Treasures of the Ancient Way: An Invitation to Deeper Waters

A Treatise on the Ancient Christian Practices and Their Enduring Value

Beloved in Christ,

The peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you now and for all time, amen.

I come to you not as one who has everything figured out. Although I am a pastor, perhaps more than a father or spiritual director, I am myself still a student. All of the things I am writing about are not practices I am fully adopting or perfecting. These reflections come from my study and understanding of church history, offered in an act of service to any fellow seeker.

Let me be clear: I am not advocating for abandonment of our Protestant heritage. I myself remain firmly rooted in this tradition, grateful for its emphasis on Scripture, personal faith, and the priesthood of all believers. What I offer is not a call to conversion but an invitation to enrichment—to recover treasures that rightfully belong to our common Christian inheritance.

Without a father or spiritual director of my own, I wished I had a quick and concise guide or companion like this when I first started studying these ancient ways. What follows is a culmination of my current understanding and studies, compiled as a quick reference point—a humble cheat sheet for the curious heart.

In this present age of fragmentation and spiritual hunger, I find my heart drawn to write to you, my brothers and sisters who have, like me, faithfully walked the evangelical Protestant path. Like ships passing in fog, we Christians of different traditions often catch only glimpses of one another, missing the fuller beauty that each vessel bears. This treatise comes to you not as a challenge or rebuke, but as a humble invitation—an invitation to explore treasures from the ancient storehouses of Christian practice that may enrich your journey toward Christ and His Kingdom.

St. Paul teaches in Ephesians that there is “one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all” (Ephesians 4:5-6). This unity amid our diversity remains a profound mystery and a sacred calling. As we seek this unity, perhaps we might discover together that what appears novel or foreign in another’s practice is, in truth, an inheritance belonging to us all—a gift from our common ancestors in faith.

I offer these reflections with a pastor’s heart, recognizing that true spiritual formation comes not through intellectual assent alone, but through practices that shape our hearts and reorient our lives toward the risen Christ. My prayer is that you might hear in these words an echo of the Spirit’s voice, inviting you to taste and see aspects of our shared Christian heritage that may open new pathways of communion with our Triune God.

I. Sacred Rhythms: The Gift of Liturgy

The Ancient Path of Structured Worship

Perhaps no practice seems more foreign to many evangelicals than structured liturgy with its prescribed prayers, responses, and rhythms. We might ask: “Doesn’t this quench the Spirit? Doesn’t this replace authentic worship with mere routine?” These concerns merit our thoughtful consideration.

When we examine Scripture, however, we find that God has always called His people to worship within certain structures. The Temple worship was elaborately prescribed, down to the smallest details of incense and vestments. The Psalms—our first hymnal—were arranged for liturgical use in Temple worship. Our Lord Himself participated in the synagogue liturgy, reading from the appointed Scripture on the Sabbath (Luke 4:16-21).

Liturgy, properly understood, is not the enemy of authentic worship but its servant. It provides a vessel to contain our worship—a trellis upon which the vine might grow. As St. Basil the Great observed, “The Spirit blows where it wills, but it is caught in the nets of the liturgy.”

Consider how often our less-structured worship services still follow patterns—opening songs, announcements, sermon, closing prayer. These are nascent liturgical frameworks. What the historic liturgies offer is a more intentional structure, carefully crafted over centuries to form us spiritually and to ensure that our worship encompasses the fullness of the Gospel story.

The Shape of Liturgical Worship

The basic shape of historic Christian liturgy follows the pattern of Revelation and Response:

Gathering – We come together as the Body of Christ
Word – God speaks to us through Scripture and preaching
Table – We participate in the Lord’s Supper
Sending – We are commissioned to live the Gospel in the world

This pattern reflects the very rhythm of the Christian life: God calls us, speaks to us, feeds us, and sends us. It tells the whole story of redemption, from creation to new creation, each time we gather.

What might surprise many evangelical believers is how Scripture-saturated traditional liturgies truly are. The historic liturgies are woven through with biblical language, often containing more Scripture than many contemporary services. For example, the Anglican Book of Common Prayer contains approximately 85% direct biblical quotation or paraphrase.

Rather than constraining worship, liturgy provides a common language for the community of faith—a shared vocabulary that unites us across time and space with believers of every age. When we pray the Lord’s Prayer or recite the Apostles’ Creed, we join our voices with countless saints who have spoken these same words before the same Lord.

The Spiritual Discipline of Ritual

We sometimes fear that ritual will become empty or mechanical. This is a legitimate concern, but the answer is not the abandonment of ritual but its renewal. Jesus did not abolish ritual; He filled it with new meaning. He took the Passover ritual and transformed it into the Lord’s Supper. He accepted baptism and made it the initiatory rite of the new covenant.

Ritual becomes problematic only when divorced from genuine faith and understanding. As the prophet Isaiah warned: “These people come near to me with their mouth and honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me” (Isaiah 29:13). The solution is not to abandon ritual but to reconnect it to its spiritual purpose.

Physical rituals acknowledge an essential truth: we are embodied beings. God created us with bodies and souls united, and He intends to redeem both. Our physical actions can shape our spiritual dispositions. When we kneel in prayer, our bodies teach our souls humility. When we stand for the Gospel reading, our posture expresses reverence for Christ’s words.

In a world increasingly disembodied through digital technology, the physical elements of liturgy remind us that Christianity is an incarnational faith—a religion of bread and wine, water and oil, touch and presence. Our Lord took on flesh, and through physical means, He continues to minister to us.

II. The Sign of the Cross: Embodied Confession

A Gesture of Ancient Significance

Making the sign of the cross—tracing the shape of the cross on our bodies—may seem to some like an empty gesture or a Catholic affectation. Yet this simple movement predates the medieval church and the East-West schism. Tertullian, writing around 200 AD, noted: “In all our travels and movements, in all our coming in and going out, in putting on our shoes, at the bath, at the table, in lighting our candles, in lying down, in sitting down, whatever employment occupies us, we mark our foreheads with the sign of the cross.”

The gesture is profoundly biblical in its theology. When we make the sign of the cross:

We physically mark ourselves as belonging to Christ (Galatians 6:17)
We recall our baptism, where we were “crucified with Christ” (Romans 6:3-4)
We profess our faith in the Holy Trinity as we touch forehead, chest, and shoulders
We embrace the scandal and glory of the cross (1 Corinthians 1:18)
We acknowledge that salvation comes through the cross alone

A Shield Against Temptation

The early Christians viewed the sign of the cross not as mere symbolism but as a powerful spiritual act. St. Athanasius wrote in the 4th century: “By the sign of the cross, all magic is stopped, and all witchcraft brought to nothing.” While we might express this differently today, the underlying truth remains: visibly claiming our identity in Christ serves as a shield against forces that would pull us away from Him.

In moments of temptation, grief, or anxiety, the physical act of crossing oneself can serve as an embodied prayer—a wordless cry to the One who was crucified for us. It reconnects us to our baptismal identity when other words fail.

An Ecumenical Bridge

Interestingly, many Protestant reformers did not abandon the sign of the cross. Martin Luther retained it in his baptismal liturgy, and the English Reformation preserved it as well. Only in later centuries did some Protestant traditions distance themselves from this practice.

Today, as many evangelicals seek deeper connection with historic Christianity, the sign of the cross offers a simple yet profound link to believers across denominations and centuries. It is a universal Christian language that transcends words.

III. The Treasury of Prayer: Written Prayers in Private and Corporate Worship

The Biblical Foundation for Set Prayers

Perhaps you have heard someone say, “I don’t use written prayers because I want to pray from the heart.” This sentiment, while well-intended, creates a false dichotomy unknown to Scripture. The Bible itself contains numerous written prayers meant for repeated use. The Psalms are, in essence, Israel’s prayer book. Jesus Himself gave us the Lord’s Prayer as a model to be prayed regularly (Matthew 6:9-13).

The apostles apparently used set forms of prayer, as Acts 2:42 notes that the early believers “devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.” The definite article suggests specific prayers, not merely spontaneous ones.

The Wisdom of Inherited Prayer

Why might written prayers prove valuable in our spiritual formation? Consider these benefits:

They connect us to the communion of saints. When we pray the collects of the church fathers or the prayers of faithful believers who came before us, we join a river of prayer that has flowed for centuries.
They teach us how to pray. As St. Paul acknowledges, “We do not know what we ought to pray for” (Romans 8:26). The church’s treasury of prayers schools us in proper prayer, forming our desires according to God’s will.
They carry us when our own words fail. In times of spiritual dryness, grief, or confusion, the prayers of the church can express what our hearts cannot articulate.
They protect us from self-centered prayer. Our spontaneous prayers often revolve around our immediate concerns. The church’s prayers broaden our vision to include the needs of the whole Body of Christ and the advancement of God’s kingdom.
They embody spiritual and theological truth. Well-crafted prayers contain profound theology expressed doxologically. As we pray them, we are shaped by their truths.
They guard us from theological error. Prewritten prayers help keep our prayers pure, rightly focused, and protect us from heresy and misguided theology. Many times when people pray spontaneously, they unintentionally say things that are untrue of God and dishonor the Lord. Not only does this dishonor the Lord, which is the worst offense, but it also negatively impacts those around them, as fellow worshippers become distracted from pure prayer while finding themselves having to evaluate the theological soundness of what is being prayed before they can give their ‘amen’.

St. Augustine observed that the Psalms are songs that teach us to desire rightly. So too, the great prayers of Christian tradition train our hearts in godly affection and holy longing.

The Dance of Form and Freedom

The wisest approach recognizes that both written and spontaneous prayers have their place. The church fathers themselves valued both. St. John Chrysostom, known for his eloquent written prayers, also encouraged believers to pray in their own words.

In our personal prayer lives, we might think of this as a dance between form and freedom. We begin with the Lord’s Prayer or another written prayer, allowing it to orient our hearts toward God. Then we might move into more personal, spontaneous prayer, before returning to a written blessing or doxology.

In corporate worship, set prayers ensure that our communal voice addresses the full range of Christian experience—confession, thanksgiving, intercession, and praise. They prevent our corporate prayer from being dominated by the concerns or style of any one individual.

IV. Kenosis: The Way of Self-Emptying

Christ’s Pattern of Humility

“Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant” (Philippians 2:5-7).

This emptying—kenosis in Greek—stands at the heart of Christ’s incarnation and mission. Though fully divine, the eternal Son willingly limited Himself, taking on human flesh with all its constraints and vulnerabilities. This self-emptying reached its culmination at Calvary, where Christ surrendered everything, even life itself, in perfect obedience to the Father.

Kenosis is not merely a theological concept describing Christ’s incarnation; it is the pattern for Christian discipleship. Jesus Himself said, “Whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 16:25). The paradox of the Gospel is that the path to fullness comes through emptying, the way to life through death.

Practical Kenosis in Christian Life

How might we live this kenotic reality? The church has long recognized several disciplines that help us participate in Christ’s self-emptying:

Fasting – Voluntarily abstaining from food (or other goods) teaches us that “man does not live by bread alone” (Matthew 4:4). It loosens our attachment to physical comforts and creates space for greater dependence on God.
Almsgiving – Giving generously to those in need empties our material resources for the sake of others, reflecting Christ’s generosity toward us.
Fixed-hour prayer – Interrupting our schedules for regular prayer throughout the day reminds us that our time belongs to God, not ourselves.
Confession – Regularly acknowledging our sins empties us of pride and self-justification, allowing us to receive grace afresh.
Submission to spiritual authority – Yielding to the guidance of the church and its shepherds empties us of self-will and individualism.

These practices do not earn God’s favor but rather create conditions where we can more fully receive the grace He freely gives. They are means of participating in the life of Christ, who “for the joy set before him endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2).

The Fullness That Follows Emptying

The purpose of kenosis is not emptiness for its own sake but to create space for God’s fullness. St. Paul prays that believers “may be filled with all the fullness of God” (Ephesians 3:19). The goal of self-emptying is divine indwelling—becoming “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4).

In practical terms, this means that kenotic disciplines should lead to greater love, joy, peace, and other fruits of the Spirit. If our fasting makes us irritable, our almsgiving resentful, or our prayers mechanical, we have missed the essence of true kenosis, which is love.

The fathers teach us that true kenosis is not self-hatred but properly ordered self-love. We empty ourselves of what is transient and harmful to make room for what is eternal and life-giving. In the words of St. Augustine, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”

V. The Ascetic and Hesychastic Traditions: Stillness and Spiritual Training

Asceticism: Athletic Training for the Soul

The word “ascetic” comes from the Greek askesis, meaning “training” or “exercise,” particularly as an athlete trains for competition. St. Paul frequently uses athletic metaphors for the Christian life: “I discipline my body and keep it under control” (1 Corinthians 9:27); “Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1).

Christian asceticism is not about punishing the body or earning salvation. Rather, it recognizes that our habits and appetites profoundly shape our spiritual lives. Just as an athlete subjects themselves to disciplined training for the sake of victory, Christians practice spiritual disciplines for the sake of growing in Christlikeness.

Traditional ascetic practices include:

Fasting – Beyond occasional abstinence, the historic church observed regular fast days (typically Wednesdays and Fridays) and extended fasting seasons (like Lent).
Vigils – Setting aside portions of the night for prayer, following Christ’s example of night prayer (Luke 6:12) and the command to “watch and pray” (Matthew 26:41).
Simplicity – Limiting possessions, comforts, and pleasures not as ends in themselves but to focus attention on Christ.
Controlled speech – Practicing silence, avoiding gossip, and speaking words that edify rather than tear down.
Physical labor – Engaging in manual work as a form of worship and service, recognizing the dignity of all labor.

These practices aim to weaken the power of sinful passions and strengthen our capacity for love. They acknowledge that spiritual growth requires both divine grace and human effort, working in synergy.

Hesychasm: The Way of Inner Stillness

Closely related to asceticism is the hesychastic tradition (from hesychia, meaning “stillness” or “silence”). This approach to prayer seeks to quiet external and internal noise to attain deeper communion with God.

The hesychastic tradition is grounded in Jesus’ command to “go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret” (Matthew 6:6) and the Psalmist’s exhortation to “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). It recognizes that in our noisy, distracted world, creating space for silent attention to God is increasingly countercultural and necessary.

Hesychastic prayer typically involves:

Finding physical solitude – Setting apart a specific time and place for undistracted prayer.
Bodily stillness – Adopting a comfortable but alert posture, often seated with hands resting on the knees.
Breath awareness – Using the natural rhythm of breathing to anchor attention, sometimes coordinated with a simple prayer like “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner” (the Jesus Prayer).
Watchfulness – Gently observing thoughts without attachment, returning attention to God’s presence when distractions arise.
Receptivity – Moving beyond words and images to a loving attentiveness to God’s presence.

This approach to prayer seeks not emotional experiences or novel insights but loving communion with the Triune God. Its ultimate aim is theosis—participation in divine life through grace.

Contemporary Relevance of Ascetic and Hesychastic Practices

In our age of constant digital stimulation, endless consumption, and perpetual noise, these ancient practices offer profound medicine for modern spiritual ailments. Many evangelicals have recognized this, embracing elements of these traditions through the growing interest in spiritual disciplines, contemplative prayer, and Christian mindfulness.

The ascetic and hesychastic traditions remind us that Christianity is not merely a set of beliefs but a way of life—a path of transformation. They call us to move beyond information about God to intimate communion with God. As we do, we discover that the disciplines which initially seem constraining ultimately lead to true freedom in Christ.

VI. Sacramental Vision: Seeing the Invisible Through the Visible

The Mystery of Incarnation

Christianity is fundamentally sacramental because it centers on the ultimate sacrament—the Incarnation. In Christ, the invisible God became visible; the untouchable became touchable; the eternal entered time. As St. John testifies, “That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched—this we proclaim concerning the Word of life” (1 John 1:1).

This incarnational principle extends throughout Christian life and worship. God continues to use material reality to convey spiritual grace. The sacraments are not mere symbols but efficacious signs—physical realities through which the Holy Spirit works to form Christ in us.

The Major Sacraments: Baptism and Eucharist

All Christian traditions acknowledge baptism and the Lord’s Supper (Eucharist) as dominical sacraments—rituals instituted by Christ Himself. They are not human inventions but divine gifts.

Baptism initiates us into Christ’s death and resurrection, washing away sin and marking us as members of God’s covenant community. As the Apostle Peter declares, “Baptism… now saves you, not as a removal of dirt from the body but as an appeal to God for a good conscience, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 3:21).

The Eucharist nourishes our ongoing life in Christ, making the sacrifice of Calvary present to us and uniting us with the risen Lord. Jesus said, “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in them” (John 6:56). The early church took these words with utmost seriousness, seeing the Eucharist as the medicine of immortality and the center of Christian worship.

These sacraments are not mere reminders of past events but present encounters with the living Christ, who continues to work through physical means just as He did during His earthly ministry.

A Broader Sacramental Vision

Beyond these primary sacraments, the Christian tradition recognizes other sacred actions through which God’s grace is mediated:

The laying on of hands for ordination, healing, and confirmation
The reconciliation of penitents through confession and absolution
The blessing of marriage as an icon of Christ’s relationship with the Church
The anointing of the sick for healing of body and soul
The consecration of time through the liturgical calendar and hours of prayer

This sacramental vision extends even further, recognizing all creation as potentially revelatory of God’s presence. As the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.” A sacramental worldview sees creation not as a resource to be exploited but as a gift to be received with gratitude and wonder.

Sacramentality in Evangelical Renewal

Many evangelicals are rediscovering this sacramental dimension of faith, recognizing that we need not choose between Word and Sacrament, between personal faith and communal ritual. The same Lord who speaks through Scripture also works through water, bread, and wine.

This recovery of sacramental vision offers several benefits for contemporary evangelicalism:

It counteracts the tendency toward disembodied spirituality and gnostic dualism.
It provides concrete, tangible anchors for faith in times of doubt or spiritual dryness.
It creates space for mystery and transcendence in an age of rationalism.
It connects personal faith to the historic community of believers across time and space.
It offers healing for those wounded by overly cognitive or emotionally manipulative approaches to faith.

As we embrace a more sacramental understanding, we discover that God meets us not only in moments of ecstatic experience or intellectual insight but in the ordinary elements of water, bread, and wine—just as He once revealed Himself in a carpenter from Nazareth.

VII. The Communion of Saints: Our Cloud of Witnesses

The Biblical Vision of the Church Triumphant

The author of Hebrews reminds us that we are “surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses” (Hebrews 12:1)—faithful believers who have run the race before us and now cheer us onward. This vision of the communion of saints recognizes that death does not sever the bonds that unite Christ’s Body. The church exists in three states: militant (on earth), expectant (the faithful departed awaiting resurrection), and triumphant (those enjoying the beatific vision).

Scripture suggests that the saints in heaven are aware of earthly affairs (Revelation 6:9-10) and that they offer prayers before God’s throne (Revelation 5:8). Far from being unconscious or uninvolved, they remain active participants in the ongoing story of redemption.

Honoring the Saints

The ancient practice of venerating the saints is often misunderstood. Properly understood, it involves:

Remembering their holy lives as examples of faith (Hebrews 13:7)
Celebrating God’s work in and through them
Seeking their prayers as we would ask any Christian friend to pray for us
Maintaining communion with the whole Body of Christ across the veil of death

This veneration differs fundamentally from worship, which belongs to God alone. The early church made this distinction clear, using different terms (dulia for veneration of saints, latria for worship of God) and different liturgical practices.

Historically, evangelicals have been rightly concerned about practices that seemed to obscure Christ’s unique mediatorship. Yet many early Protestants, including Luther and Wesley, maintained a high view of the communion of saints while reforming certain practices they considered excessive.

The Mother of God: A Special Case

No saint has been more misunderstood in Protestant circles than Mary, the mother of our Lord. Yet honoring Mary is deeply biblical. She herself prophesied, “From now on all generations will call me blessed” (Luke 1:48). Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit, addressed her as “the mother of my Lord” (Luke 1:43).

The ancient title Theotokos (“God-bearer” or “Mother of God”) was officially adopted at the Council of Ephesus (431 AD) not primarily to exalt Mary but to safeguard the truth about Christ. If Jesus is truly God incarnate (not merely a human being joined to the divine Logos), then Mary truly bore God in her womb.

Mary serves as the supreme example of discipleship—receiving Christ in faith, bearing Him to the world, standing by Him at the cross, and awaiting His Spirit at Pentecost. In honoring her, we ultimately honor Christ, who gave her to us as a spiritual mother (John 19:27).

Saints in Evangelical Renewal

Many evangelicals are rediscovering the communion of saints as a biblical and spiritually enriching dimension of faith. This recovery might take several forms:

Studying the lives of great Christians beyond our own tradition or era
Observing a thoughtful church calendar that commemorates exemplary believers
Appreciating Christian art that depicts the saints
Reading classic spiritual writings from diverse eras of church history
Developing a broader understanding of the Church that transcends time and visible boundaries

This rediscovery need not compromise evangelical commitments to Christ’s unique mediation or Scripture’s authority. Rather, it enriches these commitments by placing them within the broader context of God’s work throughout history.

VIII. Sacred Space and Time: Ordering Our World

Sacred Space: The Theology of Church Architecture

While we affirm that God is omnipresent and that believers themselves constitute the temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 3:16), Scripture also recognizes the value of dedicated sacred spaces. The Temple in Jerusalem, though eventually superseded by Christ, demonstrated God’s willingness to meet His people in particular places. Jesus Himself honored the Temple as “my Father’s house” (John 2:16).

Traditional church architecture is not arbitrary but theological, designed to form believers spiritually through:

Orientation – Churches traditionally face east, anticipating Christ’s return (Matthew 24:27)
Vertical dimension – Domes and spires draw our gaze heavenward
Cruciform layout – Many churches are shaped like a cross, immersing worshippers in the paschal mystery
Iconography/artwork – Visual representations of biblical narratives and saints connect us to salvation history
Altar centrality – The altar’s prominence highlights the Eucharist as the heart of worship

These architectural elements create an environment that speaks to our bodies and imaginations, not just our intellects. They remind us that worship involves our whole being and all our senses.

Sacred Time: The Liturgical Calendar

Just as God sanctified space in the Old Testament, He also sanctified time through Sabbaths, new moons, and annual feasts. The early church developed a Christian calendar centered on the Paschal Mystery—Christ’s death and resurrection—while incorporating other significant events in salvation history.

The traditional liturgical year includes:

Advent – A season of preparation for Christ’s coming (both His first coming at Christmas and His return in glory)
Christmas – Twelve days celebrating the Incarnation
Epiphany – Commemorating Christ’s manifestation to the Gentiles
Lent – Forty days of repentance and preparation for Easter
Holy Week – The final week of Christ’s earthly ministry
Easter – Fifty days celebrating Christ’s resurrection
Pentecost – Commemorating the outpouring of the Holy Spirit
Ordinary Time – Seasons focused on Christ’s ministry and teaching

This calendar anchors our lives in Christ’s story rather than secular rhythms of work and consumption. It provides a counter-narrative to the world’s understanding of time and progress.

The Spiritual Benefits of Sacred Space and Time

These traditional orderings of space and time offer several benefits for contemporary Christians:

They connect personal faith to the larger Christian story
They create regular opportunities for specific spiritual practices (fasting during Lent, celebration at Easter)
They ensure we encounter the full range of Christ’s teachings and actions
They integrate faith with everyday life rather than compartmentalizing it
They form counter-cultural habits that resist secular patterns of time and space

Many evangelicals are rediscovering these dimensions of faith, recognizing that our physical environments and temporal rhythms profoundly shape our spiritual formation. Churches are rethinking their architecture and recovering the church calendar as tools for discipleship.

IX. Theosis: The Goal of Christian Life

The Biblical Vision of Participation in Divine Nature

St. Peter makes an astonishing claim: through Christ’s promises, we “may become partakers of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4). This participation in divine life—theosis or divinization—represents the ultimate purpose of salvation. We are saved not merely from something (sin and death) but for something: union with God.

This teaching, central to Eastern Christian spirituality but often neglected in Western Christianity, appears throughout Scripture:

“I am the vine; you are the branches” (John 15:5)
“I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one” (John 17:23)
“It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Galatians 2:20)
“We shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is” (1 John 3:2)

Theosis does not mean becoming God by nature (which would be blasphemy) but becoming like God through participation in His energies or operations—His love, wisdom, and life. As the early church father St. Athanasius famously stated, “God became man so that man might become God”—not in essence but in participation.

The Path of Transformation

Theosis occurs through synergy—cooperation between divine grace and human effort. God initiates and empowers, while we respond and participate. This process involves several elements:

Baptismal regeneration – Being born again through water and Spirit (John 3:5)
Eucharistic communion – Receiving Christ’s life-giving body and blood (John 6:53-57)
Ascetic practice – Cooperating with grace through spiritual disciplines
Purification from passions – Healing of disordered desires and attachments
Illumination – Growing in spiritual knowledge and discernment
Union – Experiencing loving communion with the Triune God

This path is both personal and communal, involving individual spiritual effort within the context of the Church’s sacramental and liturgical life.

Theosis and Protestant Soteriology

At first glance, theosis might seem at odds with Protestant emphases on justification by faith. Yet many theologians now recognize these as complementary rather than contradictory. Justification addresses our legal standing before God, while theosis describes our actual transformation into Christ’s likeness.

Martin Luther himself used language reminiscent of theosis: “The love of God does not find, but creates, that which is pleasing to it… Rather than seeking its own good, the love of God flows forth and bestows good. Therefore sinners are attractive because they are loved; they are not loved because they are attractive.”

John Wesley’s doctrine of Christian perfection—growing in perfect love toward God and neighbor—shares much with the Eastern understanding of theosis. Wesley himself read and appreciated Eastern Christian writings on this topic.

Contemporary Relevance of Theosis

The doctrine of theosis offers several gifts to contemporary Christianity:

It provides a positive vision of salvation beyond mere forgiveness
It integrates justification and sanctification into a coherent whole
It affirms the goodness of creation and embodiment
It offers hope for genuine transformation, not just behavioral modification
It grounds ethics in participation in God’s life rather than mere obedience to rules

As Western Christians rediscover this ancient teaching, they find resources for addressing contemporary challenges like secularism, consumerism, and ecological crisis. Theosis reminds us that the goal of Christian life is nothing less than becoming by grace what Christ is by nature—the perfect image of God.

X. The Way Forward: Ancient Faith for Contemporary Disciples

Integration, Not Replacement

As we explore these ancient practices and teachings, we need not discard the genuine strengths of our evangelical heritage—biblical literacy, personal faith, evangelistic zeal, and accessibility. The way forward lies not in abandoning this heritage but in enriching it with treasures both old and new (Matthew 13:52).

This integration might look different for different believers and communities. Some might incorporate elements of liturgical worship while maintaining a strong emphasis on biblical preaching. Others might adopt certain ascetic practices while continuing in their current church tradition. Still others might explore the communion of saints while remaining firmly committed to Christ’s unique mediation.

The goal is not uniformity but a deeper, more holistic faith that draws from the full breadth of Christian tradition while remaining anchored in Scripture and centered on Christ.

Practical Steps for Exploration

For those interested in exploring these dimensions of ancient faith, I humbly suggest several practical starting points:

Begin with Scripture – Notice elements of ancient practice already present in the Bible: fixed prayers, liturgical patterns, fasting, sacraments, and the communion of saints.
Read broadly – Explore writings from different eras and traditions of Christian history, particularly the church fathers and mothers who stood closest to the apostolic age.
Visit diverse churches – Experience different forms of worship firsthand, approaching them with an open heart and mind.
Start small – Incorporate simple practices into your current spiritual life: making the sign of the cross, observing the church calendar, using written prayers alongside spontaneous ones.
Find companions – Connect with others interested in exploring historic Christianity, creating space for shared practice and thoughtful discussion.
Maintain humility – Recognize that no single tradition or era has a monopoly on truth or faithfulness. Each has strengths and weaknesses, insights and blind spots.

The Heart of the Matter: Love

As we explore these ancient ways, we must remember that their purpose is love—love of God and love of neighbor. St. Paul reminds us that without love, even the most impressive spiritual practices are worthless (1 Corinthians 13:1-3).

The test of authentic spirituality is not its antiquity or its novelty but its fruits: “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control” (Galatians 5:22-23). Whatever helps us grow in these fruits is worth preserving; whatever hinders them, regardless of its pedigree, may need reformation.

Addressing Common Objections: A Pastoral Response

In presenting these treasures of the ancient way, I am mindful that for many evangelical believers, certain practices might initially seem foreign or even concerning. As your fellow pilgrim who has wrestled with these same questions, I wish to address some common objections with gentleness and respect, always remembering that we seek together to honor Christ and His Word.

“Isn’t focusing on liturgy and tradition contrary to being led by the Spirit?”

This concern reflects a sincere desire to preserve the living, dynamic nature of our faith. Yet Scripture reveals no contradiction between structure and Spirit. In creation itself, God established ordered patterns—seasons, days, biological rhythms—yet within these structures, life flourishes with beautiful spontaneity.

The Spirit Himself inspired Israel’s liturgical worship. The Psalter, our first hymnal, was arranged for liturgical use. The prophets, full of the Spirit, participated in Temple worship with its prescribed rituals. Our Lord Himself, conceived by the Spirit, faithfully observed the liturgical feasts and participated in synagogue prayers.

At Pentecost, the Spirit fell upon believers who had been devoted to the structured prayers of the Temple (Acts 2:1-4, 46). Throughout Acts, we see the apostles maintaining hours of prayer (Acts 3:1) while remaining radically responsive to the Spirit’s fresh guidance.

Liturgy, properly understood, creates a vessel that can hold the Spirit’s movement, much as riverbanks don’t restrict water but rather enable its focused flow. The church fathers understood this well. St. Basil the Great, who wrote eloquently on the Holy Spirit, also composed liturgical prayers that have nourished believers for centuries. For him and countless others, Spirit and structure existed in harmony, not opposition.

When liturgy becomes empty routine, the solution is not abandonment but renewal—filling ancient patterns with fresh faith, just as Jesus did not abolish Jewish practices but fulfilled them with new meaning.

“Doesn’t sacramental thinking diminish the authority of Scripture?”

This concern touches the heart of our Protestant heritage, which rightly treasures Scripture as God’s authoritative revelation. Yet a sacramental worldview, properly understood, doesn’t compete with biblical authority but flows directly from it.

Scripture itself reveals God’s consistent pattern of using physical means for spiritual purposes:

Water parts to save Israel and later becomes baptism’s element
Bread from heaven sustains God’s people in both Testaments
Oil anoints prophets, priests, and kings, foreshadowing the Spirit’s anointing
Christ Himself—the eternal Word—became flesh to make God known

The sacramental principle doesn’t add to Scripture but unpacks what Scripture already contains: God’s delight in working through created things to accomplish redemption. The Word became flesh not despite God’s spiritual nature but because of His desire for intimate communion with us as embodied creatures.

The great Reformers maintained strong sacramental views while championing Scripture’s authority. Luther wrote of baptism: “It is not simply water, but water comprehended in God’s Word and connected with it.” Calvin affirmed that in communion, “Christ truly presents and I receive His body and blood.” They understood that upholding Scripture meant taking seriously the material means God ordained within Scripture.

When sacramentality drifts from biblical moorings, it indeed becomes problematic. The solution is not rejection of sacramental thinking but its continual reformation through deeper scriptural engagement—allowing God’s Word to shape our understanding of how He works through material reality.

“Isn’t venerating saints basically idolatry?”

This concern reflects commendable zeal for God’s exclusive worship. Any practice that diminishes Christ’s unique mediation between God and humanity (1 Timothy 2:5) or directs worship to anyone besides the Triune God must indeed be rejected.

Yet Scripture itself points us toward proper honor of exemplary believers:

Hebrews 11 recounts the faith of our spiritual ancestors, inviting us to remember and emulate them
The apostle Paul repeatedly calls believers to “imitate me as I imitate Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1)
We are surrounded by a “great cloud of witnesses” who encourage our faith (Hebrews 12:1)
Christians are instructed to “remember your leaders” and “consider the outcome of their way of life” (Hebrews 13:7)

Early Christians made careful distinctions between the worship (latria) due to God alone and the veneration (dulia) appropriately shown to exemplary disciples. This distinction remains crucial. We honor saints not for any independent glory but for how transparently they reveal Christ. Like stained glass windows, the saints are most beautiful when the light of Christ shines through them.

When we learn from Augustine’s theological genius, we ultimately praise the God who gifted him. When we admire Francis’s radical generosity, we glorify Christ who produced this fruit in him. When we remember Perpetua’s courageous martyrdom, we honor the Lord who strengthened her. Far from competing with Christ’s glory, proper veneration of saints ultimately increases it—like a prism that breaks white light into a spectrum of colors, revealing beauty that might otherwise go unappreciated.

Many Reformers maintained thoughtful appreciation of exemplary believers. Luther’s hymn “A Mighty Fortress” celebrates how “the right Man” fights for us—Christ Himself. Yet Luther also treasured the witness of saints like Augustine. Calvin, while rejecting medieval excesses, affirmed that “believers may lawfully… venerate the memory of those saints with whom God has adorned His church.”

The key lies in direction: do our practices direct hearts toward Christ or away from Him? Properly understood, honoring faithful witnesses serves as a means of encountering their Master more fully.

“Aren’t written prayers less authentic than spontaneous ones?”

This concern reflects a worthy desire for genuine communication with God that flows from the heart. Jesus Himself warned against empty repetition of prayers (Matthew 6:7), teaching us that God desires authentic relationship rather than mechanical religious performance.

Yet Scripture also reveals the value of thoughtfully crafted, repeated prayers:

Jesus gave the Lord’s Prayer as a model to be prayed regularly (Matthew 6:9-13)
The Psalms served as Israel’s prayer book, with the same prayers repeated through generations
Early Christians devoted themselves to “the prayers” (Acts 2:42), suggesting set forms
Paul’s letters contain what appear to be early Christian hymns and prayer formulas (Philippians 2:5-11, Colossians 1:15-20)

Written prayers, far from being less authentic, often express deeper truth and wisdom than our spontaneous offerings. They have been tested by time, refined by community, and grounded in Scripture. They express not just one person’s limited perspective but the collective wisdom of the Body of Christ.

Consider how we approach other forms of communication. We don’t consider a carefully written love letter less authentic than spontaneous expressions of affection. Rather, thoughtful composition often allows for deeper, more precise articulation of what lies in our hearts.

The wisest approach embraces both written and spontaneous prayer as complementary rather than competing. Augustine, known for his profound written prayers, also encouraged believers to pray spontaneously. Wesley, who provided written prayers for Methodists, also valued extemporaneous prayer in class meetings.

When written prayers become empty recitation, the solution is not abandonment but renewed engagement—praying them slowly, thoughtfully, allowing ancient words to awaken fresh response within our hearts.

“Don’t ascetic practices promote works-righteousness?”

This concern reflects proper emphasis on grace as the foundation of our salvation. If we practice spiritual disciplines believing they earn God’s favor or make us superior to others, we have indeed fallen into a subtle form of works-righteousness.

Yet Scripture consistently portrays spiritual disciplines not as means of earning salvation but as ways of actively participating in the grace-filled life:

Jesus Himself fasted, prayed through the night, and withdrew for solitude
Paul “disciplined his body” to avoid disqualification (1 Corinthians 9:27)
The apostles regularly practiced prayer and fasting (Acts 13:2-3, 14:23)
Jesus taught when (not if) we fast, giving practical guidance (Matthew 6:16-18)

Ascetic practices, properly understood, operate not on the principle of earning but of receiving. They create space in our cluttered lives for greater attentiveness to God’s presence and activity. They help remove obstacles to grace rather than accumulating merit.

The key distinction lies in motivation and understanding. Consider two people practicing the same discipline of fasting:

One fasts to impress God and others with their spiritual prowess
The other fasts to cultivate deeper hunger for God’s presence

The outward act is identical; the inward reality entirely different. True asceticism flows from humility, not pride—from awareness of our need, not confidence in our strength.

Many Reformers maintained thoughtful ascetic practices while rejecting merit-based approaches. Luther, though rejecting obligatory fasting, still recognized voluntary fasting’s value: “Fasting and bodily preparation are indeed a fine external discipline.” Wesley promoted fasting as a means of grace: “Some have exalted religious duties above moral, and others have exclaimed against them. But neither the one nor the other knew the value of these, or how much they help moral and spiritual growth.”

When ascetic practices become badges of spiritual achievement, they indeed become problematic. The solution is not rejection of the practices but reformation of our understanding—approaching them as beggars grateful for tools that help us receive the Bread of Life more fully.

“Isn’t emphasizing church calendar and holy days legalistic?”

This concern reflects proper caution against allowing external observances to become burdensome requirements that overshadow the freedom we have in Christ. The apostle Paul warned against judging others based on “festivals, new moons, or Sabbaths” (Colossians 2:16), teaching that in Christ we are liberated from legalistic adherence to religious calendars.

Yet Paul’s concern was not with sacred time itself but with its misuse. The same apostle who warned against calendar legalism also carefully observed Pentecost (Acts 20:16) and adapted his ministry to Jewish festivals. The issue was not whether to mark sacred time but how such observances relate to salvation.

Scripture reveals God as the original establisher of sacred time:

The creation account establishes the seven-day week pattern culminating in Sabbath
God instituted annual feasts to help Israel remember His redemptive acts
The early church gathered weekly on the Lord’s Day to celebrate resurrection
The book of Revelation portrays heavenly worship organized around sacred time

The church calendar, properly understood, doesn’t add obligations but offers gifts—opportunities to inhabit the Gospel story more fully. Like a trellis supporting a vine’s growth, the liturgical year provides structure that facilitates our spiritual flourishing. It helps us resist secular culture’s commodified time, reorienting our lives around Christ’s story rather than consumerism’s or nationalism’s competing calendars.

The difference between legalism and freedom lies not in whether we observe sacred time but in how we understand it. If we believe keeping certain days makes us righteous or superior, we have indeed fallen into legalism. But if we receive these observances as aids for remembering and entering more fully into Christ’s life, they become channels of grace.

Luther maintained the church year while reforming abuses associated with it. Wesley instructed Methodists to observe Lent not as obligation but opportunity. Even Puritans, often mischaracterized as rejecting all liturgical time, actually maintained a modified calendar focused on the Lord’s Day.

When sacred time becomes a burden rather than blessing, the solution is not its abandonment but its renewal—recovering the gift within the practice, the grace within the structure.

“Why complicate Christianity with all these extra practices?”

This final concern touches something deep in our evangelical heritage: the desire for simple, accessible faith unencumbered by unnecessary complexity. There is profound wisdom in this impulse. Jesus welcomed children and taught in plain language. The Gospel can be grasped by the simplest heart and lived in the humblest circumstances.

Yet Scripture also reveals Christianity as a faith of inexhaustible depth. Peter noted that Paul’s letters contain “some things hard to understand” (2 Peter 3:16). Jesus told parables with layers of meaning that rewarded deeper exploration. He taught disciples privately what he spoke publicly in simpler form (Mark 4:33-34).

The practices described in this treatise don’t complicate the Gospel but provide multiple pathways for entering its depths. They acknowledge that we are complex beings—body and soul, heart and mind, individuals and community members—and that God’s grace reaches us through various means suited to our multifaceted nature.

These practices also connect us to the “faith once delivered to the saints” (Jude 3). Christianity isn’t a personal innovation or contemporary creation but an inherited way passed down through generations. The ancient practices help us receive this inheritance fully, preventing unintentional impoverishment of our faith.

Perhaps the most important point is that these practices aren’t ultimately “extra” at all, but rather natural expressions of core Gospel realities:

If Christ truly took on flesh, then embodied worship makes profound sense
If we are truly part of one Body spanning time and place, then communion with saints follows naturally
If creation will be redeemed rather than abandoned, then sacramental vision flows logically
If Christ’s life provides our pattern, then liturgical remembrance of His story becomes fitting

When exploring these ancient ways, we’re not adding to Christianity but uncovering its inherent fullness—like archaeologists carefully brushing away soil to reveal the complete contours of a magnificent structure that was always there.

Conclusion: Treasures Ancient and New

Beloved in Christ, as we consider these weighty matters, I am reminded of our Lord’s words about the scribe of the kingdom, who brings out of his treasure both what is old and what is new (Matthew 13:52). The ancient practices and teachings we’ve explored are not meant to replace the foundations of our faith—Scripture’s authority, Christ’s unique mediation, salvation by grace through faith—but rather to help us express these truths more fully and live them more deeply.

These treasures are part of our common inheritance, preserved through centuries by faithful believers who walked before us. Like the merchant in our Lord’s parable who found one pearl of great value (Matthew 13:45-46), we too might discover in these ancient ways pearls of great price, waiting to be rediscovered by those willing to search beyond familiar shores.

As St. Vincent of Lérins beautifully expressed, the catholic (universal) faith is “what has been believed everywhere, always, and by all.” In a time when the church stands fragmented yet yearning for unity, when society appears secularized yet spiritually hungry, these ancient streams can refresh us all. They invite us to test everything and hold fast to what is good (1 Thessalonians 5:21), approaching these practices with discerning minds and open hearts.

My prayer is that you might receive these reflections in the spirit they are offered—as an invitation to explore rather than a demand to conform, as a sharing of gifts rather than a critique of deficiencies. The journey toward Christ is long, and we walk it together as pilgrims helping one another home. May God grant us wisdom as we navigate these waters together, holding fast to essentials while reaching deep into the treasures of our inheritance in Christ.

Whatever your response, may God continue to lead you into all truth through His Spirit, and may you know the height and depth and breadth and width of Christ’s love, which surpasses knowledge. May God have mercy on us and help us. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” — Hebrews 10:23-25