Rev. Dr. John Chryssavgis
Executive Director of the Huffington Ecumenical Institute at Holy Cross School of Theology
The salacious, indeed meteoric downfall of Metropolitan Hilarion Alfeyev from department director of external affairs at the Moscow Patriarchate to resort resident in the Czech Republic is undoubtedly a cautionary tale for every ordained clergyman. To be sure, no one can claim flawlessness in any of the cornerstones of life—whether personal, family, or social. The saintly Athonite monk Paisios once remarked that a wayward sinner created a visible, tangible barrier that protected and prevented the rest of us from sinking lower. Sin is something we all share in common, the one thing that palpably, albeit paradoxically unites us above and beyond all of our many differences, whether secular or spiritual. As we know all too well, the ladder of divine ascent allows for upward evolution as well as spiritual nosedive. So I cannot find it in myself to gloat in his church demise, not least because he may be weeping despondently for his own sins in the famed Bohemian city of his exile, Karlovy Vary in the Czech Republic, but also, and primarily, because his sudden rise to prominence and subsequent fall from grace serve as a precious reminder of the fragile vessel within which we bear the divine image. That is why, when I look at Hilarion, I cannot but profess, as indeed we all should: There, but for the grace of God, go I . . .
However, what happened to Alfeyev should at the same time serve as a vital reminder of the brittle scaffolding of the church itself, especially in its patriarchal (man-made) expression and hierarchal (power-centered) dimension. I am not referring to its episcopal or ecclesiastical institutions, which we have all too readily inherited as a necessary evil in a fallen world. These aspects can always wither or be corrupted, as all earthly things can and ultimately do, as insufficient and necessarily ephemeral clothing of the divine and eternal. Even so, I must confess that I found it striking to observe how Hilarion’s replacement—in his occupational profile and administrative jurisdiction—was so instantaneously accepted and cheerfully embraced by orthodox and ecumenical leaders as if nothing whatsoever had happened. The fact that the church can so comfortably and conveniently move on after allegations of sexual abuse and financial misconduct—yet another among many instances of inappropriate behavior and abuse of authority—is both unrepresentative and unworthy of an otherwise wholesome tradition and ecclesiology. Yet, however distressing and agonizing it may be to admit, it is also unmistakably emblematic of a perverted and now entrenched practice of sweeping unacceptable misconduct under the rug—always, allegedly (and this, too, must be exposed for the rank pretense we know it is), in the name of the “privilege” and “prestige” of the church. Therefore, in addition to my personal admission of imperfection as a repentant sinner, every ordained clergyman—but especially every bishop of the church—should likewise look in the mirror and confess: There, but for the grace of God, go I. . .
Yet there is also a third form of abuse deeply seated and latently concealed in the saga surrounding Alfeyev. It is the one that admittedly vexes me most in the ecclesiastical context—though, of course, in a wider context, it is the arrant and abhorrent nature of the sexual and spiritual abuse that should remain the primary focus of our attention. In the desert, Christ is faced with three temptations: the first relates to lust for flesh and the last to greed for power. The second temptation—arguably the greatest facing church leaders—pertains to contempt for God, distrust in God, or mockery of God. To this, Christ responds: “You shall not test the Lord your God” (Mt. 4:7). For to do so is the quintessential distortion of the church’s ministry, the defining ignominy of the charlatan preacher, and the supreme abasement of God’s grace and love. In the present case, it is this that I have found most odious and appalling, as it represents, for me, the ultimate debasement of a church leader—namely, the absence of faith. It’s not that hierarchs of Hilarion’s ilk don’t believe in God; it’s that they believe in nothing. They have no loyalties, no fidelities, no regard for those who honor them as “models” and “icons” of Christ.
Which is why they can flipflop so effortlessly and so guiltlessly—on every issue, in any setting, seemingly at all times. Hilarion denounced Ukraine but claimed to defend Ukraine. He condemned the Papacy but boasted of connections with the Vatican. He blamed Constantinople for dividing the church but maligned Ukraine for not bowing to Moscow. He championed equality in the church but advanced suppression by the hierarchy. He denounced homosexuality (in others) but tolerated licentiousness (in his circle). He poured contempt on Western values and the so-called American way of life but met privately with Franklin Graham and Mike Pence. He preached about ministering to the poorest of the poor, but jetsetted in luxury from meeting to meeting. This is not the way of scripture or exhortation of liturgy “rightly to divide the word of truth” (2 Tm 2:15).
Another disconcerting matter is the existence of a double standard. There are always more loopholes for canonical and ethical transgressions when it comes to the hierarchy, who paradoxically “impose heavier, cumbersome burdens” (Mt. 23:4) on lower clergy. An errant deacon or priest is peremptorily rebuked and ostracized, often deprived of his salary and defrocked of his priesthood. Conversely, a bishop will be afforded the opportunity of appeal, apology or amends, and thereafter retired to a monastery or residence of choice, even frequently retaining salary, pension, and other benefits. In Hilarion’s case, it is his position of power that “empowers” his survival in the church, enabling him to rise to the surface like oil in a lamp. Ordination to the priesthood—and specifically the episcopate—includes the inherent temptation of controlling others instead of reforming oneself. Which is why it would come as no surprise if, even after being disgraced and disciplined, he finds his way back to the patriarchal throne. And at that point, I am sure his fellow orthodox hierarchs will once again bow in deference.
It is said that, during his ordination to the episcopate, Hilarion claimed to feel the “power” of God penetrate his entire being. A red flag, if ever there is one; in fact, a warning sign I frequently observe in reactions of young ordinands to the priesthood. This false sense of divinely conferred, and thus unaccountable, privilege undoubtedly dates back to the pharisees and remains to this day the most pernicious and irresistible of seductions for spiritual leaders, as it licenses and legitimizes everything they say and do, with all its cascading collateral damage for the wider church. So long as the words from the altar or throne have a pious inflection, the gestures a spiritual intimation, and the outward appearance a godly veneer, people will rarely, and understandably, question the sincerity or integrity of their elders. Which is why the position of authority and trust bestowed on clergy is such a grave responsibility and why so much damage ensues when it is betrayed. The tragic story of Hilarion Alfeyev—former bishop of Volokolamsk, once chair of the department of external affairs in Moscow, and previously potential successor to Patriarch Kirill—should motivate us all to heed this lesson well.
Το άρθρο στα ελληνικά ΕΔΩ
