the room. The music was so poignantly sweet; I didn’t want to spoil the sound with faces. They came an went, and I smiled at Linda afterward and said basically what only a brother could say, and not be hated for it, “Sis, I’m amazed how beautiful your voice is at your age. It was as beautiful as the others.” I did not realize what I had affirmed. I did not realize those beautiful voices were not people in the room; they came and left so naturally, as I prayed with my eyes half closed looking at the floor. I did not realize until later two years later, when my sister said, “Well, you heard the angels singing that last night with Don.” I said, “What?” She said, “I know you heard them, Butch, because you remarked to me how beautiful it was.” Indeed it had been beautiful, and indeed I had remarked, but at the time I was wrapped enough in my own struggle watching my friend and brother struggle in death throes, I had paid no attention to the singing except to rest in it, as I silently prayed.

Jesus said, “My father worketh hitherto, and I work.” And those in his Body work also, both the living and the more alive.  Saint Sarah, pray for me. Father Anthony, your prayers, please, and forgive me for not being an angel, but be amazed that Christ Jesus in his condescension uses even terrible sinners, like me, even sometimes to comfort his saints.