A Frightful Vision

The other day I had this frightful vision.

City of Data

The vision opened upon a city unlike any before it.

At its center did not stand a cathedral, a palace, or a marketplace—but immense data centers, towering and windowless, humming day and night. These were the most important buildings in the city and highly fortified. Everything was controlled by them. They were like the life source for human life.

They were the city’s source of truth, memory, prediction, and power.

What once came from wisdom, tradition, and lived experience was now drawn from massive data streams. Meaning itself had been reduced to what could be measured, processed, and optimized.

The populous  no longer asked, What is good?
They asked only, What works?

The Hidden Rulers

As the vision deepened, it became clear that the data centers were not autonomous. They were controlled by a very small number of unimaginably wealthy individuals—figures who rarely appeared, whose names were known but whose faces were distant.

They ruled without crowns.

They governed without laws.

They shaped reality through architecture, systems, and algorithms.

Like the pagan gods of old, they were unseen yet omnipresent, untouchable yet decisive. Their will flowed invisibly through terms of service, content moderation, educational standards, economic incentives, and behavioral predictions.

They did not demand worship—but they demanded dependence.

No one was allowed to disconnect from the Date Centers

Lives were ordered around what the gained for the Data Center: communication, education, energy, commerce, imagination

Human destiny no longer understood. No one even asked a questions. They starve to taste the games.

Churches Without Altars

The churches were still standing.

But they no longer stood at the center.

They had been converted into entertainment venues, carefully regulated and monitored by the systems Data Center. Worship was permitted so long as it remained loyal to the Data Center.

Icons were replaced with screens. Silence was replaced with sound. Repentance was replaced with reassurance.

Pastors no longer stood as shepherds before God. They functioned as toll takers, managing access, collecting attention, and keeping the experience smooth. Grace was no longer given—it was curated.

The Church no longer transformed the world. It mirrored it.

Schools Without Formation

Education, too, flowed from the data centers.

Learning was delivered almost entirely through AI-driven systems, perfectly personalized, endlessly adaptive, astonishingly efficient. Knowledge increased—but wisdom vanished.

Teachers were still present, but only as monitors. They supervised behavior but no longer shaped souls. They ensured compliance, not formation.

Children learned everything except:

why they exist

what suffering means

how to love

how to stand before God

Information was abundant. Meaning was absent.

Children Without Earth

The children did not play outside.

They sat indoors, faces lit by virtual reality headsets, inhabiting worlds more vivid and more exciting than the one beneath their feet. Their bodies were still; their souls were restless.

They no longer climbed trees, scraped knees, or learned the weight of silence. They did not encounter resistance, patience, or boredom—the very conditions where imagination and prayer are born.

Creation had become irrelevant.
Incarnation unnecessary.
Reality optional.

Power That Does Not Give Life

Each community was powered by its own nuclear reactor, feeding endless energy to the data centers. The power that feed the Data centers was immense, invisible, and dangerous—understood by few, controlled by fewer.

This was not light that warms or heals.
It was power that sustains machines.

The city glowed constantly, but it did not breathe.

Humanity Lost—not Destroyed, but Replaced

Humanity in this city was not exterminated.

It was quietly displaced.

People still worked, laughed, married, and aged—but they no longer lived from the heart. The sense that life is a gift received from God had been replaced by the belief that life is a system to be managed. Their best friends were chaps bots.

Suffering was anesthetized, not redeemed.

Hospitals were mechanized. Surgical procedures done by robots. Diagnosis done by AI at home. 

Doctors only supervised vast systems of data.
Death was postponed, not transfigured.
Freedom became a liability.
Dependence on God became unnecessary.

The image of God was not denied—it was simply forgotten.

A New Paganism

This was a return to paganism—but without myth, poetry, or ritual.

The old gods governed storms and harvests.
These new gods governed data, behavior, and desire.

They did not promise transcendence.
They promised control and fleeting pleasure.

And most terrifying of all, the people consented.

They felt safe.
They felt entertained.

They did not notice what they had lost.

The Final Stillness

The vision did not end in fire or chaos.

It ended in emptiness.

A city humming with power, glowing with light, yet starving for life.

And yet—beneath it all—the human heart remained restless.

For no data center can generate meaning.
No algorithm can produce love.
No machine can suffer—and therefore none can redeem.

Wherever even one soul still prays, still fasts, still loves, still repents—the city has not won.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

 

Anger and Swearing - An Orthodox Response

Dear....,

I was delighted to hear your comments yesterday when I heard you speak very thoughtfully as you described your struggle with anger and swearing. This awareness is at the heart of Orthodoxy. It reflects a living spirit of repentance. 

In Orthodoxy, we do not begin with self-justification but with honesty before God. We re all sinners. We have inherited this brokenness from the Fall. Most are blind to their weakness and give themselves over to cultural norms rather than to the transforming teaching of Christ. Your awareness reflects that you are already on the right path.

Anger and swearing are passions—not merely bad habits, but disordered energies of the soul.
Anger is the incensive power meant to resist evil, turned inward or misdirected.
Swearing is anger escaping through speech, revealing inner unrest.

Now that you recognize this passion at work in your soul, the task before you is to begin learning how to heal it—especially as you continue your journey toward Orthodoxy, where you will eventually benefit fully from the sacramental life of the Church. 

Let me offer a few suggestions for you as you strive to become Orthodox when you will be able to benefit from the sacramental life.
Swearing: This can be one of the easier habits to address first. The key is replacement. When you feel the urge to swear, substitute another response—such as quietly saying, “Lord, have mercy.” It will feel forced at first, but over time it becomes natural. Another powerful option is silence. You may have noticed that icons of the saints often depict them with small mouths—this reflects restraint of speech and inner stillness.

Anger: Anger is often connected to swearing, but it usually runs deeper. You will need to explore what triggers it and what lies beneath it. Sometimes this requires looking back at earlier wounds—family dynamics, unresolved pain, or patterns learned in childhood. Forgiveness is essential. A pure heart cannot be formed without reconciliation, especially toward parents or siblings where wounds often begin.

When anger arises, ask quietly: “What am I protecting right now?” Often the answer reveals pride, fear, or wounded love.

This struggle requires prayer and the help of the Holy Spirit. Have you been able to establish a daily prayer rule and remain faithful to it? This is a foundational spiritual practice. In prayer, ask Christ fervently to heal this tendency—not merely to suppress it, but to transform your heart. 

Fasting is also important. Have you begun practicing the Wednesday and Friday fasts, at least by abstaining from meat? If possible, you might gradually make this more strict by also avoiding dairy. The Fathers teach clearly that bodily restraint softens the soul and weakens anger.

Some simple things that can help in the moment: Stop speaking when it arises. Lower your eyes, and this can break the momentum of the passion. Say the Jesus prayer quietly or take a short walk reciting this prayer.

Finally, expect healing, not perfection. Orthodoxy does not promise instant victory over the passions. This can be a lifelong effort. Real progress often looks like fewer outbursts, quicker repentance, softer reactions, and deeper humility.
Be encouraged. Awareness itself is already the beginning of healing.

Here are two psalms you can use for prayer.

Psalm 38/39
1 For the End, for Jeduthun; an ode by David.*
2 I said, “I will guard my ways, that I may not sin with my tongue;
I set a guard on my mouth
When the sinner stood against me.”
3 I was deadened and humbled; and I kept silent, even from good;
And my grief was stirred anew.
4 My heart was hot within me,
And in my meditation, fire will be kindled.
I spoke with my tongue,
5 “O Lord, make me to know my end,
And what is the measure of my days,
So as to know what I lack.
6 Behold, You made my days as a handbreadth,
And my existence is as nothing before You;
But all things are vanity, and every man living. (Pause)
7 “Nevertheless man walks about like a phantom;
Surely in vain they stir themselves up;
He stores up treasure, but does not know for whom he will gather it.
8 And now what is my patience?
Is it not the Lord?
And my support is from You.
9 Deliver me from all my transgressions;
You made me a reproach to the undiscerning.
10 I was dumb and opened not my mouth;
For You are He who made me.
11 Take away Your scourges from me;
Because of the strength of Your hand I fainted.
12 With rebukes You chasten a man for his transgression,
And You cause his soul to waste away like a spider web;
But every man stirs himself up in vain. (Pause)
13 “Hear my prayer, O Lord,
And give ear to my supplication;
Do not be silent at my tears,
For I am a sojourner before You,
And a stranger, as were all my fathers.
14 Do not forsake me, that I may revive
Before I depart and am no longer here.”

Another: 
(Psalm 140/141)
1 psalm by David.*
O Lord, I have cried to You; hear me; Give heed to the voice of my supplication when I cry to You.
2 Let my prayer be set forth before You as incense,
The lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.
3 Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth,
A door of enclosure about my lips.
4 Incline not my heart to evil words,
To make excuses in sins
With men who work lawlessness;
And I will not join with their choice ones.
5 The righteous man shall correct me
With mercy, and he shall reprove me;
But let not the oil of the sinner anoint my head,
For my prayer shall be intense in the presence of their pleasures.
6 Their judges are swallowed up by the rock;
They shall hear my words, for they are pleasant.
7 As a clod of ground is dashed to pieces on the earth,
So our bones were scattered beside the grave.
8 For my eyes, O Lord, O Lord, are toward You;
In You I hope; take not my soul away.
9 Keep me from the snares they set for me,
And from the stumbling blocks of those who work lawlessness.
10 Sinners shall fall into their own net;
I am alone, until I escape.

In Orthodoxy we overcome swearing and anger by healing the heart through prayer, fasting, silence, confession, and mercy.

The Invisible Church-- Truth or Heresy?

The questions that Protestants raise about the invisible Church is very interesting—and I think important. Many, including some Orthodoxy, have a concern for the salvation of those who seem to love Christ, follow His word, and yet are not part of the Church, suggesting there may be an invisible church.

This idea of an invisible church isn’t a concept I have personally held or pondered. As I understand it, however, the idea of the invisible Church arose during the Reformation in response to a concern somewhat different from the one many express today.

History

Historically, it developed out of the question of how the Church could remain holy when so many of its visible members—including clergy—were clearly sinful, corrupt, or divided. This was a direct challenge to the condition of the Roman Catholic Church at the time. The Reformers were trying to protect both the holiness of the Church and the sincerity of faith.

The conceptual roots of the idea go back to St. Augustine, as do many developments in Western Christianity. Augustine distinguished between the visible Church—a mixed body of saints and sinners—and the true members of Christ, who are known fully only to God. He was responding to the Donatists, who claimed that the Church had to be pure or it was not truly the Church at all. Augustine argued instead that the Church on earth is a mixed body and that God alone knows who truly belongs to Him. Importantly, Augustine did not deny the Church’s visibility or sacramental reality. Still, this emphasis on interior belonging created a framework that later Western theology would develop further.

By the 16th century, Reformers such as Luther and Calvin rejected the authority and structures of the Roman Catholic Church, the sacramental efficacy as understood by Rome, and the idea that visible unity guaranteed truth. Yet they still needed to affirm that Christ has one Church. When they asked, “If Rome is corrupt, where is the true Church?”—a question very similar to what many inquirers ask today—their answer became that the true Church is invisible, known only to God, united by faith rather than by institution. In this way, they could affirm the unity of the Church without any visible unity.

At the same time, they developed the doctrine of salvation by faith alone. This theological move required a corresponding ecclesiology. Salvation was no longer something sought primarily within the visible Church through sacramental communion, but rather an interior act of faith grounded in a legal declaration by God that provided personal assurance. The Church therefore became a spiritual reality rather than a visible body. The Roman Church lost its authority sacramentally. The sacraments became signs of faith rather than the means of union with Christ in His Church. Visible membership no longer guaranteed anything spiritually real.

Orthodoxy never took this path, even though it faced many of the same historical problems. It never separated grace from the sacraments, salvation from communion, or Christ from His visible Body. Instead, Orthodoxy understands the Church as a hospital for wounded souls—fallen since the time of Adam and Eve—not a society of the already perfected.

I think the idea of the invisible Church persists today for some understandable reasons. It avoids judging others, helps explain sincere Christians outside Orthodoxy, and fits well with the modern cultural emphasis on individualism.

The overriding issue for Orthodoxy, however, is that what is essential is communion with Christ—and that communion takes place in His Church, which is both mystical and visible, heavenly and earthly, spiritual and embodied

Thoughts based on Staniloae Dogmatic theology

For Staniloae, the Church is the continuation of the Incarnation in history.
1. If Christ truly became flesh, then His Body cannot be reduced to something merely spiritual, inward, or invisible. To separate the Church from visible, historical, sacramental life is to undermine the Incarnation itself. The Church is Christ’s Body, not an abstract fellowship of believers known only to God.

2. The Invisible Church separates Grace from concrete communion. He points out that the Protestant idea undermines sacramental purpose, rejection of apostolic continuity, and need for clergy for the sacramental life, and an individualized understanding of salvation. An “invisible Church” implies invisible grace detached from embodied communion, which Staniloae sees as foreign to both Scripture and the Fathers.

3. The Church is visible because Love is visible. The Church is not just an institution but visibly gathered in the Eucharist, ordered by the Bishops and priest, manifest in love and communion. He asserts that love cannot be an abstraction but must be lived, shared, and embodied. A invisible church would reduce salvation to a private experience rather than a shared life.

4. This idea of an invisible church also undermines Eucharistic reality. He says the the Eucharist is not symbolic, requires a visible community, and is needed for our salvation. If the Church were invisible, it would become merely a sign of personal belief rather than a real participation in Christ’s Body.

5. The invisible Church undermines the reality of the Incarnation itself. The Church is an extension of the Incarnation. Christ remains present body and historically through the Church. The Holy Spirit does not replace Christ’s visible Body.

The danger of the “invisible Church” idea is that it quietly separates love for Christ from the concrete, incarnational life Christ Himself established. Christ did not leave us a set of teachings alone, but a Body, His Church, and the sacrament of Holy Communion. He did not say, “Wherever hearts are sincere, there is My Church,” but “Take, eat… this is My Body.” Love, in the Orthodox understanding, is never purely inward or abstract; it seeks embodiment, communion, and shared life.

At the same time, Orthodoxy has never claimed to limit God’s authority to declare who is saved or how God works in the hearts of those outside the visible Church. We simply refuse to turn that mystery into a doctrine. We can affirm that many love Christ and live according to His teaching without needing to say that they already belong to the Church in some invisible way. God alone knows the depths of each heart and the ways His grace is at work. Since Christ is clear about the way, we may assume that these exceptions are probably rare, but we cannot know this.

The Church remains visible because salvation is not just an inner relationship but a life of communion. God’s mercy remains vast because He is not limited by our categories.

Orthodoxy has always held two things together at once, without collapsing one into the other. On the one hand, the Church is very concrete: a visible Body with bishops, sacraments, Eucharist, and apostolic continuity. On the other hand, God’s mercy and activity are not confined by our boundaries or our ability to identify who belongs where. The mystery is not resolved by turning the Church into an abstraction, but by trusting that God is both faithful to His Church and infinitely merciful beyond our comprehension.

My summary

God became incarnate for our salvation. In Christ, His divinity and humanity are united without confusion or separation. Christ and the Holy Spirit are one in will and action. At Pentecost, Christ sends the Holy Spirit to empower the Apostles and to establish the Church, which is His Body on earth.

In the Church, Christ Himself is truly present and gives Himself to us through Holy Communion. It is in His Church that Christ abides in this way in order to draw us into full communion with Him. Salvation, therefore, is not merely an intellectual understanding of Christ, nor is it a self-directed effort to live according to His commandments as one might obey civic laws. Salvation is participation in the life of Christ, and this participation takes place in the Church.

This life begins with Baptism, by which we are united to Christ and receive the Holy Spirit dwelling within us. Through this gift, we are given the power to grow into His likeness. Christ then commands us to partake of His Body and Blood in the Eucharist, which He gives for the life of the world. This sacramental communion takes place within the Church and is administered through the ordained clergy, according to the order Christ Himself established.

At the same time, we must never say or imply that we limit God’s power to save. Salvation belongs to God alone, and His mercy is beyond our understanding. While the fullness of salvation is given in the Church, we are not given authority to determine how God may complete His saving work in those who are not visibly within her. Such persons are entrusted to the mercy of God, who judges each soul according to the light, freedom, and response to grace that it has received.

With this understanding, the idea of an “invisible Church” cannot be a valid Orthodox understanding. It implies that the Church is not truly necessary for salvation, and that a purely personal faith in Christ—apart from sacramental communion in His Body—is sufficient in itself. In this way, the Church becomes optional rather than essential, and salvation is reduced to an interior belief rather than participation in Christ’s incarnate life.

We must carefully distinguish between God’s freedom to act outside the visible boundaries of the Church and the necessity of the Church for our salvation. To deny the Church is to deny the concrete, incarnational way Christ chose to remain present in the world. Christ established a visible Church so that we might partake of His Body and Blood in Holy Communion as members of a faithful family united in love for Him. It seems that to reject consciously the Church as the reformers did is to reject Christ Himself.

Through the sacramental life of the Church—Baptism, the Eucharist, and the other mysteries Christ entrusted to her—we are healed, purified of our sinful tendencies and passions, and gradually united to Christ in preparation for eternal life. Salvation, therefore, is not an abstract faith or moral effort, but a lived communion with Christ in the Church He established.

Faith, Prayer, and Fasting: A Living Unity in the Christian Life

 

In Orthodox Christianity, faith is never understood as a merely internal conviction or intellectual assent. Scripture consistently presents faith as a living, active reality—one that expresses itself concretely through prayer, fasting, repentance, and love. For this reason, the Church teaches that true faith naturally gives birth to prayer and fasting, and that these disciplines, in turn, strengthen and preserve faith.

The Bible never separates faith from prayer. Saint Paul exhorts believers to “pray without ceasing” (1 Thess. 5:17), not as an optional spiritual practice, but as the normal rhythm of Christian life. Prayer is the voice of faith turned toward God. A faith that does not pray inevitably weakens, because faith lives through communion with the One in whom it trusts.

Likewise, fasting is not presented in Scripture as an extreme or optional discipline for a spiritual elite. Christ Himself assumes fasting as a normal part of discipleship when He says, “When you fast…” (Matt. 6:16), and He teaches that after His departure, His disciples will fast (Matt. 9:15). Fasting is a bodily expression of faith—a way of ordering our desires, cultivating watchfulness, and reminding ourselves that we live not by bread alone, but by dependence on God.

Prayer and fasting are also closely linked in Scripture to spiritual struggle. When the disciples were unable to cast out a demon, Christ explained that such battles require prayer (Mark 9:29), a teaching the Church has always understood as including fasting as well. In the Acts of the Apostles, we see the early Church consistently joining prayer and fasting when seeking the guidance of the Holy Spirit or appointing leaders (Acts 13:2–3; 14:23). These practices sharpen spiritual discernment and strengthen the believer against the passions and the powers that oppose life in Christ.

Importantly, prayer and fasting do not replace faith, nor do they earn salvation. Rather, they are the fruit and nourishment of living faith. As Saint James teaches, “faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead” (James 2:17). Prayer and fasting are not external additions to faith; they are how faith breathes, grows, and remains vigilant.

Beyond the Manger: Christmas Is the Birth of a New Humanity

In this season, when we are scurrying about to buy presents and celebrate with friends, co-workers, and family, we should pause and ask ourselves: What are we celebrating?

Supposedly, it is about a newborn baby whom Christians claim to be God in human flesh. But is this merely God “appearing” in the world? Is it simply the beginning of Christ’s sacrificial work?

No! It’s much more.

Christmas is the beginning of a new humanity. In the birth of this Child from a virgin mother, God’s divine nature is united with human nature, and the divine energies of God permeate the very depths of what it means to be human.

For a very long time, humanity struggled to follow God’s teachings. He gave us a Law. He sent prophets. Yet more was needed to fulfill the divine plan.

In Paradise, Adam and Eve were created in God’s image and were challenged to use their free will in obedience to His will. They were tempted and failed. Their choice brought about a voluntary separation from the divine union they had enjoyed. To complete His plan for them, God sent them out of Paradise, clothed them in “skins”—a mortal, physical life destined to die. And over many generations it became clear that humanity could not overcome this wounded condition on its own. Something more was required for healing and for the full development of what it means to bear God’s image.

What was needed was an inner change, a restoration of union with God so that divine energy could once again flow through the human heart—giving the power to overcome the passions inherited in this mortal life. Without this healing, mankind remained separated from its Creator.

Sin could not be overcome by human effort alone. Pride infected humanity, and the more people tried to save themselves, the more prideful they became—placing themselves at the center of creation. They could not reach out in humility to embrace the love of their Creator.

This is where the significance of the Incarnation comes into play.

The Incarnation of the Son of God, Jesus Christ, was not simply a way to pay a debt, nor merely a lesson in virtue. He came to transform human nature itself. Humanity needed an inner healing. By uniting divine and human natures in His miraculous birth, Christ opened the path for all mankind to receive divine energy, to gain the power needed to tame the passions of our fallen nature, and to grow into the likeness of God—into the likeness of Christ Himself.

Today, because of this transforming event, all people can be united with Christ through:

• a rebirth in Baptism,
• the receiving of the Holy Spirit into the heart,
• partaking of His Body and Blood in Holy Communion,
• a life guided by clergy ordained by Him,
• discipleship and cooperation with His Spirit,
• and membership in His Body, the Church, the gathering of the faithful.

This is what we are truly supposed to be celebrating in this season.

It has nothing to do with gift-giving, Santa Claus, or the endless consumerism that fills these weeks with noise and distraction.

Let us reflect instead on this great event—how we have been blessed by this transformation, how we are empowered by the Holy Spirit to be reunited with Christ, and how, through cooperation with His divine energies, He now lives within us, preparing us for eternal life with Him and a return to Paradise.