Telling the Stories that Matter: April 10 – Gregory V of Constantinople, Martyr, Patriarch, Archbishop


Georgios Aggelopoulos was born to a poor family in Dimitsana, Greece, in the year 1746. Like so many of his contemporaries, he seemed destined for a fairly forgettable life comprised mostly of hard work, limited rewards, and devotion to the Church–this ended up being true but not quite in the way that we might expect. Georgios received a decent education but his own natural talents and aptitudes propelled him forward so that he was able to study in Athens for two years. His uncle was an influential man in Smyrna, however, and arranged for Georgios to receive a high quality education there not because of any ability to pay but rather because of his surprising intellect and in spite of his many obstacles. Georgios’ family expected that he would go on to a career in academic circles and this would have been a surprising career for one of his background. Yet, it was his commitment to the Church and monastic spirituality that would hold most strongly when presented with other callings. Georgios became a monk and took the name of Gregory. As a monk he finished his education before becoming first a deacon and eventually an archdeacon in the Church in Smyrna.

At the time, the metropolitan of Smyrna was a man named Prokopios and under his guidance, Gregory was ordained a priest and designated the aid of the bishop. In 1785, Prokopios was selected to become the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople. This meant moving to Turkey and being an Eastern Christian leader in the heart of the Ottoman empire. The Ecumenical Patriarch was a representative not only of Christianity but also of the Greek people. However, when Prokopios was elected patriarch, Gregory was ordained as a bishop and installed as the Metropolitan of Smyrna. By all accounts, he was an able and gifted metropolitan who seemed intimately concerned with the pastoral care of the people in Smyrna. It comes as no surprise then that he was the successor of Prokopios as Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople in 1797. In many ways, this was a drastic change. He left behind Greece for the heart of the Ottoman empire and with his departure lost many of his securities and protections. As the patriarch, he was forced to deal with Turkish leadership that resented not only him but all of the people he represented. Approximately one year later, Gregory was deposed from his position by the Muslim leaders of Turkey and banished from Turkey. He took up residence at a monastery on Mount Athos and devoted himself to study and prayer. In 1806, after a change in politics by the Turkish leadership, he was once again appointed Ecumenical Patriarch. His second appointment lasted approximately four years before he was once again deposed and deported.

It was in January of 1819 that he returned to Constantinople for the third and final time. As the Christian leadership of a resented Christian population, he continued to anger the Ottoman leadership. In March of 1821, Greek citizens began to violently resist Ottoman domination of Greece and blood was spilled by both sides. Ottoman Sultan Mahmud II demanded that Gregory suppress the Greek violence against Turks in Greece. Gregory did what he could to make for peace but it did not come. As the Ecumenical Patriarch and the ethnarch of Greeks in Ottoman Turkey, he was held responsible for the violence and the uprisings that would later be known as the beginning of the Greek revolution. Shortly after worship ended on Easter Sunday in the year 1821, Ottoman soldiers arrested Gregory from within the sanctuary of the church where he had just celebrated Easter. He was dragged to the edge of the city in his clerical vestments and hung from the gate in retribution for the acts perpetrated by the revolutionaries against the Ottoman authorities. His body hung there for three days as an example before being drug through the streets and being cast into the Bosphorous. His body was recovered by a sailor and given a Christian burial. In his memory, the main gates of the Patriarchate compound were welded shut in 1821 and have remained so since then.

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Telling the Stories that Matter: April 4 – Martin Luther King, Jr., Martyr, Preacher, Dreamer

The audience in Mason Temple was justifiably enraptured as Martin Luther King, Jr., preached yet another gripping and inspiring sermon. As he moved to conclude the sermon his mind–and the minds of the audience–were drawn once again to the weapons and bombs that were threatened and used against them.Martin’s flight to Memphis for this cause had been delayed by yet another bomb threat.He concluded the sermon, “We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind.” As the imagery settled, he continued: “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will.” This would prove to be a dark foreshadowing of the limited time left on earth for Martin. He finished“And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. So I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”With these words, Martin ended his sermon and went back to room 306–a room he had stayed in often–at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis.

Martin led countless individuals in the struggle for civil rights in the United State of America. He was one of the founders of the influential Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) and gave direction to people looking for a way to resist the powerful and abusive parts of the American power structure. They marched and met and slowly raised the consciousness of the American people in relation to the struggle that they were undergoing simply for equality and justice. One of the foundational tenets of Martin’s leadership was the philosophy of nonviolence. This philosophy led to many sit-ins and passive forms of resistance which proved to be especially powerful in a nation where media were looking for a story. He drew the inspiration for how he might best resist nonviolently from Jesus, Gandhi, and the writings of Howard Thurman. With each nonviolent protest, they were met with violent opposition from those who hated their very existence. They absorbed the wrath and evil intentions of their enemies and offered them something resembling love and forgiveness in return. As the violence escalated, Martin and those who followed after him suffered even more. But the power was found in the increased awareness of the rightness of their side and the wrongness of their enemies as their enemies perpetrated great evil in an attempt to remain powerful. In other words, the nonviolent protest of Martin and his people provided a canvas upon which the inherent, institutional evil could take form and be recognized. With every blow and wound they received they gave witness to the evil that motivated such injustice.

Martin was a preacher and recognized the power of the spoken word both to inspire and provoke. It seems that at every stop he would be in a church preaching to a capacity crowd about the inherent spirituality of what was going on. The civil rights campaign was not his only cause. After much reflection his nonviolence extended into his political life and he became a leader in the cause to end the Vietnam war. This did not gain him any popularity among the powerful–many of whom he had already offended–but it did help to ease his own conscience as he considered what his faith and calling demanded of him. He preached and he taught and in so doing he excited the joy of his audience and the antipathies of his opponents. So many of them were regular members and attenders of a church but saw no problem with the injustice and evil that they supported. Martin’s preaching demanded awareness from those that supported him and those that resisted him. He didn’t just help reform American political attitudes. He began the process of reforming the Church in America and around the world.

At 6:00 p.m. in the evening of the fourth day of April–in the year 1968–Martin prepared to leave room 306 and go to another church to preach another sermon in support of the sanitation workers in Memphis. By doing this, he was further living into his conviction: “true compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar….it comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.” As he stepped out the door he turned to the musician who was with him–Ben Branch–and said: “Ben, make sure you play Take My Hand, Precious Lord in the meeting tonight. Play it real pretty.” At 6:01, a shot rang out and a bullet entered Martin’s head and settled in his spinal column. The man who had received the Nobel Peace Prize for working through nonviolence and civil disobedience to end racial injustice was gunned down in Memphis on his way to preach a sermon commanding love for enemies. He died a martyr and was buried shortly thereafter in a funeral that was widely attended. According to his wishes, nobody talked about his many awards or degrees but, rather, his wife chose to play a recording of a recent sermon in which he said he’d rather be known for being a man who tried to “feed the hungry”, “clothe the naked”, “be right on the war question”, and “love and serve humanity.” As the preacher got one more chance to preach–an honor he would have indubitably enjoyed–Mahalia Jackson sang Take My HandPrecious Lord and a nation laid to rest a martyr and prophet.April 4 – Martin Luther King, Jr., Martyr, Preacher, Dreamer

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Donuts and Coffee

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I’m always amazed at what donuts can accomplish. There’s always a little anxious energy in the hour before one of the occasional events that we host. That energy is amplified when we’re having an open “work day” at our Urban Farm. It’s always hard to say what the weather is going to be like and we’re rarely certain just how many people will show up. Our February work day with CBFVA congregations and personnel was no exception. As the members of Grace and Main gathered early to go over the plans one more time before everybody got there, there was still a faint, anxious buzz. So, we did what we’re good at.

We put out cider donuts made hot and fresh that morning. We put out the big coffee pot and some creamers, including some cashew milk shared with us from the neighborhood when they heard we were going to have a work day. We laid out extra gloves and stacked some tools against a nearby tree. We checked to make sure we had remembered to bring prayer books for our guests to use before lunch. We kept an eye on the hill that we knew the vans would soon come down and made sure bottles of water were cold and there was sunscreen set out for those who forgot theirs. In short, we practiced hospitality and let the donuts and coffee get ready to do their part of the work.

Our little, intentional community has committed itself to the practice of hospitality, (among other things). But hospitality is not only opening our homes to provide space for others to rest, eat, and share life. It is also about opening our lives and making room for the other—whether they be people experiencing homelessness, people in need of a listening ear or a cup of coffee, or vanloads of volunteers who are coming to work in our gardens. Hospitality isn’t only something we provide, but is something we receive as well. We receive hospitality when we find a seat on somebody’s porch and catch up over tea, or when we are welcomed into a neighborhood by people whose family has lived there for generations, or when loving hands plant seeds though they may not see the produce when it is harvested.

When the first vans came down the hill, I said a quick, silent prayer of thanks and hope. As they unloaded, found the bathrooms, marveled at how incredible the donuts were, and refilled their coffee cups, the buzz of anxiety faded—the donuts had once again accomplished something amazing. Friends from Roanoke, Oak Level, Richmond, Halifax, and Danville began good work planting hundreds of seed starts in our greenhouse. Many of the seeds they started will end up in gardens all around the city, not just the gardens at the Urban Farm. We cleared brush and prepared the part of the property that will soon become a neighborhood “commons.” A few lovely people helped us to put gutters on the new tool library and get our rain water catchment system installed to make sure that our gardens have plenty of water. A host of fasting teenagers—nearing the end of their “Thirty Hour Famine”—built a stone and dirt swale to redirect water toward our new retaining pond. These good people collected stones from ditches, steadily removed trash from a hillside, and helped us to participate further in what God is doing in our midst.

We stopped for midday prayer before lunch and gave thanks for all that had gone well that day and all that was still yet to happen.  We joked and laughed and daydreamed about other things that we could do on the land. We talked about how the mushroom logs produce mushrooms, about the process to change our city’s zoning codes to allow for our work (and now the work of several other gardens), about how many years it takes the asparagus to come in, about beneficial weeds and insects, about the praying mantis egg sacs we found and carefully transplanted to the garden, and about favorite and least favorite vegetables (mine are asparagus and cauliflower, respectively, if you’re interested).

At the end of the day, we waved goodbye to these people who gave a Saturday to good work. With bent backs and dirty hands, they had given thanks for food to eat and people to share it with, even if their hands might not touch the harvest. As the vans ascended the hill away from us, I marveled at how much work they had accomplished in a part of one day and about the careful balance between the slow and steady work to which we’ve committed ourselves and the sudden, short presence of friends from all around. As it turns out, hospitality isn’t just donuts and coffee; it’s also sometimes about welcoming people to participate in community even for just several hours and giving thanks for that offering. We gave thanks for the generosity of congregations and partners around the state who have supported our work with their time, prayers, encouragement, and financial support. There weren’t any donuts left in the box, but they had done such amazing work.

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Marcus Has Everything

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Deep down, I’m a worrier. I’m really good at it. I know scripture tells us not to be anxious and Jesus even directs our thoughts to the “lilies of the field” in the Sermon on the Mount, but I need help to get to that kind of trust most days. Even though I’m surrounded by a community of people who have pledged to share resources and needs and actively share their lives with me, I still worry. Even though our work has consistently been supported by donors like you, every January and February is an anxious time as I worry that this year will be different; that this year will be the year that it doesn’t happen. If I’m honest, I sometimes worry that I’m only as valuable or lovable as I am useful. I seem to have so many needs and even more fear of them not being met, even as I live in the midst of God’s blessing and miraculous provision. I seem to have everything I need, so why don’t I feel like it some days?

Perhaps, my struggle with worry is part of the reason I thought I misheard Marcus in the van. He is, after all, a fast talker and sometimes shifts the topic of conversation abruptly if he’s excited. This night, he was excited about some good work he had been doing in the neighborhood and was riding along in the van to drop people off after our big meal. As he told me about meals shared and the ways in which he loved his neighbors, he said something that I didn’t expect: “You know, I don’t need anything. I’ve got everything I need.”

I confess that my first thought was a judgmental one: “how can that possibly be true?” When we first met Marcus, he walked with a substantial limp because of a very significant injury to his ankle. He did as best as he could with it, but the injury meant that he couldn’t get the work to which he was accustomed and by which he had been supporting himself for years. Without a job and reliable transportation, it became very, very hard for him to make it to the doctor on his own. Because of his injury, his shoes didn’t fit and wore out even more rapidly. Before I knew Marcus by his name, I knew him by his walk and the plastic bag he wore over his steadily deteriorating shoe. How could this man not need anything?

As we began to share life with Marcus and help him to get to the doctor, he quickly became a regular at our meals. We first welcomed him into a hospitality room, but eventually helped him to move into an apartment of his own when his income became steadier and his ankle began to heal. The day after moving into his new home, he began offering hospitality of his own—welcoming folks to find shelter in his relatively meager accommodations. In response to God’s blessing, Marcus responded with grace and mercy. Marcus understands intuitively that loving God and loving your neighbor are intertwined. His ankle was still injured and he wasn’t yet well or stable, but he couldn’t wait any longer to be doing our Father’s business. Watching as he once again repaired his shoe with duct tape, I couldn’t imagine how this man “had everything.”

But perhaps the problem isn’t that Marcus was wrong, but rather that my imagination is too small sometimes to see God’s goodness in hard places. Even with busted shoes, Marcus was concerned that there were people we knew who didn’t have shoes. He wasn’t content to wait to help until everything in his life was stable. He didn’t need good shoes before he cared about his neighbor’s shoeless feet. He didn’t need a perfect home before he could open it to others. He didn’t need to be wealthy to be generous. He didn’t need to be full before pouring himself out for others. But, perhaps most importantly, Marcus trusted God and the community to which God had brought him to love and support him.

Marcus has everything he needs in part because he has learned to need less, but mostly because he has learned to trust more.

Nowadays, you’ll likely find Marcus at one of our meals or, even more likely, in one of the gardens at the Urban Farm (he’s a phenomenal gardener!). His ankle is much better now after consistently getting to his appointments and getting the medicines he needed to prevent infections. His shoes fit a lot better now and are in much better condition. He’s always eager to pitch in if there’s work that needs to be done and he’ll still talk your ear off. But, he hasn’t stopped giving or trusting; and, thank God, he hasn’t stopped teaching me the futility of worry and the pride inherent in believing that I’m only as valuable or lovable as I am useful. I’m learning that Marcus is right—he has everything he needs and so do I. Some days, I even believe it.

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Telling the Stories that Matter: January 27 – Marcella, Martyr, Widow, Monastic

Marcella was born to wealthy parents of considerable influence in Roman society. Further, she married a man of affluence and influence, as well. She was primed for a life of pleasure, recreation, and relaxation. Yet she had only been married for seven to nine months before her husband died and she became a widow. Of course, she was a widow who lived very comfortably thanks to the wealth she had inherited but she was a widow nonetheless. This event became the catalyst that pushed her onward to consider what was truly valuable in life and what of the Roman culture and life was nothing more than illusion and delusion. She devoted herself to a brand of ascetic joy that involved renouncing herself and her own ambitions in favor of taking care of the poor and hungry. She soon found herself with plenty of work to do and many demands on her time and she couldn’t have been happier.

At one point, a wealthy man became enamored with Marcella. By this time, Marcella had become a leader in the Roman Church and had become an inspiration to other women to live lives of daring faith. He decided he would woo her and make the widow his wife and he assumed it would be an easy thing since she had been widowed and widows were often of little influence and power in Roman society because of their sex. He went to her and he proposed marriage saying that she could inherit all of his fortune when he died if she would only marry him. He was a wealthy political leader and his fortune was considerable but Marcella responded: “If I wished to marry, I should look for a husband, not an inheritance.” He went away without a wife and with a new understanding of Marcella’s devotion to the ministry to which she had been called.

She started a school for women to study scripture and pray. It was rather successful and soon she was spiritual mother to many younger women who sought to follow after the same Christ who had captivated Marcella. Then the Goths came to Rome. The Goths looted and plundered the riches of Rome under the direction of Alaric and soon found their way to Marcella’s school. Likely, they had heard that the old widow was a wealthy woman and that her school was highly respected. To the Goths, this meant she was an ideal target for their terror inducing savagery. They forced their way into the school and demanded all of the valuables that Marcella had. She insisted that she had nothing to offer them as she had spent her life giving herself and her things away to the poor. Her wealth, she declared, was in the stomachs of the poor people in the city. The Goths tortured her to get her to reveal her hidden stores of valuables but were not successful since she had nothing but her clothes and a few meager possessions to offer them. The soldiers seized one of her students–Principia–and informed Marcella that they would rape and kill the woman if Marcella did not give them what they wanted. Marcella dropped to her hands and knees and begged mercy from Alaric insisting that she had nothing to give and begging them to leave the woman alone. Seeing the once wealthy and powerful old woman on her knees in tears with blood streaming down her back begging for the welfare of another, their hearts were turned at last to mercy. They took Marcella and her students to a nearby sanctuary–even carrying the weakened Marcella–so that they might not be victimized any further. Marcella died from her wounds shortly thereafter with her head resting on the lap of Principia whom she had saved.

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Telling the Stories that Matter: January 17 – Anthony the Great, Monastic, Ascetic, Hermit

Anthony’s parents were something of an exception for Egyptian citizens in the lower regions of the nation–they had money and they owned land. From their affluence, they were able to provide handsomely for son and daughter even though Egypt was under the control and dominion of the Roman empire. But, they died when Anthony was eighteen years old. This left him in charge of his family estate and inheritance. The potential conflict between Anthony’s faith and his family’s wealth did not come to bear until he was in charge of it and charged with providing for his unmarried sister. Anthony felt called to do something ridiculous–to live a revolutionary life of freedom and self-renunciation in the desert–but was anchored to the world that tempted him by his family wealth and obligation to his sister. So, it came as a pleasant surprise when his sister was willing to join an early convent so that Anthony could follow his calling. Anthony sold his family’s possessions and gave the sum total of all his considerable wealth to friends and neighbors.With this radical act, Anthony set out for the desert to live into a calling.

As he journeyed further into the wild, he slowly became more and more detoxified from the temptations and holdings of the world he left behind but it would be silly to believe that he simply walked away and was never again tempted to the affluence and influence of his youth. It was a long process but it came to bear very quickly with a very acute temptation as he journeyed. As he thought back to the city he had left he wondered if it was possible he had made a mistake. With poetic timing, Anthony looked down and saw a silver plate–of much value–holding a mound of silver coins. With these coins, he couldgo back and nearly regain the life he had left behind. He could abandon a hard calling for an easy and comfortable existence. He thought about it. Then, he spoke to the one he knew was behind the temptation: “Give it up, Satan, I won’t be tempted.” As he finished his retort to the temptation, it vanished and faded as Anthony’s hopes would have had he given into temptation. As he traveled further, he found a larger, golden plate with and even larger mound of golden coins upon it. Wordlessly, he built a fire and tossed the gold into it whereupon it promptly vanished. He wasn’t beyond temptation but he was slowly removing the barbs of the Empire from his flesh and gaining true freedom.

Anthony’s life in the desert was the life of a monastic hermit. He secluded himself first in a tomb so that he could best devote himself to a life of prayer and service but no matter how far he got into the wilderness, news traveled back to the cities and increased the amazement of the people for Anthony’s deeds. When he became sick, some Christians went and gathered him up to take him to a monastery and heal him. But when he was better, he left again and this time he found an old Roman fortress and made it his hermitage. The pilgrims who came to see the holy man spoke to him through a small hole in the wall of the fortress and received very few words back from him. He offered his teachings to his disciples but refused to be a spectacle for those who were not connected to him. He accepted gifts of food and drink but mainly subsisted upon the bread he made himself. As any monastic of legendary qualities, he was soon surrounded by disciples and students regardless of whether or not he wanted to be a hermit. He taught but he was devoted first and foremost to a life of self-renunciation and denial that blossomed in prayer and worship.

When he approached the end of his life, he endeavored to finally escape one more bond upon his life and so he made his peace with his disciples. He gave away his only clothing–two cloaks. One cloak was given to Serapion his disciple and the other was given to Athanasius. He gave his abbot’s staff to Macarius and then he laid down prostrate upon the ground and died having made peace and preparation.Anthony had spent a lifetime rejecting the temptations of power and influence so that he might escape the hooks they would place in his soul. He had even gone so far as to ignore a letter from the emperor Constantine before being convinced by his disciples to at least offer a blessing by letter. For Anthony, freedom and peace were found in renunciation–even if it cost him his everything.

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Telling the Stories that Matter: January 9 – Philip of Moscow, Martyr, Victim of the State, Opponent of the Empire


Feodor Stepanovich Kolychev was born approximately 100 miles from Moscow in the city of Galich. He had the good fortune of being associated with royalty and he joined the royal court of Grand Prince Vasili III. Vasili had a son named Ivan who Feodor developed a friendship with. However, conspiracy and deception were afoot and soon Feodor was forced to flee Moscow because of his benefactor’s involvement in a plot that gathered unwanted attention. So, Feodor fled from Vasili and his friend Ivan. He escaped to the mountains and spent some time consider what had transpired. The wounds perpetrated against him by political powers had driven him to painful reflection and as he stood inside a monastery, he heard the liturgist proclaim: “No man can serve two masters.” At these words, he made the decision to become a monk. So, around the age of thirty, he became a monk and left the political world behind–for a while. He took the monastic name of Philip and devoted himself to prayer and discipline.

At the age of forty-one, Philip became the hegumen of his monastery and lived into the leadership role exceedingly well. It may be that his childhood in the imperial courts had trained him well in leadership and management because soon the monastery had built an impressive array of buildings and improvements and kindled a spiritual revolution in the surrounding countryside. Philip was especially notable because of his personal involvement in the projects. Instead of relaxing and allowing power to soften him, he joined in with the brothers and did the exact same work he asked of the them. Though he was the hegumen, he was unafraid to pick up a shovel. The spiritual revival was largely a work of Philip’s careful work under a new and more demanding monastic rule. Contrary to the movement of so many other powers, Philip had high expectations of people and was confident that they could reach them if given time and assistance. Philip’s leadership at the monastery became legendary and attracted the attention of his boyhood friend Ivan. But this time Ivan was not known as Ivan son of Vasili but as Ivan the Terrible.

Ivan wanted his friend to come to Moscow and fill the position of metropolitan but Philip had one condition: the end of Ivan’s practice of oprichnina. Oprichnina had started when Ivan’s paranoia over revolution had gripped him so terribly that he had fled Moscow with many Church possessions and refused to return. He returned to Moscow on the condition that he be allowed to create a secret police with power to sweep away treason from Russia. The clergy consented and Ivan returned. Soon, the secret police (known as “oprichniki”) were scouring the country atop black horses and wearing black cowls. Their power was, for the most part, unchecked and they did as they pleased. If somebody became an enemy of Ivan then they often died at the hands of one of the oprichniki. The other powerful Russian people–and the Church in Russia–were held at bay by threat of men in black cowls who had a hound and broom imprinted upon the pommel of their saddle to symbolize their task: seeking out and sweeping away all who opposed the centralization of power in the hands of Ivan the Terrible. Philip agreed to become metropolitan only if Ivan would cease and desist from his politically sponsored campaigns of death. Ivan agreed and Philip was made bishop and metropolitan.

Yet, Ivan did not stop his manipulations. At first, he tried to hide the workings of the oprichniki but their murderous works were hard to conceal. Philip found out and so when Ivan came to the cathedral for a Lenten service, he publicly rebuked Ivan for his bloody works and refused to give him his blessing. Ivan was irate but it did not deter him from yet more slaughter and so he authorized the oprichniki to execute a massacre at Novgorod because of fear of treason and defection. Philip denounced Ivan again and it became increasingly apparent that Ivan could not buy the loyalty of the Church through his childhood friend. So, he decided to exercise his power and ruin Philip.

Philip was deposed and Ivan was able to manipulate various clerical professionals into arresting and imprisoning him in a monastery. Stripped of power and reputation, he spent the remainder of his life chained to a wall with less and less food every day. He was abused and punished for refusing to be bought. Then one night, shortly after taking communion, one of Ivan’s most trusted minions–Malyuta Skuratov–crept into his cell and strangled him to death. Though Ivan had modeled his oprichniki after the monastic orders and even hinted at times at wanting to become a monk, it was through the manipulative work of the Empire that he put to death his childhood friend and spiritual superior–Philip of Moscow.

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