Does the Orthodox church believe in purgitory? Well…maybe.

Does the Orthodox church believe in purgatory?  The answer we are taught in catechism classes is no.  There may be a couple reasons for this.  One is that these classes only cover the basics of the faith.  Another reason is probably that when teachers in the historical eastern tradition  refer to purgatory, they are usually thinking of the legalistic definition that was defined in the early middle-ages, which was one of the subjects debated at the Council of Florence between east and west.  Most Catholics, however, do not have that definition in mind when they refer to purgatory…a place after death where souls are cleansed in preparation for meeting God.  Bishop Kallistos Ware of Oxford, probably the most well known Orthodox theologian of the last century, still alive and still writing, has stated, “Most, if not all, Orthodox theologians reject the idea of purgatory, at least in its Catholic form.”  The idea that is being rejected, however, is that of a place where souls must go to finish penances they have committed, not yet having a chance to finish them on earth.  What is not rejected, however, is a place where souls are cleansed after death.  In fact, much of Orthodoxy actually points to this reality, some  say necessity.  Moreover, if we look at the understanding the Catholic church has developed recently, there is a harmony between these two traditions not immediately apparent.

          

 In a 2005 issue of the Orthodox periodical Road to Emmeaus titled Eternal Questions, Russian Orthodox scholar Irina Nokova, studying philosophy at Oxford, is interviewed in depth on just this subject.  Irina has concluded that the modern view of purgatory as put forth by Pope Benedict, as well as Pope John Paul, is consistent with the view of the afterlife given to us by the Syrian fathers.  In reading her article, as well as another one in the periodical on the same subject, I reflected on what this meant in terms of the Universalism I had been exposed to as a young man.  I wondered if the Orthodox view on heaven, hell and the afterlife, even while affirming the existence of an eternal hell, might be closer to most Protestant Universalisms than the fear-tainted harsh theologies we usually, perhaps wrongly, associate with Calvinism.  In Protestant Universalisms the very existence of hell is not done away with, the only question is usually weather or not it is temporary or finite.  This is meant, perhaps, to point to a larger question and that is the purpose of hell, weather or not it is merely a punishment or still in God’s domain and subject to God’s purposes.  Here is where are the similarities with Orthodoxy: In Orthodoxy, hell is not a separate place away from the love of God.  Indeed the very notion of hell-fire is metaphorical.  There is never any question that Jesus is speaking metaphorically when he refers to the worm which dieth not and the weeping and gnashing of teeth.  Hell, we are taught, is the love of God, made hell by the person’s rejection of it.  What could be more hellish than knowing somebody loved you and not wanting to receive that love?  Bishop Kallistos Ware, in the essay already mentioned, says that there is ground to hope for the salvation of all simply because, as he puts it, who can resist the love of God.  He masterly deals with the objection sometimes raised that hell is God honoring our will and not wanting to intrude.  He quotes a writer who says that people are more free when they are overpowered by a will stronger than their own, as when people in love feel swept off their feet.  Pope Benidict expressed a similar thought ten years ago when he was defending the necessity of a purification process after death.  [paraphrase by memory] “Simply to look at human beings with any degree of realism is to grasp the necessity of such a transformation.  We would turn to God but this basic option is usually covered over by a myriad of straw, hay and stubble.” 

  

  

  The difference with Orthodoxy and a Protestant Universalism might be that most Protestants come to a belief in Universal Salvation by way of reaction against harsh theologies they were exposed to somewhere along the way.  These protestants have a melenium of mythical images, from Dante to Jonathan Edwards, to contend with and to try to lose.  Because of exposure to a system that overemphasised fear and punishment, these people may feel a need to develop different theologies that puts the emphasis back on God’s love.  Perhaps that is also why Universalist thought comes almost entirely out of England and the United States, two countries which have had a tendency to overemphasize the strict and scary sides of Christianity.  This contrasts with the Orthodox position on the afterlife which is in balance.  This balance means that there is virtually no psychological pull on its members to develop alternative systems, not only in regard to eschatology, but in every area of the  faith.  It wasn’t always so.  Our Saints and church fathers have died to preserve this balance and we remember their victories.  For example, during the second week of Lent we celebrate the victory of the Iconoclasts in the 8th century, which was bloody and resulted in many new martyrs.  All the churches in my city come together on that day at the Greek Orthodox Cathedral.  We have an ecumenical feast and rally outside in the rain repeating over loud speakers, “We affirm the use of Holy Icons and we affirm the apostolic faith handed down by our forefathers.”

  

 As the edition of Road to Emmeus called Eternal Questions makes eloquently clear: once we grasp just what is hell, not a place, but a state of being where souls are still with God, although unable to stand it—which is what makes it hell, the fear can go away.  I feel very strongly that this may be an answer to anyone who is struggling with these questions or feels them to be a stumbling block.  It is also very good to be allowed to see that there is more harmony between “rival” Christian traditions than might at first appear.  In the end, though, it is a great mystery and we can only hope and pray. 

First four chapters of Halim and His Bride: A novel by Patrick Phillips

Chapter one —       It was a warm night.  Halim’s room was at the top of their house and the wooden rafters made it quite warm.  Halim saw that his mother had been up earlier in the day to open the windows and change the sheets on his bed.  There was a slight breeze but the air inside was sultry.  Halim undressed and stood before the bed looking down.   His eyes fell on his arms, blackened in parts from his work with the leather.  He wondered if he would smell like leather to his bride.  He saw a small bead of sweat collecting under his naval and wondered how he would prevent protrusive sweating during summer nights like these.  Then his gaze dropped to his penis.  Seeing that it was circumsized according to the custom of Muslim men, he felt only embarrassment and, as if he were somehow incomplete, tried imagining what it would be like otherwise but couldn’t.  Halim threw himself on his bed, covered with only a thin white sheet, and quickly fell asleep.

 Chapter two—

 The wedding.

Chapter three —

      Khalida felt slightly ashamed as she was led by Halim into their house.  Her father had never shown her much attention and she could not believe that all the ceremonies she had just seen were because another man admired her enough to want her to come live with his family.  The little she had spent with Halim’s mother and sisters over the past year had been enough to convince her that his family was not as strict as her own.  This made the prospect of living with them just as exciting, if not more, than that of being Halim’s wife and she felt a sense of freedom unlike anything she had ever experienced.  Khalida’s heart was so full.  All these thoughts passed through her in an instance as Halim proudly and smilingly pulled her into the house.  

“Welcome,” said Halim’s father.  Christopholos’ hands were outstretched in a gesture of hospitality.  Halim’s mother, Aneesa, smiled warmly and led her over to a low couch, barely a foot off the ground, where there was tea her daughters had prepared.  “You are indeed welcome,” said Christopholos.  “And I will say that my son has obviously made a very good decision.  It’s nice to come in from the heat of the day into the coolness of this house, isn’t it.”  He smiled again. 

“It was a very good wedding,” remarked one of his sisters.  Nobody was hungry after the wedding feast of the afternoon but the tea helped to quench their thirst.  Aneesa asked Khalida about her family.   Khalida spoke with pride about her father’s role in government and how he was able to settle many legal disputes.  She had one brother who was in the army, whom she had not seen in two years and another brother who oversaw the running of a mosque as well as a sister who was married with two small children.  The family sipped their tea in silence for a while.  “Alas, though,” replied Christopholos, “you will have to excuse me if I deprive you of your new husband for a few hours before nightfall.  We received a load in the tannery yesterday which must be attended to before another day passes.”  Halim and his father rose.  Halim kissed his wife’s hand from where she sat, turned and followed his father out the door.

Khalida suddenly felt more shy than ever now alone with Halim’s mother and sisters.  She did not have time to think, however, because Aneesa immediately spoke.  “I’d like to show you our house,” she said.  The four women rose.  She took her to the kitchen. ”I’m sure you will enjoy helping us prepare meals and will probably have some of your own dishes to contribute.” The kitchen had light entering on all four sides and formed a contrast to the darkness of the large room they had just left.  ”I spend most of my time in here.  Now let me show you Nashita and Najaah’s rooms.”  The women led Khalida into the room belonging to Halim’s sisters.  This room was also light.  It contained large window with white drapes which were now pulled.  A table stood in the center of the room with a candle and a book.  There were two beds with white white sheets, a couch and a chair.  Once inside Khalida’s mother-in-law closed the door.  “Actually this is where you will be sleeping tonight,” she said, sitting in the chair and motioning Khalida toward the low couch, a turkish devan barely off the floor, a little awkward right at the moment because it meant Khalida had to strain her neck a little to look up at her mother-in-law to avoid partially lying down.  Nashita and Najaah rested on the two beds.

“First of all let me assure you that we have only your best interest in mind,” Aneesa said.  “You have married into a Christian family.  As such, certain additional rites and ceremonies need to occur before it is proper for you to be with Halim.  I can assure you that if you follow everything we say you will be quite safe.”

 A look of horror passed over the face of Khalida.  Instinctively she thought of running out but quickly saw the impossibility of that action.  Not only was Aneesa blocking the entrance to the room, but she was in a part of Istanbul completely unfamiliar and it was fast becoming evening.    

 ”Once you are a Christian you will not be able to speak of it to anyone, not even your family.  Do you understand?”

  Khalida’s face was red.  She felt angry that she was being asked to do something against her will. 

“But I’ll tell my father and then you will all have to be Muslim,” she said.  Khalida’s whole world was turning upside down.  She was losing her internal sense of direction and wanted anything to grasp onto. 

 ”Think about what that means,” replied Aneesa.  “It would mean that everyone including Halim would be executed.  Do you want that?”

Khalida was unable to speak.  She thought of her father and what he would say if he knew she were keeping secret company with Christians.  She thought of Halim, how she had looked forward to being his bride and now how it was being postponed.   She knew that what her mother-in-law was saying was true, that being a Christian in Istanbul was indeed a  severe penulty if it could ever be proved.  She remembered hearing her father once say that any Christians living in Turkey who had not converted deserved to be hung. 

 ”Are you Greek?” she asked.

 ”Halim’s father’s family is Greek.  I myself, though,  was like you.  I was asked to become a Christian before marrying Christopholos.  And I am glad I did because it worked out wonderfully.  There is really no choice because it would be impossible for you to have children that had one Muslim parent and one Christian parent.  You would be putting your children at risk.  You wouldn’t want to do that, would you?  Certainly you can see that this is the best way…best for everyone.”

There was a long pause, after which Nashita spoke.

“You will enjoy being a Christian much more than being a Muslim,” she said.  “We celebrate many feasts together.  We have our churches in secret but have never had any problems with the authorities.  After a while it will seem very natural to you and you won’t want to be a Muslim anymore.”

 Another silence followed.

 ”If you agree to this,” her mother-in-law said, “we can have you baptised in three days.  After that we will have a marriage ceremony in one of our churches and you will be finally married to Halim.  Until then you can stay here with Nashita and Najaah.  They will make sure you have everything you need. ”

Aneesa stood up.  “I’m going to rise early tommorow to make some bread.  Please join me.  In the meantime,” she said, coming over to where Khalida was and giving her a kiss on the cheeck, “Sleep well and look forward to the happiness that is to follow in a few days with your baptism.” 

Aneesa motioned to Najaah to follow her and they the room.  Nashita stayed with Khalida to encourage her and help her acclimatize to the new surroundings.

Chapter four—       The Crypto-Christians of Turkey were among the more cavalier groups who historically had to adjust to occupation or persecution.  A subculture to be reckoned with, they were inextricably linked to the Turkish economy and merchant class, over the past two hundred years they had achieved the seemingly impossible, they had managed to remain ethnically separate while avoiding detection.  Outwardly Muslim, they met in secret to celebrate the sacraments and the Liturgy in the cellars of their houses.  Rumors abounded in Turkish society of Greeks who continued to practice their religion, but they were deemed too small a minority to bother about.   In reality, it would have been impossible to have distinguished Halim’s family from any other citizens of Istanbul.  Most of them did not consider themselves Greek at all.  They were simply the Christian remnats of a country that had gradually been taken over by Islam.  A close knit group of roughly 200,000 Turkish citizens, 60,000 of which lived in the capital—the rest mostly along the rural border with Bulgaria and the Black Sea, the largeness of their group was what allowed these secret Christians to escape detection.