First Blessings

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

Introduction To The Apocrypha

The Lord be with you.
And with your spirit.
Let us pray.

Blessed Lord, who caused all Holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that by patience and the comfort of your Holy Word, we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Foreword

As Anglican Christians, we value Holy Scripture as the very Word of God written. We stand under the authority of Christ ministered, not least, through Holy Scripture. It is pre-eminent among all texts. But it is not the only book — books — that we find of value. We treasure the writings of the Apostolic Fathers, the Desert Fathers, the saints and apologists and theologians — male and female — of the Church throughout the ages. And no good Anglican thinks it amiss when a priest, preacher, or teacher quotes C. S. Lewis or John Donne or even N. T. Wright. But let that same speaker quote from the Apocrypha and some people “go all squirrely.” Why is that? Why is there such suspicion toward these books? Part of the answer is the unfortunate historical animosity between Protestants and Roman Catholics. Part of the answer is just lack of familiarity with the Apocrypha — what it is, what it contains, and how it is rightly considered and used by Anglicans.

In this overview of the Apocrypha we hope to ease some of that suspicion by showing how the Apocrypha can be properly and faithfully used and by familiarizing you with some of its content, particularly those books that are read by Anglicans in the Daily Office and at the Eucharist.

Introduction: The Three Shelves of Scripture

When we think of Holy Scripture — the Bible — we typically have in mind a single volume containing both the Old Testament (the Hebrew Scriptures) and the New Testament (the Christian Scriptures): one book, two testaments. But, the Bible is not a single book. It is a collection of books by multiple authors written over centuries now bound together for convenience sake into the single book of our sacred writings. St. Paul mentions these writings in his second letter to Timothy:

14 But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it 15 and how from childhood you have been acquainted with the sacred writings, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. 16 All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, 17 that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work (2 Tim 3:14-17).

St. Paul reminds Timothy that from his childhood Timothy was acquainted with the “sacred writings,” the same word translated in verse 16 as Scripture. And St. Paul insists that all these scriptures are God-breathed, that they are profitable, and that they contribute to our completion as God’s holy people. He doesn’t specify the names of the individual books that constitute the sacred writings, and he doesn’t delve deeply into how the books became the sacred writings.

And, we don’t often think about the process by which the sacred writings became the finished Bible, either, but it would be helpful to do that now, at least in very abbreviated fashion. Scholarly careers are built on this topic. A vast body of historical, literary, and linguistic research exists. Whole schools of thought are built around it. So, it is not even the tip of the iceberg that we’ll look at — just enough for our purposes.

We start with God the Holy Spirit. What St. Peter says specifically about the prophetic word of Scripture, we accept as true for the whole of Scripture:

21 For no prophecy was ever produced by the will of man, but men spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit (2 Pet 1:21).

The scriptural word that men spoke was/is from God, given specifically under the direction of the Holy Spirit. What that means precisely is open to a range of interpretations. But, it seems clear that the creation of God’s written word was a joint venture between God and men, that men were more than mere scribes, that their humanity comes through in these writings in a way that does not compromise the divine status of the word. Men weren’t ciphers, but rather a real and vital part of the process of producing Scripture. We have four Gospels and not one: four different perspectives from four different human authors working under the auspices of the Holy Spirit.

Man’s involvement doesn’t stop with the initial act of writing. The Scriptures were copied and edited and compiled and translated over generations. They are still being translated today through the good and godly work of societies like Wycliffe Bible Translators. None of this is haphazard. All of it is superintended by God the Holy Spirit to ensure that the finished product is the Word of God, the word that God wants us to have to reveal himself, to form us into the kind of people he wants us to be, and to govern our life together in the Church.

There is another important step in this process that is particularly germane to our purposes in this class. The Bible did not come complete with a table of contents. Instead, there were a host of individual books being used by the people of God, both his old covenant people and his new covenant people. From this variety of books, different Jewish and Christian communities compiled collections of books that they considered authoritative, books in which they clearly heard the voice and word of God and to whose authority they submitted themselves.

Imagine that in compiling these books for their use — in selecting which books the community considered authoritative — a community had three bookshelves with which to sort the books into categories. (I believe I first heard this three shelf analogy from Orthodox priest and scholar Fr. Stephen DeYoung.) On the top shelf they put all the books in which they clearly and perfectly heard the word of God. We’ll call this shelf Canon, from a word that denotes a measuring stick. These books are the standard, the ruler, by which all other books will be judged or measured. They are the books authorized for public reading and teaching in the community. These are recognized as being uniquely the word of God written. On the bottom shelf are the clearly inferior and erroneous books that may not be read in public worship and should not even be read privately. We’ll call this shelf Heresy. But what about the middle shelf? This is the tricky one. These books aren’t heretical; they won’t lead you away from God or into bad morals. But, they are of mixed quality and usefulness; some parts are brilliant and some parts are less so and perhaps confusing. Some are histories and some are fictional morality tales, romping good reads but of secondary spiritual significance.

We’ll call this shelf Apocrypha, a word that means “hidden.” That is, they are hidden from public use in the community. You are welcome to read them privately, and, in fact, there is great benefit in doing so. But, you have to read them with discernment. Always measure them against those books on the top shelf, the Canon. Anything that agrees with the canonical books is fine; anything that might seem to disagree is suspect. You do not use the apocryphal books to formulate any doctrine not found in the canonical books, but you can use them to support and illustrate “canonical” doctrine and to help you lead a life of wisdom and virtue. And the histories are quite useful for understanding the world out of which the canonical books came. Most of the books on the middle shelf were written in what we consider the silent years between the end of the Old Testament era and the beginning of the New Testament, let’s say between 400 – 200 B.C. These were books well known to Jesus and his disciples — the history, religious fiction, and wisdom that shaped their culture.

Now imagine many different communities sorting all these books with this same three-shelf process. How likely is it that all the same books would end up on the same shelves across all communities? I suspect there would be significant agreement, maybe especially on those books that are heretical. And I think there would be a common core of canonical books; some would appear across all the different communities. But there would also be some variation. A few books on the middle shelf in some communities might be on the top shelf in others. That is exactly what we see historically: different communities with different canons, not vastly different, but with a few different books here and there. Again, keep in mind that I have grossly simplified a complex process, but this will do for our purposes.

Over time, two Old Testament canons rose to prominence: one used by Hebrew speaking Jews, the Masoretic Text still used in Rabbinic Judaism, and the Septuagint, a Greek translation widely used in the first century and beyond when the use of Hebrew waned and Greek became the “world’s language.” The Hebrew Masoretic Text contains fewer books than does the Septuagint and the Vulgate, a later Latin translation. Those books that are included in the canon of the Septuagint and Vulgate and excluded from the Masoretic Text are what we call the Apocrypha. They are canonical in some faith communities — Roman Catholic and Greek Orthodox, for example — but not in others. The Old Testament canon in most Protestant churches is based on the Hebrew/Masoretic Text and does not include these apocryphal books. If your Bible has 66 books — 39 OT and 27 NT — it does not contain the Apocrypha.

Bibles used by Roman Catholic and Orthodox Christians disperse these books that we consider apocryphal throughout the Bible in appropriate places based on literary genre. The books are, after all, canonical for them and no distinction is made between them and the other books. In most Protestant Bibles that include the Apocrypha, the books are grouped together and placed either between the Old and New Testaments or “sequestered” in the back of the Bible to emphasize that they are not canonical. Some publishers even print the Apocrypha in smaller font to set it apart from the canon, which in increasingly infuriating as I get older and my vision declines even further.

Anglicanism and the Apocrypha

The Anglican approach to the Apocrypha is the typical via media, more both-and than either-or. I’ll let our formularies — our controlling documents — speak to this issue.

From The Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion of 1571 (BCP 2019, p. 772 ff), specifically Article VI. OF THE SUFFICIENCY OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES FOR SALVATION:

Holy Scripture containeth all things necessary to salvation: so that whatsoever is not read therein, nor may be proved thereby, is not to be required of any man, that it should be believed as an article of the Faith, or be thought requisite or necessary to salvation. In the name of the Holy Scriptures we do understand those Canonical Books of the Old and New Testament, of whose authority was never any doubt in the Church (BCP 2019, p. 773).

In other words, by Holy Scriptures we mean the core of books common to all Christian Churches: the thirty-nine books of the Hebrew Old Testament and the twenty-seven books of the New Testament, precisely what you find in any Protestant Bible. But the article continues and addresses the Apocrypha:

And the other Books (as Hierome saith) the Church doth read for example of life and instruction of manners; but yet doth it not apply them to establish any doctrine; such are these following (BCP 2019, p. 774).

And then it lists the fourteen books of the Apocrypha. Similarly, the ACNA Catechism To Be A Christian says this about the Apocrypha:

The fourteen books of the Apocrypha, historically acknowledged by this church, are pre-Christian Jewish writing that provide background for the New Testament and are included in many editions of the Bible. They may be read as examples of faithful living but “not to establish any doctrine” (Articles of Religion, 6).

So, we Anglicans find the Apocrypha useful for background historical and cultural information, for devotion and inspiration, for wisdom, and for examples of holy living. We read any and all of the books privately and selections from some of them in both our eucharistic and daily office lectionaries. But, in doing so, we preserve the distinction between the canonical books and the apocryphal books. When a selection from the Apocrypha is read in public worship we do not conclude the reading with “The Word of the Lord / Thanks be to God.” We simply say, “Here ends the reading.” We are not exactly saying that the word from the Apocrypha is not inspired, but we are not claiming that it is.

Of the fourteen books in the Apocrypha the ACNA includes readings from six of them in either the Eucharistic readings or the Daily Office Readings:

Ecclesiasticus (The Wisdom of Sirach)

Wisdom (Wisdom of Solomon)

1 Maccabees

2 Maccabees

Judith

Susanna

Ecclesiasticus, the most widely read of the apocryphal books, and Wisdom of Solomon are examples of wisdom literature on the order of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes in the Old Testament or James in the New Testament. The texts teach the value of acquiring wisdom and of living rightly (wisely and righteously).

1, 2 Maccabees are historical accounts of Jewish life and struggles in the intertestimental period. They recount the response of the Jews to various attempts to conquer them and to erase their Jewish identity and faith. They also give us the origin of the Feast of Hanukkah, just as Esther gives the origin of Purim. You might think of these books like the canonical histories of 1, 2 Samuel, 1, 2 Kings, Ezra, and Nehemiah.

Judith is akin to Esther: a hero story of how a righteous woman outsmarted pagan armies who threatened the Jewish people. Because of some historical anomalies in the story, it is quite likely fictional.

Susannah is thought by scholars to be a fictional short story — a morality tale — that introduces Daniel and shows his wisdom in defending righteous Susannah from false accusations and death. It is a fun, short read — a sort of crime drama.

Susannah

Susannah is the first of the books we’ll look at. It is quite short; you have the full text on your handout. I will read it aloud and then I have some questions for you to consider in your table groups. If we don’t have adequate time to get to all the questions or to discuss them together, then that is your “homework.”

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

Introduction To The Apocrypha: Susanna

SUSANNA (Chapter 13 of the Greek version of Daniel)

1 There was a man living in Babylon whose name was Joakim. 2 He married the daughter of Hilkiah, named Susanna, a very beautiful woman and one who feared the Lord. 3 Her parents were righteous, and had trained their daughter according to the law of Moses. 4 Joakim was very rich, and had a fine garden adjoining his house; the Jews used to come to him because he was the most honored of them all.

5 That year two elders from the people were appointed as judges. Concerning them the Lord had said: “Wickedness came forth from Babylon, from elders who were judges, who were supposed to govern the people.” 6 These men were frequently at Joakim’s house, and all who had a case to be tried came to them there.

7 When the people left at noon, Susanna would go into her husband’s garden to walk. 8 Every day the two elders used to see her, going in and walking about, and they began to lust for her. 9 They suppressed their consciences and turned away their eyes from looking to Heaven or remembering their duty to administer justice. 10 Both were overwhelmed with passion for her, but they did not tell each other of their distress, 11 for they were ashamed to disclose their lustful desire to seduce her. 12 Day after day they watched eagerly to see her.

13 One day they said to each other, “Let us go home, for it is time for lunch.” So they both left and parted from each other. 14 But turning back, they met again; and when each pressed the other for the reason, they confessed their lust. Then together they arranged for a time when they could find her alone.

15 Once, while they were watching for an opportune day, she went in as before with only two maids, and wished to bathe in the garden, for it was a hot day. 16 No one was there except the two elders, who had hidden themselves and were watching her. 17 She said to her maids, “Bring me olive oil and ointments, and shut the garden doors so that I can bathe.” 18 They did as she told them: they shut the doors of the garden and went out by the side doors to bring what they had been commanded; they did not see the elders, because they were hiding.

19 When the maids had gone out, the two elders got up and ran to her. 20 They said, “Look, the garden doors are shut, and no one can see us. We are burning with desire for you; so give your consent, and lie with us. 21 If you refuse, we will testify against you that a young man was with you, and this was why you sent your maids away.”

22 Susanna groaned and said, “I am completely trapped. For if I do this, it will mean death for me; if I do not, I cannot escape your hands. 23 I choose not to do it; I will fall into your hands, rather than sin in the sight of the Lord.”

24 Then Susanna cried out with a loud voice, and the two elders shouted against her. 25 And one of them ran and opened the garden doors. 26 When the people in the house heard the shouting in the garden, they rushed in at the side door to see what had happened to her. 27 And when the elders told their story, the servants felt very much ashamed, for nothing like this had ever been said about Susanna.

28 The next day, when the people gathered at the house of her husband Joakim, the two elders came, full of their wicked plot to have Susanna put to death. In the presence of the people they said, 29 “Send for Susanna daughter of Hilkiah, the wife of Joakim.” 30 So they sent for her. And she came with her parents, her children, and all her relatives.

31 Now Susanna was a woman of great refinement and beautiful in appearance. 32 As she was veiled, the scoundrels ordered her to be unveiled, so that they might feast their eyes on her beauty. 33 Those who were with her and all who saw her were weeping.

34 Then the two elders stood up before the people and laid their hands on her head. 35 Through her tears she looked up toward Heaven, for her heart trusted in the Lord. 36 The elders said, “While we were walking in the garden alone, this woman came in with two maids, shut the garden doors, and dismissed the maids. 37 Then a young man, who was hiding there, came to her and lay with her. 38 We were in a corner of the garden, and when we saw this wickedness we ran to them. 39 Although we saw them embracing, we could not hold the man, because he was stronger than we, and he opened the doors and got away. 40 We did, however, seize this woman and asked who the young man was, 41 but she would not tell us. These things we testify.”

Because they were elders of the people and judges, the assembly believed them and condemned her to death.

42 Then Susanna cried out with a loud voice, and said, “O eternal God, you know what is secret and are aware of all things before they come to be; 43 you know that these men have given false evidence against me. And now I am to die, though I have done none of the wicked things that they have charged against me!”

44 The Lord heard her cry. 45 Just as she was being led off to execution, God stirred up the holy spirit of a young lad named Daniel, 46 and he shouted with a loud voice, “I want no part in shedding this woman’s blood!”

47 All the people turned to him and asked, “What is this you are saying?” 48 Taking his stand among them he said, “Are you such fools, O Israelites, as to condemn a daughter of Israel without examination and without learning the facts? 49 Return to court, for these men have given false evidence against her.”

50 So all the people hurried back. And the rest of the elders said to him, “Come, sit among us and inform us, for God has given you the standing of an elder.” 51 Daniel said to them, “Separate them far from each other, and I will examine them.”

52 When they were separated from each other, he summoned one of them and said to him, “You old relic of wicked days, your sins have now come home, which you have committed in the past, 53 pronouncing unjust judgments, condemning the innocent and acquitting the guilty, though the Lord said, ‘You shall not put an innocent and righteous person to death.’ 54 Now then, if you really saw this woman, tell me this: Under what tree did you see them being intimate with each other?” He answered, “Under a mastic tree.” 55 And Daniel said, “Very well! This lie has cost you your head, for the angel of God has received the sentence from God and will immediately cut you in two.”

56 Then, putting him to one side, he ordered them to bring the other. And he said to him, “You offspring of Canaan and not of Judah, beauty has beguiled you and lust has perverted your heart. 57 This is how you have been treating the daughters of Israel, and they were intimate with you through fear; but a daughter of Judah would not tolerate your wickedness. 58 Now then, tell me: Under what tree did you catch them being intimate with each other?” He answered, “Under an evergreen oak.” 59 Daniel said to him, “Very well! This lie has cost you also your head, for the angel of God is waiting with his sword to split you in two, so as to destroy you both.”

60 Then the whole assembly raised a great shout and blessed God, who saves those who hope in him. 61 And they took action against the two elders, because out of their own mouths Daniel had convicted them of bearing false witness; they did to them as they had wickedly planned to do to their neighbor. 62 Acting in accordance with the law of Moses, they put them to death. Thus innocent blood was spared that day.

63 Hilkiah and his wife praised God for their daughter Susanna, and so did her husband Joakim and all her relatives, because she was found innocent of a shameful deed. 64 And from that day onward Daniel had a great reputation among the people.

Questions

1. The tension that drives the story is first presented in verse 2: Susanna was very beautiful and she feared the Lord. This raises a question that is foundational for the book: What constitutes true beauty? How does the story answer that question? You might compare this story with a word of wisdom from Prov 31 and with the direct instruction in 1 Peter 3:1-6.

2. This story provides great insight into the progression of sin. Read verses 5-18 to see how the elders spiral downward from temptation to slavery to the passion of lust. What did they do that they should not have done? What did they fail to do that they should have done? How does this compare to Jesus’ teaching in the Sermon on the Mount (5:27-30)?

3. The story circles back to the issue of true beauty — implicitly — in verses 19-23. How does it answer the question of the nature of beauty? How might these verses speak to a people in exile — as the Jews in the story were — and to Christians facing persecution?

4. Susanna cries out twice in the story (vss 24 and 42). This is clear evidence that she knew the Torah (verse 3); see Deut 22:23-24. Remember that people came to Joachim’s house for judgment. How should the wise among them have understood Susanna’s cries?

5. Compare verses 34-41 — especially the last sentence in vs 41 — to Deut 1:9-18. What does this say about godly justice?

6. Though the book of Susanna is a morality tale, it also serves as wisdom literature. Note how Daniel exhibits wisdom in keeping with the Law, very reminiscent of Solomon.

7. This book is apocryphal and not canonical. But, can you see any benefits of reading it in the Church?

St Paul, reflecting on the plurality and untidiness of the communities that are springing up, is driven to conclude that what is happening in these assemblies (the Greek word we translate as ‘church’ originally meant something like a convocation, a group of people summoned to debate together or work together) must be more than the gathering together of like-minded individuals, members of a kind of religious society. Paul uses the analogy of the different bits of the human body. Your body is not a kind of committee composed of representatives of the hands, representatives of the feet, representatives of the stomach, all sitting round a table and discussing issues of common concern. In this situation, one of them might leave, and the discussion would still go on — the authorised representatives of the interests of the stomach could get up and leave the table while the hands and feet go on negotiating. This is not how any real living organism works,

To paraphrase Paul a little, when I’ve got a cold, I’ve got a cold — t’s not just my nose that has the cold. When I have a heart attack, I have a heart attack — it’s not just a single organ in my chest that’s affected. In the body, everything affects everything; and this is why membership in the Christian community is not just like being par of a group that might go on working even if someone goes off on their own. If bits of your body start disappearing or ceasing to function, you will notice quite soon. If, as Paul puts it, one bit of the body says, ‘I can get along perfectly well without the others,’ the mistake becomes obvious in short order (Rowan Williams, Discovering Christianity: A guide for the curious, SPCK Publishing (2025), p. 38 Kindle edition).

The Eastern Church and the Western Church, the Protestants and the Roman Catholics, the ACNA and The Episcopal Church, GAFCON/GAC and the Anglican Communion: self-amputations all. Sometimes amputation is necessary to preserve the health of the whole body, but the act always leaves the body disfigured. It must always be grieved. Reunification must always be the goal. Imagine the Venus de Milo with arms.

Following is an “opinion piece” that I recently read online:

It’s hard for us to remember that people became saints and were able to live a “legitimate” spiritual life for nearly five centuries before the Church fell into it’s “monastic captivity” (Fr. Tom Hopko’s phrase regarding the influence of monasticism on the church up to today).

The man “in the world” that St. Anthony the Great (the father of monasticism) was sent to for schooling in the spiritual life attained it without a monastic “holy elder” confessor, the Philokalia, the Rudder, a Horologion and Menaion, or a “fasting calendar” with all the pink days that lists whether you can have fish, wine or oil that day, etc. etc.

It’s all good until it is more of an obsession than being a Christian.

This piece was written from within an Orthodox context. The argument is simple: since there were holy men and women — saints — in the generations before the growth of monasticism, then neither monasticism, the wisdom of the elders, a spiritual guide, nor the disciplines of the Church are necessary for the conduct of a holy life and even for “sainthood.”

As far as the statement goes, it is, I suppose, true. It is also true that amputations were performed before antiseptics and anesthesia, but few would argue against their use today. Pioneers once crossed the country in wagons and on horseback, but not many of us would prefer those modes of transportation to automobiles and airplanes. I once navigated by map and AAA Triptiks; now I use a GPS and, while I have a nostalgia for maps, I recognize the advantages of modern technology.

At one level, I agree with the author of the piece: monasticism is not the primary model of or context for Christian holiness. The Church is: the Church universal and the church local. And this is also the level at which I disagree with the author and why I even bothered to comment. When he (?) suggests that the Horologion and Menaion, the fasting calendar, etc., etc. are unnecessary for one’s formation in holiness, he is close to rejecting those disciplines that the Church has developed and bequeathed us for the cultivation of holiness, the disciplines that foster holiness for the many. As an Anglican, can I progress toward holiness without the Book of Common Prayer? Of course, just as I could conceivably stumble through a 10k race with my shoe laces tied together. But, why would I handicap myself?

The Reformers erred — gasp! — in discarding certain Church institutions and practices because of historic abuse and misuse of those institutions and practices, monasticism chief among the discards. The Reformers’ spiritual descendants have suffered a certain spiritual deficit since. In the Orthodox Church, bishops are most often selected from the monasteries, from the rank of monks, not because these are the only saints among us — not even because they are saints! — but because they have been formed by monastic ideals of humility, worship, holy poverty/simplicity, prayer, silence, repentance, and forgiveness. We could do worse. In too many cases, we are doing worse. And though I am not and, thank God, never will be a bishop, I would be a better priest to the extent that I had been better formed in these disciplines. And, here is the truth: I would be a better Christian if I had been better formed in these disciplines. To reject the wisdom of the Church as expressed in and through monasticism and the disciplines of the Church is a grave, self-inflicted wound. Why would one choose that?

From a letter written by C. S. Lewis to an Italian Roman Catholic priest and frequent correspondent:

August 10, 1953

Dearest Father,

I think almost all the crimes which Christians have perpetrated against each other arise from this, that religion is confused with politics. For, above all other spheres of human life, the Devil claims politics for his own, as almost the citadel of his power. Let us, however, with mutual prayers pray with all our power for that charity which “covers a multitude of sins.” Farewell, comrade and father (C. S. Lewis, Letters On Living The Faith, HarperOne (2026), pp.195-196).

There is grace in every moment, grace sufficient for that moment: not grace as a theological abstraction, not grace as the general, favorable disposition of God, but grace as the presence and power of God working for good and for salvation. In temptation it is the grace to see the way of escape. In the wilderness, in confusion, when death seems or is near, it is the grace to remember the One who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. In darkness, it is the grace to keep looking to the Light which has come into the world and it is the conviction that the darkness has not overcome it. In weariness it is the grace to cling to the One who said, “Come to me all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart and you will find rest for your souls.” In despair it is the grace to cry out, “O God, make speed to save me; O Lord, made haste to help me!” It is not ours to find the grace, but to ask God to reveal it — to reveal himself — and then to embrace it — to embrace him — with all the little within us when he does. It is ours to ask, “What is the grace in this moment, Lord?”

All throughout the discernment process for ordination and, indeed, all throughout my priesthood until this very day, a verse from Psalm 69 has been a haunting refrain and prayer. It is not coincidence, I am sure, that it was appointed for the Daily Office on this, the first of the Summer Ember Days, the Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday following Pentecost when the Church offers prayers for all those called to and serving in ordained ministry.

6 Let not those who hope in you be put to shame through me,
O Lord God of hosts;
let not those who seek you be brought to dishonor through me,
O God of Israel (Ps 69:6, ESV).

It is a prayer of priestly first aid based on the medical model: First, do no harm. There are days when that seems an exceedingly low bar for ministry, and terrible moments when it seems almost beyond my reach. But, as I said in my ordination vows, this I will do, “God being my helper.”

In the Book of Common Prayer, we have this prayer for use on Ember Days: I commend it to you and covet your prayers for all those who are called to ordained ministry, and certainly for me, an unworthy servant.

Almighty God, the giver of all good gifts, in your divine providence you have appointed various orders in your Church: Give your grace, we humbly pray, to all who are called to any office and ministry for your people; and so fill them with the truth of your doctrine and clothe them with holiness of life, that they may faithfully serve before you, to the glory of your great Name and for the benefit of your holy Church; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Are we alone in the universe? Certainly not: there are angels and archangels and all the company of heaven, and there are powers and principalities neither good nor even benign. The former aid us in the war we wage against the latter.

But are we alone in the popular sense of being the only intelligent life in the cosmos? Or, are there extraterrestrials, some of whom may even have “visited” Earth in what we euphemistically refer to as Unexplained Aerial Phenomena (UAP).? That is the question — isn’t it? — currently en vogue with each new release of Pentagon files or photos.

From time to time I think about this and ponder how the existence of “alien” life might factor into our Christian theology. If they were to come, would we evangelize their species? Man fell, but what about non-man? What about those not in Adam? Christ died for the sins of the whole world, yes, but just this world or perhaps others, too?

I do not know; this is larger than I am and I do not greatly concern myself with it:

O LORD, I am not haughty;
I have no proud looks.
I do not occupy myself with great matters,
or with things that are too high for me (Ps 131:1-2).

Recently, I read a letter from C. S. Lewis to Dom Bede Griffiths (8 Feb 1956) that addresses these questions quite well. I do not know the context of the letter, but the content is quintessential Lewis:

One often wonders how different the content of our faith will look when we see it in the total context. Might it be as if one were living on an infinite earth? Further knowledge would leave our map of, say, the Atlantic quite correct, but if it turned out to be the estuary of a great river — and the continent through which that river flowed turned out to be itself an island — of the shores of a still greater continent — and so on! You see what I mean? Not one jot of Revelation will be proved false: but so many new truths might be added (C. S. Lewis, Letter On Living The Faith, HarperOne (2026), p. 151).

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

The Feast of Pentecost: God With Us and God In Us
(Gen 11:1-9, Ps 104:24-35V, Acts 2:1-21, John 14:8-17)

Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of the faithful and kindle in them the fire of your love. Amen.

18 Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. 19 And her husband Joseph, being a just man and unwilling to put her to shame, resolved to divorce her quietly. 20 But as he considered these things, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, “Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. 21 She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” 22 All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet:

23 “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,

and they shall call his name Immanuel”

(which means, God with us) (Matt 1:18-23).

No, I don’t have the liturgical seasons confused; and yes, I know that this is Pentecost and not Christmas. So, why do I start here with a nativity text in the Gospel according to St. Matthew? First, I think this Gospel scene is one of the most significant passages in the whole of Scripture, a climactic moment in the story of God and his people. Second, I think that there is a through-line from this moment to the day of Pentecost, or more truly that there is a through-line from the creation account in Genesis 1, 2 through the whole of Scripture, passing through this Gospel passage, through St. Luke’s account of Pentecost in Acts, through the “end” of the story in Revelation 21, 22 and beyond it into whatever lies ahead in the age to come. It goes like this.

In Genesis 1, 2 God creates a cosmos, everything that is that is not God. In the vastness of that cosmos God creates a world which he adorns with sky and seas and dry land, which he covers with plants and trees, which he populates with swimming things and flying things and creeping things and walking things. And it is all good, especially these walking things which are very good because God made them to bear his own image, to be uniquely his representatives to the rest of creation. And he gave these walking things a place, a garden in which to dwell and from which to go forward into the world to be fruitful and multiply, to bring order, to gather up the praises of creation and present them to the Creator. Then, having done all this, God rested, that is, God took up his residence in this garden, at the intersection of heaven — God’s realm — and earth — the realm of these walking things. And that gives us a glimpse into God’s purpose, into God’s very heart. God loves these walking things and he wants to live with them so that he might be their God and they might be his people. God’s purpose, from before creation but expressed in creation, is to dwell with his image bearing people.

Soon these walking things have names: Adam, to emphasize to the man his prototypical headship of all humanity, and Eve, to remind the woman of her motherhood of all future image bearers of God. But, paradise — Eden — is short lived. A deceiver comes and seduces Eve’s heart away from God. Adam follows her down that treacherous path, and before day ends they find themselves naked and ashamed and hiding from God. They find themselves subject to death that causes sin and to sin that causes death. They find themselves outside the garden, in a world subject to futility. They find themselves exiled away from home and away from God. The intersection of heaven and earth, the place where God dwells with man, is now empty. The two realms are disjoint. The consequences of that separation are dire: murder (fratricide), the transgression of boundaries between humans and angels, the downward spiral into violence and all manner of evil until God regrets having made the walking things at all, the cleansing of the world by water, and the starting over with Noah, his wife, his three sons and their wives. Perhaps God can join heaven and earth once again. Perhaps he can dwell with Noah and his family?

No. Noah is not the solution to this problem of exile, after all, but a carrier of the problem, and it spreads throughout his offspring for generations, coming to a head on a plain in the land of Shinar. Come, let us build a city with a tower that rises to heaven, a place in which to dwell, a place by which we will make a name for ourselves. God is nowhere in this plan, and he is having none of it. So, God confuses their common language by giving them many different tongues, a babble of languages — the languages of Babel — and he disperses them over all the earth.

Yet, God’s purpose remains: to have a people among whom he can dwell. So, God begins to create and form just such a people, beginning with an old man, Abram, and his old wife, Sarai. God doesn’t quite live with them, but he does visit from time to time and he does make a covenant with Abram:

1 Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. 2 And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. 3 I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Gen 12:1-3).

God clarifies this covenant later; he will give Abram a land and a people, and he will be that people’s God. Put all that together — a land, a people, and a promise to be their God — and what do you have? You have the intersection of heaven and earth once again: God dwelling with man — not with all men, not all at once, but first with the children of Abraham and then one day through them with all the peoples of the earth.

It took generations to get even part of the way there. It is a long convoluted tale; I said there was a through-line to the story, but I never promised it would be a straight line. I can’t tell the whole story here, but we have a book that does, and a corporate memory that does, and you are part of a people who does: day by day, week by week, year by year, generation by generation we tell the whole story. But there are a few moments that stand out in the story, for good or ill, that I should mention on the way to Pentecost. These moments come with powerful visual images.

We jump ahead some five or six generations from Abraham to see his people — God’s people — march out of slavery in Egypt headed toward the land God had promised Abraham. They are led by Moses, and Moses is led by God in a pillar of cloud by day and fire by night. If not exactly dwelling among his people, God is at least visible to them, hidden almost sacramentally under the accidents — under the appearances — of cloud and fire. When, some fifty days after the great exodus — a first pentecost — the people encounter God at Sinai, God gives Moses not only the Law, but also a set of blueprints for the building of a tabernacle — an elaborate tent — in which God will dwell among his people. If you build it according to the pattern, God will come. If you keep the Law according to the tablets, God will stay. The tabernacle is in the midst of the people with the tribes camped about it. The Holy of Holies is in the midst of the tabernacle with the glory of God dwelling between the cherubim over the ark of the covenant. Once again, in this strange place, heaven and earth intersect and God dwells with his people.

It is a tenuous relationship though because these people are as prone to sin as were their forebears all the way back to those first walking things Adam and Eve. And, as with the first humans, exile looms large as a possibility for these recently emancipated sons and daughters of Abraham. But the Law makes provision for this in the daily and yearly round of sacrifices. The sacrifices keep the people repenting, keep them coming back to the tabernacle and the presence of God to have the blood of bulls and goats poured over their sins — sprinkled on them — to cover and to cleanse the people, the camp, the tabernacle and the ark itself. It is a workable, temporary fix — spiritual WD 40 or duct tape — but not a permanent cure because death remains and the sin that causes it.

Four or five centuries later and the descendants of Abraham have become a kingdom dwelling more or less securely in the land God promised to Abraham. Israel’s third king Solomon has replaced the “humble” tent in which God had dwelt among his people all those years with a grand temple: stone and cedar and gold. But the same ark of the covenant is still there in the new Holy of Holies, and God is still there The temple is now the intersection of heaven and earth where God still dwells among his people, people who still offer the daily and yearly round of sacrifices to ensure that the holy God can dwell among a sinful people without destroying them.

But the kingdom didn’t last long, nor the temple. Kings are foolish and arrogant and idolatrous, and they lead people and nations astray. Despite the calls of the prophets to repent, to return to the Lord, kings and people went after false gods, looked to political alliances and not the Lord for security, put their trust in the temple but not in the God who dwelt in it until finally God just up and left the temple, the people, the land. All of it came crashing down around them when Jerusalem and the temple were razed and the people were taken into exile where they found they couldn’t even bear to sing God’s song in a foreign land.

A generation or two later, some of the exiles were allowed by their overlords to repatriate, to rebuild the city and its walls and its temple. While the people returned, God did not. The temple — the intersection of heaven and earth where God once dwelt among his people — this second temple remained empty. As tragic as that seemed and perhaps seems, it was also inevitable. The stone and cedar and gold temple was always a temporary “fix,” a signpost pointing to something better. No box, not even the ark of the covenant, can hold God. No building, not even the temple, can house the Creator of heaven and earth.

18 Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. 19 And her husband Joseph, being a just man and unwilling to put her to shame, resolved to divorce her quietly. 20 But as he considered these things, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, “Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. 21 She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” 22 All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet:

23 “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,

and they shall call his name Immanuel”

(which means, God with us) (Matt 1:18-23).

In the incarnation God returns to dwell among his people, not in a tent, not in a temple of stone and cedar and gold but in a temple of flesh and blood: Immanuel, God with us. It is Jesus who is the perfect intersection of heaven and earth where God and man dwell perfectly together — this Jesus who is himself fully God and fully man. He comes to save his people from their sins through the pouring out and sprinkling of his own blood — not a temporary covering of the sins of a few but a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, offering, and satisfaction, for the sins of the whole world (BCP 2019, p. 116). By his resurrection he broke the bonds of death, trampling Hell and Satan under his feet. And then, as our great high priest, he ascended to God’s right hand in glory (ibid, p. 133), a movement in the story we celebrated but ten days ago.

But, what does the Ascension — the leaving — make of God’s purpose to dwell with us, with his people? Jesus, Immanuel, is with God, yes, but the promise was that God would dwell with us. Even Jesus himself had promised that to his disciples on the night he was betrayed:

7 Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you (John 16:7).

15 If you love me, you will keep my commandments. 16 And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever, 17 even the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, for he dwells with and will be in you (John 14:15-17).

And, of course, the disciples were confused until the day of Pentecost when the wind blew and the fire fell from heaven and the Holy Spirit descended upon them and filled them, until Peter at last knew that the last days had come, the days in which, as God had declared, he would pour out his Spirit on all flesh so that sons and daughters would prophesy, young men would see visions, old men would dream, and even servants would prophesy, and all who would call upon the name of the Lord would be saved. This is where the through-line of the story has been headed all along: not God in a garden, not God in a pillar of cloud and fire, not God in a tent or temple, not God among one people only in one land only, and not even just God with us, but God, in the person of the Holy Spirit, in us so that we are partakers of the divine nature (see 2 Pet 1:3-4). Where does God dwell on earth now? Where does heaven and earth intersect now? In these walking things made in the image of God, fallen yet redeemed by the blood of Immanuel, filled with the divine presence of the Holy Spirit. If you are in Christ, if, as Peter said on that great Pentecost day, you have called upon the name of the Lord, if are living a life of repentance, and if you have been baptized then you have received the gift of the Holy Spirit (see Acts 2:38). God tabernacles in you. You are the temple in which the living God dwells. You are a person in whom heaven and earth intersect. And if this is not yet you, it can be, beginning this very day.

Pentecost was a harvest festival when the first fruits of the wheat fields were gathered in and offered to God, one of three annual feasts with mandatory appearance at the temple. And so Jews came from all around: Parthians and Medes and Elamites and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, because God wants Babel undone, because God wants to end the exile, because God wants the whole earth to be filled with the glory of his presence as the waters cover the sea, because God wants to dwell in his image bearing humans, to unite them to himself through the Holy Spirit. These Jews who gathered in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost, who gathered from every nation under heaven, were the first fruits of the Gospel: the first fruits of a harvest that continues until this day. The word still goes forth making this the day of salvation:

38 …“Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. 39 For the promise is for you and for your children and for all who are far off, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to himself (Acts 2:38-39).

All of those who are in-gathered in this great harvest comprise one body in whom the Spirit dwells. Yes, the Spirit dwells in you and in me and in all those in Christ Jesus, but the Holy Spirit also dwells in us together to make us one in Christ and one with each other. St. Paul speaks of us as individual members but also as a body:

12 For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. 13 For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body — Jews or Greeks, slaves or fee — and all were made to drink of one Spirit (1 Cor 12:12-13).

So, where does God dwell on earth today? In you, in me, most fully in us — the church. We need each other and the world desperately needs us all, all of us together united in heart and mind and purpose. In and through the Holy Spirit, we are, each of us and all of us together, the temple of the living God to whom be glory from generation to generation in the Church, and in Christ Jesus for ever and ever. Amen.

I know a priest who, as he approaches the altar at the beginning of the Eucharist, discretely and reverently bows to reverence the altar with a kiss. It is, after all, the place where heaven and earth meet and where the material of bread and wine become the very body and blood of Christ. It is my practice when taking up the Gospel Book — whether to mark it for the Deacon’s use during the Eucharist or to read it myself during the service — to discretely and reverently honor it with a kiss. It is, after all, the locus of the Holy Spirit’s action to make the word written become the living Word spoken and received. These things crossed my mind as I read the following passage from a favorite book this afternoon. The action takes place on Patmos — yes, that Patmos on which St. John the Theologian was exiled and on which he received and recorded the Apocalypse. The writer was, on the night in question, a wavering atheist on the slippery slope to faith. His wife, Felicia, was already an Orthodox Christian.

One evening — it was on the fourteenth of August — we met on our walk Vassos, who collected the town rubbish with a string of donkeys. He was, unusually, sitting at a table on the street, drinking ouzo. Even more unusually, he had a smartly pressed blue shirt and an unfamiliar newly shaved look. I asked him why the party suit and he told me he was on his way to the Monastery of Diasozousa for the night service before the big Festival of the Dormition the following day. Felicia and I decided to look in, even though I have a horror of church festivals. They are always crowded with women in the finest of their finery — an unnerving sight on Patmos, where the finery takes the form of jackets with shoulders like Al Capone’s, handbags with yards of brass chain attached and black high-heeled shoes with enormous bright buckles.

These are always social occasions on the island, and it is unthinkable to miss one. And they have always seemed to me to have little to do with faith and more a matter of putting in an appearance. They remind me of the village barn dances back home, when everyone got together for a good chat, the men and women in separate groups. As I have a horror of crowds, I tend to skulk in the shadows and leave it to Felicia to participate. But that evening, as we climbed the steps to the big church strung about with electric lights and saw the hundreds of faces looking up at it, I had a strong feeling that they were there for a common purpose, and that this purpose was more than just sociability.

A long queue of local people was waiting to kiss the wonderworking icon. Not having escaped to the fringes of the crowd, I was pulled in. We shuffled along, and as I chatted with people I know — the electrician, the grocer, the carpenter, the plumber — I was struck by the fact that these people, practical workingmen with no very obvious religious slant to their lives, were doing something extremely odd. They were all waiting patiently standing there in their best suits waiting to kiss a painting. What was really going on?

I remembered something that Philip Sherrard, an Orthodox writer whom I admired, had written about Western society’s having lost its way. Materialism had become the creed of the majority, and it was opposed not by the churches but by those who claimed a vague spiritual allegiance or inkling which they insisted had nothing to do with “organized religion.” But Sherrard pointed out that any genuine religious tradition provided for some formal discipline as a means of spiritual realization. He wrote that people who attached themselves to these modern, rather gaseous trends of New Worldism were spiritually inferior to the simple believers who practiced a faith sincerely but with only the slightest knowledge of the metaphysical principles on which it was based..

As we stood in the queue at Diasozousa, I realized that these people, by the simple act of kissing an icon, were rejecting the closed system of materialism in which most people of the West are living today. Even if the act is a formal one, done because everybody does it, to revere an icon is to perform an action which proclaims that the material world is not the end — that there is a spiritual dimension to life which we may not understand and which we may ignore in our daily business of living but which on occasions such as this we can come together and publicly acknowledge. To kiss an icon, to cross oneself, to say “an theli o Theos” (“God willing”), however perfunctorily or unthinkingly these actions are performed, is to strike a blow at the closed universe of the materialist (Peter France, A Place of Healing for the Soul: Patmos, Atlantic Monthly Press (2002), pp. 88-90).

“To strike a blow at the closed universe of the materialist” seems to me a noble and necessary Christian vocation, one that we all share. There are perhaps as many ways to do so as there are Christians. Pray. Ask a priest for a blessing. Light a candle in church. Cross yourself when you hear an emergency siren or when you pass a church. The latter is bit much, perhaps, since there are churches on seemingly every street corner here in the South. Learn to say, even if just to yourself, “Lord, have mercy,” “Glory to God,” “God bless it,” and a host of other breath prayers. Let your sacred imagination run wild. But strike a blow against the closed universe of the materialist!