I’ve had a number of conversations, both in the comment section on my blog and the private emails that come in, but I’ve had a lot of conversations regarding articles and podcasts I’ve done on the topic of providence and how to live a non-modern spiritual life, that is, to speak about a life that is not understood in terms of progress, which is one of the great modern mantras, but in terms of its struggles and weakness. Those kinds of things are the antithesis of the modern ideal, so that no matter how bad things might be, at some point, we are always assured that they can get better. So “getting better” has become the modern version of salvation itself sometimes. But if this is not the promise held out for us, if it is not a reasonable or necessary expectation of the spiritual life, then it sounds like we are being asked to give up and surrender ourselves to some form of abiding misery. I have been told that such a message, that is, speaking against the notion of this continuing progress, cannot reach people in the modern world, or that life understood in such terms will be unhappy and depressing. So I’m sort of reflecting on some of that today. It deserves to be picked apart somewhat and looked at more carefully.

First off, the gospel of success and prosperity, of the ever-improving spiritual life, frequently fails to reach people in the modern world. Now that’s something we here have been told that if we don’t talk about things in that way, then we won’t reach people in the modern world, but I’m saying the fact precisely that message—the gospel of success and prosperity—fails to reach many people in the modern world, except for those who are all too willing to be deceived. Secondly, given the present rates of anxiety and depression, drug overdoses and suicide, it would seem somewhat hollow to suggest that life in the modern world is not already unhappy and depressing for many. The narrative of progress and success actually fails to describe life as it truly is, and to make matters worse, failure and suffering in our culture can often make us the objects of shame. The gospel of progress is the gospel of never really being okay—and being ashamed of it. The few who are described as successful and making progress mostly serve as examples that condemn the rest of us. We imagine ourselves working towards becoming the spiritual one percent.

The Gospel of Jesus Christ does not offer us an imaginary existence. It speaks to us precisely where we are. It is not so much a message that tells us that we must change the world, but that we are living in the wrong world, or, perhaps, living wrongly in the world.

Can we use the image of progress in the Christian life? Of course we can, but you have to bear this in mind, that using that image can make us very vulnerable to the distortions of modern culture. We should recognize that our cultural narrative offers nothing for the humble, the meek, the weak, and those who fail—other than condemnation, or perhaps handouts. These same qualities are, in a variety of places, extolled as essential in classical Christianity. The difficulty is learning how to live in such a reality.

Any number of times I have defended the existence of monasticism to outsiders. They often wonder, “What good does it do? Monks and nuns, living in these monasteries, praying all the time: What good does it do?” Many modern, Western monastics, for instance, in the Catholic Church, have turned to human service, which of course makes them more palatable to the modern mind. They sort of justify what they’re doing because they do social service or teach or something like that, and that makes people think, “Well, maybe it’s okay then to be a monk.” But it strikes me as strange that simply saying that monastics live, is an insufficient justification for most people. The same is true for ourselves: life is itself is worth living. We are not put here to prove our worth; we’re not put here to make progress towards worth. Life is a gift, given to us by God. Life is a gift whose purpose—the purpose of life, the gift—is for us to be thankful for the gift. That’s what we do; that’s what we’re called to do.

Fr. Alexander Schmemann, himself, observed this “helpful” aspect of modern life, this need to justify our existence by being helpful, and he had some fairly harsh words for it. I’m going to quote from it. He said:

For Christianity help is not the criterion. Truth is the criterion. The purpose of Christianity is not to help people by reconciling them with death, but to reveal the Truth about life and death in order that people may be saved by this Truth. (He goes on:) Salvation, however, is not only not identical with help, but is, in fact, opposed to it. Christianity quarrels with religion and secularism not because they offer “insufficient help,” but precisely because they “suffice,” because they “satisfy” the needs of men. If the purpose of Christianity were to take away from man the fear of death, to reconcile him with death, there would be no need for Christianity, for other religions have done this, indeed, done it better than Christianity. And secularism is about to produce men who will gladly and corporately die—not just live, but corporately die for the triumph of the Cause, whatever it may be. Christianity is not reconciliation with death; it is the revelation of death, and it reveals death because it is the revelation of Life. Christ is Life, and only if Christ is Life is death what Christianity proclaims it to be, namely the enemy to be destroyed and not a “mystery” to be explained.

Wonderful passage, from his book, For the Life of the World.

Much of what I offer in the critique of modernity is the unmasking of the “helpful” world of secularism and the revelation of death for what it is. For when death is revealed for what it is, the result can indeed bring a form of despair. But that same revelation also reveals the truth of life. The writer of Ecclesiastes in the Old Testament observed, “Vanity, vanity, all is vanity.” He saw the emptiness of our existence as it passes away. The Psalmist said: “As for man, his days are like grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourishes. For the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more (Psalm 103:15-16).”

The Christian life should not be marked by despair. It is, however, rightly marked by a sober assessment of the truth of our existence. In the face of death and its threat, we see Christ who tramples it down in triumph. Because of Christ’s victory, we live in hope, but we live with hope in Christ alone. Christ’s victory over death secures for us the gift of life and makes the life of thanksgiving possible. We have hope because Christ trampled down death by death, not because we now have some new understanding of death and are reconciled to it. We cannot be reconciled to that which is the last enemy.

Modernity makes constant efforts to tame Christ, to make of Christianity a “religion,” a “spiritual” tool for aiding in the comfort and encouragement of its citizens. So Christianity oftentimes becomes a “helping profession.” I’ve always hated that. We have these surveys and it’ll come up if you’re a priest, and they want to categorize what you do. They give you these options. Well, I’m not an auto mechanic, I’m not a doctor or whatever, but in there you have to check this box that you’re in a “helping profession,” and I think, and these words of Fr. Alexander Schmemann come back and haunt me: “No, I’m not in a ‘helping profession.’ That’s not my job.” And all of this, of course, is often a very benign, innocent process. The closest thing to morality in the modern world is oftentimes to avoid making people uncomfortable, unless of course it’s making people uncomfortable about making other people uncomfortable. But if death makes people uncomfortable—and it sure does—then it is very tempting for Christians to want to soften the blow as well.

I recall, years ago, I was at graduate school at Duke, working on a degree in theology, and so it was a very mixed bag in terms of what kinds of people were there. And we had a seminar for our area of systematic theology in which all the professors who taught in that area and all the students who were in the program in that area had a seminar once a week, and someone had to present a paper and we critiqued it. And I presented a paper—I think it was on Vladimir Lossky, and certainly on some Orthodox thought—and the paper had very much centered on the question of death, and it kind of focused on that and how the faith sees death and things like that. And I presented my paper, and I remember one of the professors, who was a Marxist, God bless him! A British Marxist! And he complained about my paper; he said, “I think it’s focused too much on death.” [Laughter] I remember laughing in his face, God help me, but I did, and I thought, “What planet do you live on?” I mean, you can’t be too focused on death. It’s like: How is this not the biggest question? How is this not a thing? What is it that you think is more important than talking about this? Of course, partly in the back of my mind I thought, “Well, if you’re a Marxist, then you’ve spend a long time in your tradition ignoring death by the millions.” Nonetheless, I’ve never forgotten that: being told that I shouldn’t focus so much on death.

The world we live in is constructed in such a way that the reality of death, literally and metaphorically, never disappears. There may be a temporary ‘sleight of hand,’ like in this professor’s mouth, in which we hide from the devastating truth of our existence, but the truth remains: people die. All of us. We live on an edge, and people tumble off all the time. For that reason, the truth of the faith does not disappear. It is never irrelevant. Indeed, in the light of the truth of our existence, Christ’s Pascha, his death and resurrection, is the only truly relevant thing. Only if Christ has trampled down death by death can we face the naked truth of our existence with hope.

It is worth noting that the monastic tradition of the Church tells us constantly, again and again, that the spiritual life should be marked by the remembrance of death, and the constant remembrance of the name of God. This is the life of Pascha, the life that follows in the footsteps of Christ. The common practices of prayer, fasting, repentance, and almsgiving intentionally introduce a small measure of suffering into the Christian life. These don’t mean to make our faith difficult; they mean to make it real.

In this life we will have success and failure. We will make progress and fall backwards. So we should give thanks always and for all things.

I want to close this with a brief few thoughts on thanksgiving, and thanksgiving for all things. At the time I’m making this podcast we’re just a little less than a week away from our American Thanksgiving holiday. To recognize to give thanks is to recognize that our life and all that we have is a gift to us. When I give thanks for it, I’m acknowledging the fact that what I have has been given to me. And that includes even acknowledging the fact that what has been given to me will again be required from me. I will die and will give my life back to God.

The giving of thanks is the way of right living, in whatever our circumstances may be. We don’t give thanks just for success; we give thanks in our failure and even for our failure, because the good God will use even our failures for our benefit. That’s just how good he is. So we give thanks always and for all things. This is the very heart and core of our daily practice of our life in Christ. So God bless you all, and for those who are listening during this Thanksgiving time, I bid you a good holiday. And remember to give thanks to God; remember me in your prayers. Glory to God.