For some time now, I have been working my way through St Irenaeus of Lyons’s Against Heresies—rather slowly, off and on, as I’ve also picked up other patristic works along the way.
But when I do get back to reading him, I am often struck by just how clear and worked-out his theology is for a Christian writing so early. The popular scholarly narratives of slow Christological development simply crumble when you read someone like Irenaeus. (Or, for that matter, even the undisputed letters of Paul…)
I am also often reminded of just how fundamentally Ireaneus has shaped Fr John Behr’s approach to theology (see, for example, The Mystery of Christ). And since Fr John—as my professor and thesis advisor—has deeply influenced my own thinking in a number of ways, reading Irenaeus in full has largely been an experience of familiarity and recognition. I’ve heard certain passages so many times I practically knew them by heart, and I often find myself thinking: “Aha, so that’s where that comes from!”
This morning I started the fifth and final book of this fairly massive work, and came to such a passage:
And just as a cutting from the vine planted in the ground fructifies in its season, or as a corn of wheat falling into the earth and becoming decomposed, rises with manifold increase by the Spirit of God, who contains all things, and then, through the wisdom of God, becomes the Eucharist, which is the body and blood of Christ; so also our bodies, being nourished by it, and deposited in the earth, and suffering decomposition there, shall rise at their appointed time, the Word of God granting them resurrection to the glory of God, even the Father, who freely gives to this mortal immortality, and to this corruptible incorruption [1 Cor 15:53], because the strength of God is made perfect in weakness [2 Cor 12:9], in order that we may never become puffed up, as if we had life from ourselves, and exalted against God, our minds becoming ungrateful; but learning by experience that we possess eternal duration from the excelling power of this Being, not from our own nature, we may neither undervalue that glory which surrounds God as He is, nor be ignorant of our own nature, but that we may know what God can effect, and what benefits man receives, and thus never wander from the true comprehension of things as they are, that is, both with regard to God and with regard to man. And might it not be the case, perhaps, as I have already observed, that for this purpose God permitted our resolution into the common dust of mortality, that we, being instructed by every mode, may be accurate in all things for the future, being ignorant neither of God nor of ourselves? (Against Heresies 5.2.3)
I think this beautiful passage speaks for itself, so I just want to highlight a few things. First, in context Irenaeus is arguing against those “who despise the entire dispensation of God, and disallow the salvation of the flesh” (5.2.2). It’s worth emphasizing that his argument for the “salvation of the flesh” in the resurrection of the dead presupposes the reality of the Eucharist as the Body and Blood of Christ—the whole analogy above hinges on this.
Second, according to Irenaeus, it is death that will finally allow us to fully understand both who God is and who we ourselves are. When we delude ourselves into thinking “as if we had life from ourselves” the result is pride and “our minds becoming ungrateful.” The flip side of this is that gratitude is the natural reaction when we accurately see God and ourselves for who he is and who we are.
For now we can only see this in part. But, especially in this season of Thanksgiving, it is good to remember that the extent to which we can genuinely give thanks serves as a barometer for how accurately we have come to know God and ourselves—and of how far we still have to go. As Fr Alexander Schmemann said in his final homily on Thanksgiving 1983:
Everyone capable of thanksgiving is capable of salvation and eternal joy.
Loving the Word 