If America is in moral decline, if respect for human dignity runs cold, if all discourse is coarsening, if hospitality is withering under rampant individualism, if sexual confusion is the new norm, if secularism increasingly defines our laws and institutions-can such cultural deterioration be seen as a gift? Perhaps it can, and the key to such optimism may be to understand that as America slips further into depravity, it also slips closer to the very conditions in which the early Church thrived.

Cultural deterioration is never inherently a good development, and Christian citizens should not encourage or ignore it in the naïve hope that a renewal of early church conditions will automatically produce a corresponding renewal of early church piety. We do not sin, St. Paul asserts, so that grace may abound. But should dark times darken hope, the culture-influencing faith of our early brothers and sisters may provide encouragement.

Vigorous Growth

First, data. Sociologist Rodney Stark, in The Rise of Christianity, estimates that the early Church-in roughly its first 350 years-experienced a growth rate of forty percent per decade. From 1000 Christians in AD 40-0.0017 percent of the total population of the Roman Empire-the Church grew to nearly 39 million, or 56.5 percent of the population, by AD 350. An obscure ascetic sect on the fringe of the empire evolved into a lasting global movement.

The emerging worldview of the early Church on secular society can be roughly divided into three categories: personhood, values, and systems. That order is deliberate-persons are transformed first, then transformed persons transform values and systems. The changes did not occur overnight, but Stark's numbers reveal that they did occur with enough frequency and effectiveness to eventually become rooted in Greco-Roman culture.

Transforming People

The evidence suggests that the most profound cultural transformation occurred in the area of personhood. Personhood is central to the historic Orthodox Faith-the Person of Jesus Christ, the three Persons of the Holy Trinity, the human person as microcosm-and was a subject of the christological and trinitarian debates of the first several centuries. The dogmatic assertions regarding the Personhood of God extended to an exalted view of the personhood of man. "The glory of God is a human being who is fully alive," wrote St. Irenaeus, "and the life of such a person consists in beholding God."

The transcendent, sacred, unrepeatable, irreplaceable value of each human being was not, however, a core principle in the pagan thought of the Empire. Absolutely countercultural, for example, was the Christian affirmation of women and children. In the presence of Christ, women gained socially what was inherently theirs anyway-personhood. Women had nurtured Christ as He grew up (Luke 2:51); had traveled with Him and had helped finance His ministry (Luke 8:1-3); had been featured in His parables (Matt 13:33); had shared the good news of His messiahship (John 4:28-30); had been praised by Him for their faith (Mark 7:24-30); had been commended by Him for their generosity (Mark 12:41-44); and had been the first to witness His resurrection (John 20:16).

Women were equally important in the spread of the early Church. They hosted churches in their homes (Acts 2:46; Col 4:15); helped those in need (Acts 9:39); aided Paul and his companions (Acts 16:15); were often the first converts in a region (Acts 17:34); taught others (Acts 18:26); and excelled in ministry, even being described as "among the apostles" (Romans 16:7). In those early centuries, women converted to Christ in greater numbers than any other group.

Children, too, took on transcendent worth. The prevailing Greco-Roman attitude toward childhood was that it was an insignificant phase of life. In the broader culture, unwanted babies were routinely abandoned along roadsides or on country hills as victims both of gender bias and of economics: female children were of lesser value than male children, since girls would only add to a family's financial burden while boys could be raised to contribute.

The early Church understood life differently. Those Christians vigorously challenged the culture by their active and involved opposition to abandonment, infanticide, and abortion. Children even became spiritual role models, for, as our Lord clearly stated, no one can enter the Kingdom of Heaven without becoming like a child-innocent, without guile, simple in faith, inclined toward trust, full of wonder, and expressive of joy.

Transforming Values

After personhood, the second category of cultural change was change to dominant values-those things and ideas that a society considers to be important. To be "in Christ" meant to be a "new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new" (2 Corinthians 5:17). The Christian worldview brought a refreshed understanding of money, of property, of honesty and ethics, and of what it takes to be content. Early Christians appear to have lived eschatologically, understanding that this world is not all there is.

From the third chapter of Luke, we get a sense of how the secular culture around the church used power. St. John the Forerunner raised a few issues with the soldiers who came to investigate him: that they used their power to intimidate and to manipulate, and that their power left them discontent. Scripture attests to early Christian thought about power-that it is not a weapon, but a gift. God is the giver of power, and power is an instrument for the service of others. The power promised to the early Church in Acts 1:8 was not political, but the capacity to more deeply experience God, and to spread the Gospel in a culture inhospitable to it.

Transforming Systems

Finally, cultural transformation extended to prevailing systems. The structures of authority could be ruthless-from the Herods of Palestine to the tax collectors of Judea. We notice, though, a discernible lack of strictly revolutionary fervor in the early Church. It appears that governmental upheaval was not what the Christians preferred, but governmental accountability. St. Paul, for example, was deferential when addressing Roman officials (Acts 23-25). The state in his time had not yet degenerated into the beast described by St. John in the Apocalypse (Revelation 13).

Under the influence of the Christian worldview, systemic practices began emerging that promoted the inherent dignity of human beings. The hospitals, health care systems, orphanages, and charitable organizations of today can reasonably trace their roots not to the eighteenth-century Enlightenment, but to such early Christian events as the third-century saving of Corinth, when Christians rescued the city from plague by nursing those who had been dragged out to the streets and left for dead; or the fourth-century establishment of monasteries, where pilgrims received not only spiritual, but physical, healing.

Early Church, Modern America

Let's move the discussion forward. We are not interested in manufacturing a static replica of the early Church, even if that were possible. Christians are persons of the present. But those early believers have lessons to share, such as this: the early Church created waves of cultural transformation that seethed almost entirely outside the halls of government.

This is not to say that the Church was comprised only of the poor-indeed, there is growing evidence that early Christianity attracted the middle and upper classes. Nor is this to say that early Christians wouldn't have pursued cultural change through government if they had had the chance. We cannot infer either of those two propositions. But it is to say that the impressive growth and cultural impact of the first three hundred years of Christian practice did not flow primarily through political channels.

This should not surprise, since Christian faith and practice are grounded not in manmade systems, nor in the shifting sands of culture, but in the revelation of God to man in the Person of Jesus Christ. Jesus said, "You are from beneath; I am from above. You are of this world; I am not of this world" (John 8:23). The uncreated God will not be captured by created constructs; the Lord of history will not be constrained to any political platform; the Faith delivered once for all to the saints will not be defined by any ideology. All political labels-anarchist, socialist, conservative, Democrat, Independent, liberal, Libertarian, Republican, etc.-are entirely insufficient to convey "what is the width and length and depth and height" (Ephesians 3:18) of Christ's love and lordship over creation. "Concepts create idols," wrote St. Gregory of Nyssa; "only wonder grasps anything."

But as important as it is to refute any attempt to totally identify Orthodoxy with political activity, it is equally important to refute any attempt to totally isolate Orthodoxy from political activity. The political process is a tool-not the only one, but one nonetheless-in the large workshop of cultural engagement. Some may reach for it; others may not.

More importantly, we may reasonably argue that cultural engagement-especially on those truths that the Church has always considered the product of revelation-is rarely a matter of either/or, and more often a matter of both/and. Abortion, for example, is a tragedy that can be addressed both through quiet personal contact and through prohibitive legislation; environmental justice is a goal that can be pursued both through private prayer and through public protest. While historic Christianity is unwavering on many things-the sacredness of human life from the womb and the glory of God present in His natural world, for example-precisely how these things are made manifest in culture is a process of manifold practice and complexity.

Indeed, God's activity within culture will appear in various ways to various degrees through various persons-He raises up Justinian the Emperor just as He raises up Theophan the Recluse, but each will accomplish some cultural transformation for the glory of God. The Church, while one and holy, is highly diverse, richly expressed, broadly practiced. "The saints are like a group of trees," said Abba John from the Desert Fathers, "each bearing different fruit, but watered from the same source. The practices of one saint differ from those of another, but it is the same Spirit that works in all of them."

Because of this emphasis on the personal and relational dimension of Orthodox life, the daily duty of each Orthodox Christian remains unaffected by whatever political party is in power: prayer must still be offered, virtue must still be acquired, vice must still be repudiated, rest must still be enjoyed, time must still be well spent, we must still make room in our day for a spouse, a child, a neighbor, a co-worker, a stranger, a friend, an enemy. We will probably want to take St. Paul's advice to heart-to "lead a quiet life, to mind your own business, and to work with your own hands" (1 Thessalonians 4:11)-and if we do feel called to become socially active, then the daily soul work we have done will inform our activism with less anger and greater hope.

In this sense, then, those who would Christianize American culture may need to think small. To avoid courting despair over society's deep and wide systemic dysfunction when considered as a whole, we should focus primarily on the transformation of persons rather than wishing for broad cultural changes. But we are also strategists: convert a private and we've gained a friend; convert a general and we've gained an army.

Of course, the emphasis on personhood-flowing as it does from the theology of the Incarnation-is itself countercultural, so simply to think about culture in those terms is radically revolutionary. The idea may be considered in this way: While my neighbor is immobilized by his concern for culture, about which he can do little, I am energized by my concern for neighbor, for whom I can do much.

Persons in Practice

The residents of Warren County, North Carolina, are primarily three things: black, poor, and in grave physical danger. Since 1982, these folks have lived downwind and downstream from a 142-acre toxic waste dump. They didn't ask for it, and they even protested its installation, but Warren County at that time ranked ninety-second out of a hundred counties in median family income, so their request had no political influence.

Over the years, the toxic waste dump became the most notorious symbol of the county. But community consciousness sharpened, and the residents gradually confirmed what the Orthodox Faith has always taught: that organic connection between matter and spirit. The hazardous waste had filled the land with toxins and the people with fear. The environment, they decided, was more than just an exterior world from which they were separated. Rather, it included everywhere they worked and lived and played and gardened and worshiped and went to school. Soon, the residents of Warren County decided that persons should not exist to serve government, but government should exist to serve persons.

Their course of action, however, did not primarily involve electing leading Warren County residents to public office. Instead, they began talking and tending to one another. Relationships formed where there had been none, and the faces of children began appearing in households other than their own. Community pride emerged; then national leaders paid attention, and strong momentum developed behind the appeals to local and state governments. Finally, in June 2001, the process of detoxification began, and the last clean-up work was completed in December of 2003.

We share, we speak, we pray, we vote, we rally, we protest, we relate, we work, we play, we commune-we become persons in the presence of other persons. The primary task of the Orthodox activist may be the most difficult-to recognize the sacredness of the human being directly present, that male or female icon of God. And if unable to recognize the divinity indwelling there, one may at least acknowledge a mystery that must not be judged or ignored or mistreated, but respected and even loved. And all who have tried know this: love is simple, but not easy.

Those early Christians surely lived all of this, and perhaps that is why "the Lord added to the church daily those who were being saved" (Acts 2:47). If the early Church had allowed the culture to set her agenda, to define her terms, to fight her battles, to determine for herself what is and what is not sacred, surely the gates of hell would have prevailed against her. But the Church was (are we?) engaged in infinitely more serious and exciting business-"Come and see" (John 1:46).

As Rodney Stark observes, "Christianity did not grow because of miracle working in the marketplaces (although there may have been much of that going on), or because Constantine said it should, or even because the martyrs gave it such credibility. It grew because Christians constituted an intense community . . . and the primary means of its growth was through the united and motivated efforts of the growing number of Christian believers, who invited their friends, relatives, and neighbors to share the ‘good news'."

Fr. John Oliver is pastor of St. Philip's Orthodox Church of Souderton, Pennsylvania, and the author of Touching Heaven, published by Conciliar Press.

This article was originally published in AGAIN Magazine Vol 26 No 3, Fall 2003. It is reproduced here courtesy of Conciliar Press, online at www.conciliarpress.com.