Orthodox theology, like Holy Scripture, accomplishes what in strictly human terms is not possible. It takes the ineffable and incomprehensible mystery of God’s being and activity, and makes it intelligible and accessible.
Most of the images we have of God are pitifully inadequate. Our minds are simply not able to grasp the reality of God, either as Creator or as Redeemer. All the less can they sound the depths of His being. Those depths, as the apostle Paul affirms, can only be fathomed by God Himself in the Person of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor 2:10-11).
The entire universe—and “parallel universes,” if indeed they exist—results from God’s creative activity. This includes the “macrocosmos,” the domain of warped space and black holes, as it does the “microcosmos,” the realm of unimaginably small elementary particles that constitute material reality. Then there is the immaterial: angels, principalities and powers, together with the human spirit. From galaxy-generating nebulae to the nanosphere, God’s creative work, even within the limits of the physical universe, defies understanding. If we affirm His presence in it at all, it is only because Scripture, ecclesial Tradition and the natural order itself reveal that presence to us.
God’s work of redemption and salvation are likewise known only by divine revelation. The God who brings all things from non-existence into being reveals Himself as the God who knows us more intimately than we can ever know ourselves, who loves us to the point that He sacrifices Himself for us, in order to make accessible to us the gift of eternal life. The God beyond the cosmos is also the God who is “closer to us than our own heart.”
The mystery of God becomes all the more unfathomable when we consider His inner being. If we know God to be a communion of three Persons, united in a single divine essence or nature, it is only because He has revealed Himself to us as such. Trinitarian theology could never be the product of human logic or human speculation. Yet for those who live “in Christ,” the reality of Trinitarian communion becomes self-evident, since we are given the grace to share intimately and personally in that communion ourselves. Every prayer we offer, every worship service we celebrate, every gesture of disinterested love we make confirms what we know of God’s innermost reality. His Being is a “being in communion,” and that communion is love. The Father is the source, the archê or principle of all life, both human and divine. As such, He eternally brings forth the Son, His Word, by “generation,” and the Spirit, His divine Breath or life-giving power, by “procession.”
What these terms actually mean remains beyond our comprehension. “What is this proceeding?”, St Gregory the Theologian asks. “You explain the ingeneracy of the Father and I will give you a biological account of the Son’s begetting and the Spirit’s proceeding—and let us go mad, the pair of us, for prying into God’s secrets!”1 If this specific language is given to us, it is because generation and procession speak of certain relationships within the Trinity, both personal and hierarchical. But as St Gregory makes clear, to pry too deeply into the mystery of those relationships is to risk going insane.
St John Chrysostom also spoke (eloquently!) of the “incomprehensibility of God.” Therein lies the paradox. The subject of God’s being is one that defies not only rational analysis, but even the most elementary attempts at understanding. For this reason, Orthodox theologians adopt an “apophatic” approach to divine mystery, attempting to grasp the incomprehensible and express the ineffable by a via negativa: by discerning what God is not, before affirming who and what He is. This, too, is why images of God inevitably fail: the Good Lord, the cosmic Santa, “The Force” or whatever. Hence the First and Second Commandments, and the refusal in authentic iconographic tradition to depict the Father in any way at all. The mystery is absolute. It reduces us to silence.
Yet astonishingly, marvelously, that unfathomable mystery is one that any little child can understand, appreciate and, to some degree, convey to others. Those children who can sing from the heart, “Jesus loves me, this I know!” have understood a basic and essential truth of the Gospel. We may smile, or be annoyed, at little children who come into church and run up to the analoy to kiss the cross stitched on its covering. Yet they easily convert their focus on the cross into love for Him who bore that cross. If they are guided with gentleness and affection, those children also come quickly to feel whatever anticipation and excitement their parents may experience as Holy Week or other fasting periods lead progressively into a great feast. They may not be able to articulate the complexities of dogma or master the rubrics of liturgical services (although many can recite long portions of those services, particularly the Divine Liturgy). Nevertheless, they are fully capable of grasping and experiencing what is essential.
They know that God loves them from the depths of His heart; that Jesus is their friend and constant companion, always available in times of need; and that the power of God, the Holy Spirit, dwells in them, to guide, bless and protect them as they journey toward Heaven. Their concepts may be simple and naïve. The language they use to explain the basics of the faith may be elementary and embarrassingly “anthropomorphic.” Yet these children know the truth and speak it, for the simple reason that God has revealed it to them.
This Paschal season that we are now embarking upon is marked by a great deal of tension and tragedy. In recent months, war, genocide, incurable disease and natural disasters have devastated entire populations. In the face of it all, our theological language can sound obtuse and irrelevant, both to our own needs and to those of the suffering world around us. Yet it is important not to lose sight of our real calling, which is to become as little children.
The Paschal mystery is worthy of our deepest theological reflection, as it is of our most solemn and beautiful liturgical celebration. For us to be worthy of that mystery in return, we need to assume the Church’s discipline of fasting, prayer, and readings in our theological and spiritual tradition, together with charitable gestures that bring God’s loving presence expressed in theology and liturgy into the realm of day-to-day life. It’s a complicated matter, one so demanding that we may find it overwhelming.
It is enough, though, to “become like a little child.” We may never quite understand how children seem to fathom the divine mystery, perceive both the tragedy and the glory in Christ’s sacrifice, and dwell peacefully and intimately in communion with the Holy Trinity. But they do, and that gives us hope.
In a lost and tormented world, we prepare to celebrate a “sacred Pascha.” Throughout Holy Week we will journey with our Lord once again, as He makes His way from the suffering of His crucifixion toward the victory and joy of His resurrection. We will hear, sing and celebrate the mystery of our redemption, our liberation from the powers of sin and death. Finally, we will rejoice at the angel’s message in the Empty Tomb: “He is not here, He is risen!”
For that Paschal celebration to be truly sacred requires only that we receive it like a little child, that we stand wide-eyed in breathless anticipation before the mystery of divine Presence and divine Love. Today this sacred Pascha is revealed to us. May God grant us the grace to embrace that awesome and beautiful mystery, and the simplicity and openness of heart to be embraced by it.
[1] Theological Oration 31.8.