In my previous post, I relayed a story about a Baptist blogger who recently accused a distinguished Orthodox Christian scholar of not being a Christian. The ensuing "dialogue" between the two was distinctly one-sided, the Orthodox Christian asking his accuser to dialogue with him, and the accuser refusing to do so on the assumption that he already understood enough about Orthodoxy. I don't think I've ever been quite as cocky as that blogger, but I do know what it's like to encounter people of differing views online, realize I'm not equipped to dialogue with them, then panic. And there's really no better word than panic for when people take the time to accuse strangers, but walk away when those accused presume to defend themselves.

In early 2015, twenty-one Coptic Christians were forced to their knees and beheaded on a Libyan beach by members of ISIS. The event was captured on video by the killers and released on the internet. Rightly, there was a worldwide groan from Christians of many differing traditions about the evil of ISIS's barbaric act. Not only that, but there was also an equally ecumenical reverence for the martyrdom of those men, many of whom could be heard crying out, "Lord Jesus Christ!" at the final moment before their heads were severed from their bodies.

Not everyone was impressed.

With the onset of Lenten abstentions barely nine days hence, I recently got to reminiscing about my first Paschal liturgy. It's an experience I've always envisioned telling as one event along the lengthy timeline of my Orthodox conversion, but as a working, married father of four, writing that complete history seems to become less feasible as time elapses. Given the nearness of the Paschal season and the fact that I haven't written anything in months, I felt this a worthy exercise.

St Gregory of Nazianzus wrote in one of his theological orations against the Christian mistake of debating theology before a worldly audience (cf. John 13:35). It's hard not to apply this wisdom to some conversations I occasionally get baited into on social media.

My wife recently posted a question on Facebook, asking any of her pro-choice friends to offer their rationale for abortion in the wake of the current Planned Parenthood revelations. The question was couched in terms of a desire to "understand" the basis for such thinking and involved a request of any pro-lifers that they refrain from turning the comment thread into a boxing ring. Essentially, my wife was attempting to create a "safe space" for people with contrary views to express them, the thought being that under such non-confrontational conditions, the likelihood was higher that a clear statement of pro-choice rhetoric might be forthcoming. I'm glad my wife did that, because the two pro-choice responses that she garnered--one in particular--offer a teaching opportunity. In the interest of preserving that safe space on my wife's Facebook wall, I decided to offer these thoughts here on my blog.

Liberal evangelical personality Tony Campolo recently shocked no one by formally announcing his approval of monogamous gay marriage, coupled with a plea that other Christians do the same. A more surprising similar announcement came almost simultaneously from former Christianity Today editor David Neff on Facebook. The latter put conservative Evangelical "thought leaders" on social media into a relative state of disarray, and Christianity Today issued a response to the whole ordeal aptly titled, "Breaking news: 2 billion Christians believe in traditional marriage."

Last week marked the 70th anniversary of the hanging death of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Hence it was an occasion for meditating on the German Lutheran pastor who, amid Nazi atrocities during WWII, was driven to take part in an assassination plot against Adolf Hitler. Bonhoeffer's unapologetic writings on ethics and theology have factored heavily in my own spiritual and intellectual development since I first began studying him in 2003 as a senior in college. Specifically, his formulations on "costly grace" put a fire in my belly about the gravity of deeds in the Christian life, and their inescapable role as the true indicator of living faith.

When I was in college, I went to a bar in downtown Chattanooga, TN to see Derek Webb in concert, he of Caedmon's Call fame. That night he introduced a new, as-yet-unreleased song that immediately became a favorite of mine. It was called "Wedding Dress," and it pulled from repeated themes in the scriptures of harlotry. One thinks of Hosea's wife, various other Biblical allusions to the nation of Israel and her prostitution of herself, and also a few notable courtesans of the New Testament. If you're unfamiliar with the song, have a look at it here:

Right now for reasons many of you may know, my family are confronting the topic of infant baptism (and the baptism of toddlers for that matter). Plenty theological blood has been spilt over that topic in recent centuries, so my purpose here is emphatically not to mount a defense for one view against another. I only want to mention that the subject has me thinking generally on the question of the nature of faith. How much is rational? How much is implicit trust? In a recent reading about infant baptism at OrthodoxBridge.com (the site is linked to in the sidebar as well), the writer observes: