THOUGHTS OF A MONK

Fathers of the Ecumenical Council

John 11:47-52

Today is the Sunday of the Fathers of the 1st Ecumenical Council, who met at Nicea in 325. Sandwiched in between the feast of the Ascension which we celebrated on Thursday, and Pentecost which we’ll celebrate next Sunday, there’s a way you might think that this is sort of a “filler feast”, a theological afterthought that fills the gap between the other two feasts. Personally I think that’s a bit cynical, but it’s fair to ask that if it is so important, why is it that so few of us can name any of the fathers of this Council?

Interestingly, the most famous name associated with this Council isn’t a father at all, but is its villain: Arius, the arch-heretic of early Christian history. Arius was a charismatic priest and theologian from North Africa, brilliant and persuasive, who did not believe in the divinity of Christ. The quip he is most famous for is, “There was a time when the Word was not.” Because of his influence, he threatened to take the early Church into a false direction and it was the First Ecumenical Council that ruled against him.
           
By contrast, it was a young deacon from Alexandria named Athanasius who proved to be the rising star of the Council. He was a theological consultant to his bishop, Alexander, and had a profound influence on the thinking of the Council. In time, he became a bishop himself and a hero of Nicean faith. He has the distinction of having uttered one of the most profound aphorisms in the whole of Patristic literature: “God became human, so that human beings might become God.” That’s a thoroughly Orthodox statement that should leave us all lost in awe and wonder: “God became human, so that human beings might become God.”
           
Be that as it may, for many, the prospect of dipping into historical theology is enough to make one’s eyes gloss over. Some find it boring, cerebral, disconnected from the problems of everyday living, irrelevant to life’s challenges. In short, it involves theological hairsplitting that’s unworthy of our attention, much less a homily.
           
With respect, I disagree. Looking at our times, especially what has transpired over these past few months, I find the issues Nicea wrestled with deeply relevant. I’m thinking of the recent publication of “The Gospel of Judas” and the release on film of “The DaVinci Code”. Hasn’t it been remarkable how the media has sensationalized these, having them plastered over the covers of Time, Newsweek, and U.S. News and World Report, seemingly delighting in discrediting traditional faith in Christ to keep the controversy at fever pitch. Keeping it so sells more books, sells more movie tickets. Sadly, it’s all about money.
           
What are we to think? Should we look at these as harmless, not worth taking seriously? Insofar as part of the agenda of those who promote these works is to introduce doubt and skepticism on the way the Church views Jesus, I don’t think so. I think the stakes are much higher than we might think, for what we believe about Jesus and who Jesus is cuts to the very depths of our souls. It should concern us deeply when the understanding of our faith in Jesus gets challenged by a Gnostic text of very dubious value and by two-bit fiction that cleverly parades itself as truth. It should concern us that these might affect the cultural climate of our time, contributing to the perception that Christianity really is a tired old myth that’s been used by those in power to control people. It should concern us that these works might negatively influence people who might otherwise come to personal faith in Christ themselves, that awesome mystery that St. Paul was speaking about in this morning’s epistle. 

This is very similar to the issues the 1st Ecumenical Council was dealing with, and it’s important for us to be aware that we affirm their work every Sunday when we chant the Creed at liturgy, a Creed whose basic structure was agreed upon at this Council. We also experience it in our prayer, where the transcendent character of our relationship with Christ comes directly from what was discerned at this Council. For it was the Council of Nicea that made the astonishing claim that Jesus is homoousios with the Father. That’s a foreign Greek word, but it’s important that each of us here understand what it means. Homoousios means, “of one essence, of one substance, consubstantial”. When we say Jesus is homoousios with the Father we’re saying that Jesus is of one essence with the Father; in other words that Jesus is God. In the Incarnation, Jesus becomes the definitive revelation of God, and this was the necessary foundation for all subsequent reflection on Jesus and the mystery of his person.

So, today’s feast re-emphasizes the primacy of Christ as the revelation of God, and the Gospel for this morning fleshes that out. What kind of God does Jesus reveal?  It’s important here to remember the context in which this Gospel text comes. It follows immediately after Jesus’ raising of Lazarus from the dead, and it illumines the paradox of that miracle: that in giving life to Lazarus, Jesus seals his own death, which in turn will give life to all people. When Caiaphas, in the role of High Priest, says to the Sanhedrin, “You don’t seem to have grasped the situation … that it is better for one man to die, than for the whole nation to perish.” In fact, he’s saying more than he knows, for as St. John recognizes, he’s uttering an unconscious prophecy, one that is valid given his position as High Priest. The God Jesus reveals offers himself in order to gather into one all the scattered children of God. God empties himself so that we may be filled. Indeed, the mystery that Jesus dies for is corporate in nature: the fulfillment of all human life in God. The Fathers of the Council of Nicea were passionate about this and their courage in expressing the mystery that is at the heart of our faith is worthy of remembrance.