Orthodox Reflections

Since the beginning of the “pandemic,” many of us have felt bombarded by our Orthodox leaders with messages to “protect the least of these.” We closed churches. We kept them closed longer, in some places, than even the secular authority demanded. We canceled catechism classes, activities, coffee hour. We changed the way we worshipped. In some places, we even changed communion practices. Many of our bishops mandated masks, even in places where the secular authority did not require them. Most dioceses continued mandating strict Covid protocols for over a year, in some cases far longer than local secular authority required. While many parishes have returned to a semblance of normality, even now, not all have.

Almost from the beginning it was known, to anyone paying attention, that COVID-19 was a significant threat only to the elderly and those with serious comorbidities. But we were not allowed to talk about that fact. Especially at Church, we had to pretend that we were saving lives amidst the new Black Death. Even as 99.9% survival rates in most age groups became common knowledge, we were told to keep following the protocols. After all, “if it saves one life…” and “what harm can this do?”

The truth is, the NPIs including masks, lock downs, church closures, and modified worship have done a lot of harm: alienation from Church, increased drug use, suicides (especially among children), hundreds of thousands of businesses lost, increased deaths from undiagnosed illnesses, massive increase in mental illnesses (eating disorders and compulsions in children and adolescents, anxiety, depression, suicide ideation, neurosis), lost education, global food insecurity, elderly dying alone in care homes, massive increases in global poverty, increased child abuse, increased alcoholism… The “cure” for COVID was definitely worse than the disease. There are millions of children alive today who don’t remember what it was like to live without masks. It will take years to undo all this trauma.

One of the worst effects, however, has to be the rise of “blaming the victim.” The public health establishment, contrary to all actual science, claimed the anti-Covid measures worked. Anyone getting a positive PCR test or coming down with symptoms was immediately asked, “How’d you get it?” The presumption was you must have done something wrong – if you had just worn your mask and social distanced, then this would never have happened to you. Politicians, public “health” officials, even clergy constantly reinforced this notion. “Cases” went down, they credited their policies. “Cases” went up, they blamed the people for not following orders.

Heads I win, tails you lose. 

We never did that with any other disease. Getting the flu, for example, never kicked off an interrogation about your failures as a person. Nor did it get you a lecture on how to be a better Christian. You got sick. You got over it. Life went on. In the Age of Covid, getting ill suddenly turned into a moral failing.

That culture of “blame the victim” has now entered the Orthodox Church. Actions taken by Church authorities over the past year (clergy and parish councils) have hurt many people. Words spoken in defense of those actions have also caused great pain. Actions not taken have produced great disappointment, even among some of the clergy. Merely pointing these facts out is a great way to start a fight. The immediate reaction of far too many Orthodox Christians is to blame those who were hurt, while protecting those in power. The name calling and vitriol are frequently breathtaking.

Paying attention to the spiritually wounded is “undermining Church authority,” “trying to make the Church protestant,” “attacking the Church,” “serving Putin,” “disrespecting the bishops,” “misunderstanding the Church,” “not following the science,” “advocating disobedience to the law,” “being a Monday-morning quarterback,” “wanting to kill people,” etc. (Actual comments we have received.) The spiritually wounded are at fault. Their faith was not strong enough. Our parishes are better off without them. Those who notice their pain have bad motives. They must be silenced. As Orthodox Christians, our job is to obey those in authority and those who couldn’t, for whatever reason, deserve their fates. We should all just move on without them. 

God is love. As Orthodox Christians, we are called to love even those who spitefully use us. Our own worst enemies are to feel our love as burning coals heaped upon their heads. We all know this, of course, but what we seem to have forgotten is that true love requires compassion. As Elder Paisos of the Holy Mountain reminds us:

This is the most important thing of all: to have true love among yourselves . . . not false love. Always, when there is true concern for each other, compassion and love, one can act correctly. Kindness and love are empowering.

Our priest announced last Sunday that, “The pandemic is over.” For most of the country, doubtless that is true. (Though we should remember, in our good fortune, that much of the world is still suffering oppression under the guise of “public health.”) As our parishes fully reopen, there will be people missing from our ranks on Sunday mornings. Perhaps we should at least ponder why they are not there? The following testimonials represent some of the reasons. These are just a handful, but they can give you a sense of what so many Orthodox Christians have gone through over the past year. Please read them with compassion and love.

As we move forward, let us take stock of ourselves and our actions. Have we compassion for our brothers and sisters in Christ? Or do we have contempt? Do we notice their absence from Divine Liturgy, or are they simply forgotten? Are we reaching out in love to those who are missing? Do their souls matter to us? Have we asked forgiveness, if we played a role in their not having returned to Church?

May the Holy Trinity have mercy on us all.

Deborah:

We had no idea how much our lives would change when we heard about the strange disease in Wuhan, China. We had gone to church on Wednesday night and I taped the priests lesson. I worked on Thursday and received a call on the way home from work and I was informed that I could not come back to church, because I was a nurse. I almost ran off the road and had to stop to process this news. I learned that it was because I might work with Covid patients. We celebrated Pascha at home virtually and I cried, because it just wasn’t the same as being there. For the next 6 weeks, we celebrated on Sunday mornings using the Horologion. I wrote an appeal to my bishop from which I never received a response. Finally my family and I began attending a Serbian church that was willing to take us in. To this day I am SO thankful and appreciative of their hospitality. This whole experience has taught me to not take attending church for granted and taught me that I am responsible for my own worship. It’s left me disillusioned with priests and bishops who are more afraid of the laws of man and death than the laws of God.

Desia:

Hi, I was not asked to leave my Greek parish, but for a year (until last month) was not allowed to attend services even during the week when few attended) because I was over 65 and therefore “high risk”. However, I found a Serbian Orthodox church whose priest said, “I will not turn anyone away.” I am now am conflicted. While I am allowed to now attend the Greek church where I’ve been a member for over 20 years, I feel they did not remain faithful to those who tried to be faithful. The Serbs simply carried on with minimal outside influence. God bless and protect the Serbs. May God grant wisdom to all the Orthodox bishops and priests. We live in trying times.

Ronda:

In response to a survey from our parish council, I wrote about how our family has experienced the lockdown and mask mandates; the word used in the survey was “isolation”.  Actually, autism is a kind of isolation all on its own for my daughter Jessica. We moved to St. Cloud, to live near a brand new mission parish. We were finally able to go to confession and receive the Eucharist regularly, and experience parish life. We moved when Jessica was 22. After she suffered an assault and a trying time of separation, I enrolled her in an occupational therapy program that included integrated listening therapy, and I initiated a particular home and community based program for her through the county. We accompanied her into the community on a daily basis to facilitate her integration into various social settings and when possible, her participation – for example helping set tables for Sunday night meals at FOCUS, karate classes, art instruction, bowling, roller skating, going to the library, the mall, book stores, museums, art galleries, parks, zoos, movies, and also simply attending Vespers, Divine Liturgy and coffee hour.

Last March (2020) that all vanished overnight. In March when everything locked down and the church was closed, she was confused when we told her we couldn’t go. It took her a long time to finally stop asking to go, and insisting that she wanted to go. I have not brought Jessica to services since the church opened again partly due to the mask requirement. Jessica does not comprehend wearing a mask. I could explain it to her, but it would scare her. And even if I could explain it somehow without scaring her, she wouldn’t wear one anyway. It’s unfamiliar, and she wouldn’t be able to tolerate the feeling of the mask touching her face or restricting her the way a mask is restrictive. She would rip it off. She seems bewildered by other people wearing masks, too. She probably doesn’t notice much if a stranger is wearing one, but if someone she knows talks to her wearing a mask, I get the feeling it hurts her feelings. Having a communication disorder means language is difficult to start with, so if someone wearing one speaks to her, she looks bewildered and doesn’t respond because she can’t figure out what they are saying. So I don’t wear a mask with her.

In May of 2021, I found an Antiochian parish where there is no absolute mask requirement, and no pressure to get the vaccine, either. We won’t be going back to Holy Trinity.

Jeff:

There are 3 parishes in Nova Scotia, all lockdown churches. Just got baptized last week. My priest refused to do it because we went into lockdown. We have a tiny monastery close to Halifax, one of two in Canada. They baptized me. I’m a former Baptist pastor, so am somewhat familiar with church politics. I am shocked that the Bishops in North America have almost totally capitulated-from the get go.

Things were fairly obvious over a year ago when two weeks to flatten the curve stretched out. Political agenda became obvious. So far, the impact of the virus has been devastating, with a total of 71 deaths in all three waves, including 4 in the latest wave. Average age of those who have succumbed to the virus is 80. Now, the priest is hinting that only those who have been vaccinated will be allowed to attend liturgy once the parish is allowed to be reopened.

Cassandra St. John:

In November 2020, the All-Holy Trinity rescued me and my family from GOARCH and the recently instituted Religion of the Mask that its parishes have embraced without question. This new religion is one of fear, superstition, idolatry, cowardice, betrayal, and tyranny, all supposedly justified under the rubric of “obedience.”

We spent years attending, tithing, volunteering at, and enjoying this Greek parish. When the spring 2020 closure hit, we were among the few providing chanting, livestreaming, and moral support. When the spring 2020 reopening hit, we were among the few back in the pews. We did all of this without fear, masks, or illnesses.

Before the summer mask mandate hit, we urged the priest and the parish council on toward flexibility and accountability. We were ignored.

The council made the rules but rarely attended church in 2020. The one council member who attended regularly did so to stream the Liturgy for his homebound elderly mother. At some point, he authorized himself to wander the nave freely during Liturgies to prop doors for ventilation in 30-degree weather and to admonish parishioners and acolytes to adjust their masks as he deemed necessary.

When the mask mandate hit and the “allowed” number of maskers suddenly appeared on Sundays, we instead attended midweek Liturgies, arrived early, and sat in a corner pew. Among the 10 to 15 attendees, we were usually the only bare faces in sight, besides the priest. Our self-effacing actions were deemed insufficient, however. The priest suddenly emailed one autumn day to say we would need masks in order to return. We said no thank you, unsure of our next move but fully convinced that the blasphemous, dehumanizing face masks have no place in the 2,000-year-old Orthodox worship of God. The word “orthodox,” after all, does mean “correct praise.”

He Who promised is faithful; and not long afterward we found a Serbian parish full of faith, love, Orthodox teaching, and bare faces. We have been there ever since, without fear, masks, or illnesses.

For guidance and support, we thank Fr. Peter Heers’ podcasts, Orthodox Reflections’ articles, and the handful of like-minded fellow travelers we have found along the way.

Glory to God!

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