I am a young American convert to Russian Orthodoxy—not the vague
"liberal" spirituality of too many modern Russian "religious
thinkers," but the full ascetic and contemplative Orthodoxy of the Fathers and
Saints—who have for some years been studying the spiritual "crisis" of our
time, and am at present writing a book on the subject. [1] In the course of my study I
have had occasion to read the works of a great number of Roman Catholic authors, some of
which (those, for example, of Pieper, Picard, Gilson, P. Danielou, P. de Lubac) I have
found quite helpful and not, after all, too distant from the Orthodox perspective, but
others of which I have found quite disturbing in the light of what seems to me the plain
teaching of the universal Church. I have read several of your works, and especially in
some recent articles of yours I seem to find signs of one of the tendencies in
contemporary Roman thought (it exists in Orthodoxy too, to be sure) that has most
disturbed me. Since you are a Roman monk, I turn to you as to someone likely to clarify
the ambiguities I have found in this trend of thought. What I would like to discuss
chiefly concerns what might be called the "social mission" of the Church.
In an essay entitled Christian Action in World Crisis [2] you devote yourself
especially to the question of "peace." In an age when war has become virtually
"impossible," this is, of course, of central concern to any Christian, but your
remarks particularly on this subject have left me troubled.
What, first of all, are the real antagonists of the spiritual warfare of our age? To
say "Russia and America" is, of course, trivial; the enemy, as you say, "is
in all of us." But you further say, "The enemy is war itself" and its
roots, "hatred, fear, selfishness, lust."
Now I can quite agree with you that war today, at least "total war," is quite
unjustifiable by any Christian standard, for the simple reason that its
"unlimited" nature escapes measure of any sort. The point in your argument that
disturbs me is your statement that the only alternative to such war is "peace."
The alternative to "total war" would seem to be "total peace;" but
what does such a "peace" imply? You say, "we must try as best we can to
work for the eventual abolition" of war; and that is indeed what "total
peace" must be: abolition of war. Not the kind of peace men have known before this,
but an entirely new and "permanent" peace.
Such a goal, of course, is quite comprehensible to the modern mentality; modern
political idealism, Marxist and "democratic" alike has long cherished it. But
what of Christianity?—and I mean full uncompromising Christianity, not the humanist
idealism that calls itself Christian. Is not Christianity supremely hostile to all forms
of idealism, to all reduction of its quite "realistic" end and means to mere
lofty ideas? Is the ideal of the "abolition of war" really different in kind
from such other lofty aims as the "abolition" of disease, of suffering, of sin,
of death? All of these ideals have enlisted the enthusiasm of some modern idealist or
other, but it is quite clear to the Christian that they are secularizations and so
perversions of genuine Christian hopes. They can be realized only in Christ, only in His
Kingdom that is not of this world; when faith in Christ and hope in His
Kingdom are wanting, when the attempt is made to realize Christian "ideals" in
this world—then there is idolatry, the spirit of Antichrist. Disease, suffering, sin,
and death are an unavoidable part of the world we know as a result of the Fall. They can
only be eliminated by a radical transformation of human nature, a transformation possible
only in Christ and fully only after death.
I personally think that "total peace" is, at bottom, a utopian ideal; but the
very fact that it seems practical today raises a profounder question. For, to my mind, the
profoundest enemy of the Church today is not its obvious enemies—war, hatred,
atheism, materialism, all the forces of the impersonal that lead to inhuman
"collectivism," tyranny and misery—these have been with us since the Fall,
though to be sure they take an extreme form today. But the apostasy that has led to this
obvious and extreme worldliness seems to me but the prelude to something much worse; and
this is the chief subject of my letter.
The hope for "peace" is a part of a larger context of renewed idealism that
has come out of the Second World War and the tensions of the post-war world, an idealism
that has, especially in the last five or ten years, captured the minds of
men—particularly the young—all over the world, and inspired them with an
enthusiasm that has expressed itself concretely—and, often, quite selflessly—in
action. The hope that underlies this idealism is the hope that men can, after all, live
together in peace and brotherhood in a just social order, and that this end can be
realized through "non-violent" means that are not incompatible with that end.
This goal seems like the virtual revelation of a "new world" to all those weary
of the misery and chaos that have marked the end of the "old" world, that hollow
"modern" world that seems now to have finally—or almost—played out its
awful possibilities; and at the same time it seems like something quite attainable by
moral means—something previous modern idealisms have not been.
You yourself, indeed, speak of a possible "birth agony of a new world," of
the duty of Christians today "to perform the patient, heroic task of building a world
that will thrive in unity and peace, " even, in this connection, of "Christ the
Prince of Peace." The question that sorely troubles me about all this is, is it
really Christianity, or is it still only idealism? And can it be both-is a "Christian
idealism" possible?
You speak of "Christian action," "the Christian who manifests the truth
of the Gospel in social action," "not only in prayer and penance, but also in
his political commitments and in all his social responsibilities." Well, I certainly
will say nothing against that; if Christian truth does not shine through in all that one
does, to that extent one is failing to be a Christian, and if one is called to a political
vocation, one's action in that area too must be Christian. But, if I am not mistaken, your
words imply something more than that; namely, that now more than ever before we need
Christians working in the social and political sphere, to realize there the truth of the
Gospel. But why, if Christ's Kingdom is not of this world? Is there really
a Christian "social message," or is not that rather a result of the one
Christian activity—working out one's salvation with diligence? I by no means advocate
a practice of Christianity in isolation; all Christianity—even that of the
hermit—is a "social Christianity," but that is only as context,
not as end. The Church is in society because men are in society, but the end of the
Church is the transformation of men, not society. It is a good thing if a
society and government profess genuine Christianity, if its institutions are informed by
Christianity, because an example is given thereby to the men who are a part of that
society; but a Christian society is not an end in itself, but simply a result of the fact
that Christian men live in society.
I do not, of course, deny that there is such a thing as a Christian "social
action"; what I question is its nature. When I feed my hungry brother, this is a
Christian act and a preaching of the Kingdom that needs no words; it is done for the
personal reason that my brother—he who stands before me at this moment—is
hungry, and it is a Christian act because my brother is, in some sense, Christ. But if I
generalize from this case and embark on a political crusade to abolish the "evil of
hunger," that is something entirely different; though individuals who participate in
such a crusade may act in a perfectly Christian way, the whole project—and precisely
because it is a "project," a thing of human planning—has become wrapped in
a kind of cloak of "idealism."
A few more examples: The efficiency of modern medicines adds nothing to the fulfillment
of the commandment to comfort the sick; if they are available, fine—but it is not
Christian to think our act is better because more "efficient" or because it
benefits more people. That, again, is idealism. (I need hardly mention the fact that
medicines can become, indeed, a substitute for Christian "comfort" when
the mind of the practitioner becomes too engrossed in efficiency; and the research
scientist searching for a "cure for cancer" is not doing anything specifically
"Christian" at all, but something technical and "neutral."
"Brotherhood" is something that happens, right here and now, in whatever
circumstances God places me, between me and my brother; but when I begin to preach the
"ideal" of brotherhood and go out deliberately to practice it, I am in danger of
losing it altogether. Even if—especially if—I make use of a seemingly Christian
"non-violence" and "passive resistance" in this or any other cause,
let me before I call it a Christian act—carefully ask myself whether its end is
merely a lofty worldly ideal, or something greater. (St. Paul, to take a pretty clear
example, did not tell slaves to revolt "non-violently;" he told them not to
revolt at all, but to concern themselves with something much more important.)
The "Peace of Christ," being in the heart, does not necessarily, in our
fallen world, bring about outward peace, and I would wonder if it has any connection at
all with the ideal of the "abolition of war."
The difference between organized "charity" and Christian charity needs no
comment. [3]
There may be—I would not have written this letter if I did not hope there
was—a kind of true, though so to speak subterranean, "ecumenism" between
separated Christians, especially in times of persecution; but that has nothing remotely to
do with the activities of any "World Council of Churches." [4]
You may from these examples, I hope, understand the doubts I entertain about the
resurgence of seemingly "Christian" ideals in our time. I say
"doubts," for there is nothing intrinsically evil about any of these
"crusades," and there are involved in them all quite sincere and fervent
Christians who are really preaching the Gospel; but, as I say, there is a kind of cloak of
"idealism" wrapped about them all, a cloak that seems to be drawing them into
its own quite independent service (without thereby negating, of course, the personal
Christian acts performed under their auspices). What "service" is this?—the
placating of the modern sense of "idealism" by translating inward and Christian
truths into outward and—at best—semi-Christian ideals. And we must be realistic
enough to see that the general effect on the minds of people both inside and outside these
movements, both inside and outside the Church, is precisely to place emphasis upon the
realization of outward ideals, thus obscuring inward truths; and since this emphasis has
been made, the path is all too short to the palpable falsehood that "doing good is
the real purpose of Christianity anyway, and the only basis in which all Christians can
unite, while dogma and liturgy and the like are purely personal matters which tend more to
separate than unite." How many of those indeed, even Catholic and Orthodox, who are
participating in the world of "social Christianity" today, do not believe that
this is really a more "perfect" and even "inward" Christianity than a
dogmatic, ascetic, and contemplative Christianity that doesn't get such obvious
"results"?
I have, before this, been reproached by Catholics for lack of interest in the social
mission of the Church, for holding to a one-sided "ascetic" and
"apocalyptic" Christianity; and some Catholic philosophers and theologians have
made such accusations against the Orthodox Church itself—accompanied, sometimes, if I
am not mistaken, by a somewhat patronizing tone that assumes the Church is rather
"backward" or "out-of-date" about such things, having always been
"repressed" by the State and used to looking at the world through the
all-too-unworldly eyes of the monk. Far be it from me to presume to speak for the Church;
but I can at least speak of some of the things I think I have learned from Her.
You may legitimately ask me what, if I am sceptical of "social Christianity
"—though of course I do not wish it abolished or given to the devil, I am merely
pointing out its ambivalence—what I advocate as "Christian action" in the
midst of the "crisis" of the age with its urgent alternatives.
First and foremost I radically question the emphasis upon "action" itself,
upon "projects" and "planning," upon concern with the
"social" and what man can do about it—all of which acts to the
detriment of acceptance of the given, of what God gives us at this moment, as well as of
allowing His will to be done, not ours. I do not propose a total withdrawal from
politics and social work by all Christians; no arbitrary rule can govern that, it is up to
the individual conscience. But in any case, if many may still be called to work for
"justice," "peace," "unity," "brotherhood" in the
world—and these are all, in this generalized, ideal form, external and worldly
goals—is it not at least as good a thing to be called to the totally unequivocal work
of the Kingdom, to challenge all worldly ideals and preach the only needful
Gospel: repent, for the Kingdom is at hand? You yourself quite rightly say of
America and Russia, "the enemy is not just on one side or the other.... The enemy is
on both sides." Is it not possible to deepen this perception and apply it to those
other seemingly ultimate alternatives, "war" and "peace"? Is one
really any more possible for a Christian than the other, if the "peace" is a
"total (i.e. idealistic) peace"? And does not the recognition of these two
equally unacceptable alternatives lead us back to a genuine "third way"—one
that will never be popular because it is not "new," not "modern,"
above all not "idealistic "—a Christianity that has as its end neither
worldly "peace" nor "war," but a Kingdom not of this world?
This is nothing "new," as you say, and a world that imagines itself
"post-Christian" is tired of it. It is true that when we, as Christians, speak
to our brothers we often seem to be faced with a blank wall of unwillingness even to
listen; and, being human, we may be made somewhat "desperate" by this lack of
response. But what can be done about this? Shall we give up speaking about what our
contemporaries do not want to hear, and join them in the pursuit of social goals which,
since they are not specifically Christian, can be sought by non-Christians too? That seems
to me an abdication of our responsibility as Christians. I think the central need of our
time is not in the least different from what it has always been since Christ came; it
lies, not in the area of "political commitments" and "social
responsibilities," but precisely in "prayer and penance" and fasting and
preaching of the true Kingdom. The only "social responsibility" of a Christian
is to live, wherever and with whomever he may be, the life of faith, for his own salvation
and as an example to others. If, in so doing, we help to ameliorate or abolish a social
evil, that is a good thing—but that is not our goal. If we become desperate when our
life and our words fail to convert others to the true Kingdom, that comes from lack of
faith. If we would live our faith more deeply, we would need to speak of it less.
You speak of the necessity, not just to speak the truth of Christianity, but "to
embody Christian truth in action." To me, this means precisely the life I have just
described, a life infused with faith in Christ and hope in His Kingdom not of this
world. But the life you seem to describe is one very much involved in the things of
this world; I cannot help but regard it as an "outward" adaptation of true
Christian inwardness.
Modern idealism, which is devoted to the realization of the idolatrous "Kingdom of
Man," has long been making its influence felt in Christian circles; but only in quite
recent years has this influence begun to bear real fruit within the womb of the Church
itself. I think there can be no question but that we are witnessing the birth pangs of
something that, to the true Christian, is indeed pregnant with frightful possibilities: a
"new Christianity," a Christianity that claims to be "inward," but is
entirely too concerned with outward result; a Christianity, even, that cannot really
believe in "peace" and "brotherhood" unless it sees them generalized
and universally applied, not in some seemingly remote "other world," but
"here and now." This kind of Christianity says that "private virtue"
is not enough—obviously relying on a Protestantized understanding of virtue, since
everything the true Christian does is felt by all in the Mystical Body; nothing done in
Christ is done for oneself alone—but not enough for what? The answer to that, I
think, is clear: for the transformation of the world, the definitive
"realization" of Christianity in the social and political order. And this is
idolatry. The Kingdom is not of this world; to think or hope that Christianity can
be outwardly "successful" in the world is a denial of all that Christ and His
prophets have said of the future of the Church. Christianity can be "successful"
on one condition: that of renouncing (or conveniently forgetting) the true Kingdom and
seeking to build up a Kingdom in the world. The "Earthly Kingdom" is precisely
the goal of the modern mentality; the building of it is the meaning of the modern age. It
is not Christian; as Christians, we know whose Kingdom it is. And what so greatly troubles
me is that today Christians—Catholic and Orthodox alike—are themselves joining,
often quite unaware of the fact, often with the best possible intentions, in the building
of this new Babel....
The modern idealism that hopes for "heaven on earth" hopes likewise for the
vague "transformation" of man—the ideal of the "superman" (in
diverse forms, conscious or not), which, however absurd, has a great appeal to a mentality
that has been trained to believe in "evolution" and "progress." And
let not contemporary despair make us think that hope in the worldly future is dead;
despair over the future is only possible for someone who still wants to believe in it; and
indeed, mingled with contemporary despair is a great sense of expectation, a will to
believe, that the future ideal can, somehow, be realized.
The power of the impersonal and inhuman has ruled the first part of our century of
"crisis"; a vague "existential" spirit, semi- or pseudo-religious,
idealistic and practical at the same time (but never otherworldly), seems destined to rule
the last part of this century. They are two stages of the same disease, modern
"humanism," the disease caused by trusting in the world and in man, while
ignoring Christ—except to borrow His name as a convenient "symbol" for men
who, after all, cannot quite forget Him, as well as to seduce those who still wish to
serve Him. Christianity become a "crusade," Christ become an "idea,"
both in the service of a world "transformed" by scientific and social techniques
and a man virtually "deified" by the awakening of a "new
consciousness": this lies before us. Communism, it seems clear, is nearing a
transformation itself, a "humanizing," a "spiritualizing," and of this
Boris Pasternak [5] is a sign given in advance; he does not reject the Revolution, he only
wants it "humanized." The "democracies," by a different path, are
approaching the same goal. Everywhere "prophets "—semi- or
pseudo-Christians like Berdyaev and Tolstoy, more explicit pagans like D. H. Lawrence,
Henry Miller, Kazanzakis, as well as the legions of occultists, astrologers, spiritualists
and millenialists—all herald the birth of a "new age." Protestants, and
then more and more Catholics and Orthodox, are caught up in this enthusiasm and envisage
their own age of ecumenical unity and harmony, some being so bold—and so
blasphemous—as to call it a "third age" of the "descent of the Holy
Spirit" (a la D. H. Lawrence, Berdyaev, and ultimately, Joachim of Floris).
An age of "peace" may come to weary, yet apocalyptically anxious, man; but
what can the Christian say of such "peace"? It will not be the Peace of Christ;
it is but fantasy to imagine a sudden, universal conversion of men to full Christian
faith, and without such faith His Peace cannot come. And any human "peace" will
only be the prelude to the outburst of the only and real "war" of our age, the
war of Christ against all the powers of Satan, the war of Christians who look only for the
Kingdom not of this world, against all those, pagan or pseudo-Christian,
who look only for a worldly Kingdom, a Kingdom of Man.
+ + +
It was only after I had completed the preceding pages that I saw your article in Commonweal,
"Nuclear War and Christian Responsibility." [6] There you bring up the topic to
which I was planning to devote the rest of this letter: the Apocalypse.
There is, of course, nothing of which it is more dangerous to speak. Futile and
overliteral speculation on apocalyptic events is an only too obvious cause of spiritual
harm; and no less so, I think, is the facile way in which many of our contemporaries refer
to the "apocalyptic" character of the times, and in so doing raise in others
deep fears and hopes which their own vague pronouncements are far from satisfying. If a
Christian is going to speak of the Apocalypse at all, it is quite clear that in this as in
everything else his words must be sober, as precise as possible, and fully in accord with
the universal teaching of the Church. In this case I can see no reason why Latin and
Orthodox testimony should be substantially different. The prophetic texts are the
possession alike of East and West; the commentaries and statements of the Fathers, both
Greek and Latin, on these texts are explicit, detailed, and in mutual agreement; and the
tradition of the Fathers has been affirmed, after the schism, by both the Orthodox and
Latin Churches—in the latter most authoritatively, I would presume, in the person of
Thomas Aquinas. [7] The recent book of Josef Pieper, The End of Time, basing itself
almost entirely on Western sources, is, so far as I know, in no essential point at
variance with Orthodox tradition. It is rather a shock, in fact, to read in Fr. D'Arcy's Meaning
and Matter of History that "not all Christian scholars would accept such a
literal acceptance" of apocalyptic literature. Perhaps not, indeed, but that is to
say no more than that, just as many Jews did not recognize the Christ of their prophecies,
so will many Christians fail to discern the signs of the times with regard to the
Antichrist and the end of time. (Many Christians have departed so far from tradition as to
believe that the Antichrist will be no actual man, but a vague "spirit" only,
much as many modern Jews have transformed their messianic hope into belief in a mere
"messianic age.")
But this failure of many Christians is itself part of the prophecies concerning the
"falling away," even within the Church itself; as Blessed Jerome said,
"Many esteemed as the Patriarch shall fall." For the Antichrist is a deceiver,
and too few Christians are prepared for his deceptions. It is thus dangerous to speak of
"apocalyptic" things without speaking of the Antichrist and his spirit. It is
easy for the weakest understanding today to see something "apocalyptic" in the
fantastic destructive powers man now possesses; but worldly power is only one aspect of
the reign of the Antichrist—great deceptiveness, such as to deceive, if possible,
even the elect, is another and less obvious one. You speak, like many today, of the
possible "destruction of the human race"; is this not a rather strong phrase for
a Christian to use? Does it not, again, place too much emphasis on the power of man? Does
it not, above all, overlook the prophecies of what must come to pass before God (Who, of
course, alone can "destroy the human race" He has created) calls men into His
Kingdom?
In no uncertain words you affirm, once more, "War must be abolished. A world
government must be established." Is not "must" a rather strong word? It is
indeed a symptom of the apocalyptic character of the age that the only
"practical" solution to the present crisis—the abolition of war—should
at the same time be (as I think) totally idealistic. To some this situation gives rise to
thoughts of a "new age" or a "new world"; to me, it suggests the
possibility that we are, in actual fact, on the threshhold of the last days, when all courses
of worldly action begin to become impossible.
A "new world"—this is a phrase, I have noticed, that you yourself use.
In The Living Bread you even suggest that "we are witnessing the dawn of a
light that has never before been seen.... We live, perhaps, on the threshhold of the
greatest eucharistic era of the world—the era that may well witness the final union
of mankind." You ask, to be sure (but without giving an answer), "Will this
visible union be a political one?" And you even suggest that "perhaps the last
age of all will be 'eucharistic' in the sense that the Church herself will give the glory
and praise to God by being put to the Cross."
To Christians, who possess the word of Christ and His Prophets and Saints concerning
the last days, I do not see how there can be any "perhaps" in the matter. The
political union of mankind, however legitimate it may be as a political goal, can only end
in the reign of Antichrist; the Church, beyond all doubt, will be crucified after a good
many of the faithful have betrayed Her through the deceptions of the Antichrist.
I by no means preach an imminent "reign of Antichrist" and apocalypse that is
possible, of course, and Christians at all times must be prepared for it; but no one
knows the hour.... What I do wish to emphasize is the fact—I take it
so—that, spiritually speaking, contemporary man in his despair of the present and
still-present hope in the future, confronted with "ultimate" alternatives and
seemingly "apocalyptic" social and scientific transformations (and evolutionary
hope), has never been more receptive to the advent of a pseudo-Messiah, a supreme
"problem-solver" and inspirer of the bright human "idealism."
In times like these, I think, the Christian should be wary of involving himself in the
tangled web of political activity, lest in striving for too much he lose all; boldness in
faith and in preaching the Kingdom (above all by the example of one's life), to be sure
there is not nearly enough of that today—but caution in worldly "planning,"
of which we have a superfluity, even (in fact, most of all) in the interest of "high
ideals."
Above all, the Christian in the contemporary world must show his brothers that all the
"problems of the age" are of no consequence beside the single central
"problem of man": death, and its answer, Christ. Despite what you have said
about the "staleness" of Christianity to contemporary men, I think that
Christians who speak of this problem, and in their lives show that they actually
believe all that "superstition" about the "other world"—I
think they have something "new" to say to contemporary man. It has been my own
experience that serious young people are "tired" of Christianity precisely
because they think it is an "idealism" that hypocritically doesn't live up to
its "ideals"; of course, they don't believe in the other world either—but
for all they know, neither do "Christians."
I think Christians have of late become entirely too "sophisticated," too
anxious to feel at home in the world by accommodating their faith to passing fashions of
thought; so contemporary Christians become "existential," speak of the
"here and now" of faith and spiritual things. Well, that is fine, as far as it
goes—but it doesn't go far enough. Our hope as Christians cannot be reduced to the
abstract, but neither can it be reduced to the concrete; we believe and hope in a Kingdom
no one living has ever seen, our faith and hope are totally impossible in the
eyes of the world. Well then, let us tell the world that we believe the
"impossible." It has been my experience that contemporary men want
to believe, not little, but much; having abandoned Christian faith, nothing can seem too
fantastic to them, nothing can seem too much to hope for—hence the
"idealism" of today's youth. For myself, my own faith grew rather gradually, as
a more or less "existential" thing, until the stunning experience of meeting a
Christian (a young Russian monk) for whom nothing mattered but the Kingdom of the world to
come. Let the contemporary sophisticate prattle of the childishness of seeking
"future rewards" and all the rest—life after death is all that matters.
And hope in it so fires the true believer—he who knows that the way to it is through
the hard discipline of the Church, not through mere "enthusiasm"—that he is
all the more in the present (both in himself and as an example) than the
"existentialist" who renounces the future to live in the present.
The future Kingdom has not been abandoned by modern Christians, but it has been so
"toned down" that one wonders how strong the faith of Christians is.
Particularly all the involvement of Christians in the projects of social idealism, seems
to me a way of saying: "You, the worldly, are right. Our Kingdom 'not of this world'
is so distant and we can't seem to get it across to you; so we will join you in building
something we can actually see, something better than Christ and His Kingdom—a reign
of peace, justice, brotherhood on earth." This is a "new Christianity," a
refinement, it seems to me, of the Christianity of the "Grand Inquisitor" of
Dostoyevsky.
And what of the "old" Christianity of "private virtue"? Why has it
become so stale? Because, I think, Christians have lost their faith. The outward Gospel of
social idealism is a symptom of this loss of faith. What is needed is not more busyness
but a deeper penetration within. Not less fasting, but more; not more action, but prayer
and penance. If Christians really lived the Christian hope and the full path of
unification that looks to its fulfillment, instead of the easy compromise that most laymen
today think sufficient—and doesn't the "new Christianity" tell them that
working for social ideals is really more important than following the Christian
discipline?—; if Christians in their daily life were really on fire with love of God
and zeal for His Kingdom not of this world—then everything else
needful would follow of itself.
We can hardly hope that such a life will be too widespread in our time, or even,
perhaps, that its example will make many converts—surely not as many as will the
"new" Gospel; for social idealism is a part of the spirit of the age, while
genuine Christian otherworldliness is most emphatically not. Too, it is more difficult and
often less certain of itself—so weak is our faith; altogether, in short, an
unappealing goal for outwardly-minded modern man. All of this is inconsequential: ours it
is to live the full Christian life—the fruit of it is in God's hands.
Well, I have said what I wanted to say. I should be very grateful to receive a reply
from you, if you think my remarks worth replying to. And if you do reply, I hope you will
be as frank as I have tried to be. This is the only kind of ecumenical
"dialogue" of which I am capable; and if it seems more like a challenge to
"combat," I hope that will not deter you. My criticisms, I am sure you know, are
directed not at you but at your words (or at what I have made of them).
Yours in Christ,
Eugene Rose
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