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“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.”
Genesis 1:1-2
“And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the middle of its street, and on either side of the river, was the tree of life, which bore twelve fruits, each tree yielding its fruit every month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.”
Revelation 22:1-2
In his unparalleled study on the sacrament of baptism, Of Water and the Spirit, Fr. Alexander Schmemann (+1983) claims that water is “undoubtedly one of the most ancient and universal of all religious symbols.”¹ To his point, the “cosmical” symbolism of water from an Orthodox Christian perspective is both deeply rooted in Scripture and richly expressed in the Church’s liturgical tradition. There is, first and foremost, the basic and undeniable fact that water is necessary for the existence of “everything that breathes” (Ps 150:6). It is a primordial, universal, and dynamic substance common to all life. Indeed, for this simple yet crucial reason, its addition to the communion chalice alongside the bread and the wine constitutes the Eucharistic gifts as the true “body and blood of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ,” the Son of the living God.
Of course, water also exhibits the power to dissolve and cleanse. Having become “corrupt before God, and…filled with violence,” the earth was temporarily submerged by a devastating Flood. With the righteous cooperation of Noah, however, all of God’s creatures were preserved from utter extinction and benevolently redispersed, “so that they may abound on the earth, and be fruitful and multiply” (Gen 6-8). In a strikingly illustrative manner, we both remember and reaffirm this reality at every Great Blessing of Water, when we entreat Him “who by the flood waters in the days of Noah washed away sin” to restore creation to its intended state in the form of holy water, “for the healing of soul and body, and for every beneficial purpose.”
Finally, beyond the poles of life and death, development and dissolution, water is above all the element of rebirth—a “pregnant” source of life-from-death, as in the case of Jonah and the whale (Jon 1-2). Indeed, when Christ speaks cryptically of “the sign of the Prophet Jonah” (Mt 12:39-41), he refers to His own impending death and Resurrection—a mystery prefigured at His baptism in the Jordan River and subsequently experienced by us through our baptism “into His death,” that we might also “walk in newness of life” and share in “the likeness of His Resurrection” (Rom 6:3-5).
Water, then, is more than mere matter from an Orthodox Christian perspective. It is the very symbol that manifests the logos or “reason” which permeates creation and renders it into a cosmos of beauty and order. In fact, Scripture attests to this symbolic association not only literally—that is, in the language and content of its texts—but also formally: the first and final chapters of the Bible, written more than a millennium apart and under vastly different religious and cultural circumstances, feature water at the bookends of the story of creation. In this remarkable detail, we discover also the ultimate Christological meaning of water, for Christ Himself is “the Beginning and the End” (Rev 22:13) of creation as well as the unquenchable source of the “fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.” (Jn 4:14).
This rough sketch of the “cosmical” significance of water from an Orthodox Christian perspective suggests the present need for more thoughtful consideration of an Orthodox theology of water. Yet theology in the Orthodox Church is not primarily built upon a foundation of abstract convictions or clever arguments; it develops instead from personal receptivity to divine revelation and common, prayerful discernment of experience. In other words, Orthodox theology is lived and embodied, that is, practiced as a way of life. Hence, any discussion of an Orthodox theology of water, particularly in light of the present ecological crisis, would be incomplete without highlighting the longstanding spiritual leadership and extensive pastoral efforts of His All-Holiness Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew in the contemporary crusade for clean, accessible, and abundant water for all.
Born on the Aegean Island of Imbros, Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, known affectionately as the “Green Patriarch,” is neither a stranger to the sea nor unaware of the countless livelihoods, human and non-human, that depend directly upon it. From its outset more than thirty-five years ago, his pioneering ecological ministry has prioritized the protection and proper provisioning of water in all its forms.² Even at the present age of eighty-five, the Ecumenical Patriarch still personally leads beach cleanup efforts—the black silhouette of his anteri accented by a pair of blue rubber gloves.
In addition to leading similar hands-on initiatives, Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew is widely recognized as the first major religious leader to promulgate a faith-based approach to the ecological crisis that engages meaningfully with modern science. In 1994, he established the Religious and Scientific Committee (RSC) of the Ecumenical Patriarchate, placing at its head the brilliant and exceedingly capable theologian, Metropolitan John (Zizioulas) of Pergamum. With the coordination of an intrepid philanthropist and social activist, Mrs. Maria Becket, the RSC organized several “Waterborne Symposia” over the span of nearly two decades. These unprecedented ecumenical and interdisciplinary gatherings brought together theologians, scientists, policymakers, and other stakeholders to discuss the fate of the earth’s “living waters:” its rivers, lakes, seas, and oceans.
In total, nine waterborne symposia have been convened under Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew’s tenure: Revelation and the Environment (1995) on the island of Patmos, marking the 1900th anniversary of the Book of Revelation; The Black Sea in Crisis (1997); River of Life – Down the Danube to the Black Sea (1999); The Adriatic Sea – A Sea at Risk, A Unity of Purpose (2002); The Baltic Sea – A Common Heritage, A Shared Responsibility (2003), which resulted in the North Sea Conference that same year; The Amazon – Source of Life (2006); The Arctic – Mirror of Life (2007); The Great Mississippi River: Restoring Balance (2009). Following the death of Mrs. Becket, the most recent symposium, Toward a Greener Attica: Preserving the Planet and Protecting its People (2018), was held in Athens and the Saronic Islands with the coordination of Rev. Dr. John Chryssavgis.
Beyond leading beach cleanup efforts and organizing groundbreaking conferences and symposia, Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew strives in general to raise global awareness of the interpersonal dimension of an Orthodox theology of water. In the Gospel of Matthew, Christ promised his followers that “whoever gives one of these little ones only a cup of cold water in the name of a disciple, assuredly, I say to you, he shall by no means lose his reward” (Mt 10:42). And yet, not only are friends and followers to be treated with such hospitality, but everyone, including and most especially, Christ later forewarned, “the least of these My brethren” (Mt 25:40). The Orthodox Church has historically derived its social ethos from these Gospel imperatives. But in linking the Church’s social concern to the realities of the present ecological crisis, Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew appears to have opened a new frontier in Christian ethics:
“Concern for the environment implies also concern for human problems of poverty, thirst, and hunger. This connection is detailed in a stark manner in the Parable of the Last Judgment, where the Lord says: ‘‘I was hungry and you gave me food; I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink’…A Church that neglects to pray for the natural environment is a Church that refuses to offer food and drink to a suffering humanity. At the same time, a society that ignores the mandate to care for all human beings is a society that mistreats the very creation of God, including the natural environment. It is tantamount to blasphemy.”³
In a word, Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew proposes a holistic Christian ethic to combat the present plague of indifference in our modern world. Yet even here, his call to compassion is anticipated in the Gospel. When Christ encounters an infirm man at the Pool of Siloam, one of the saddest and most convicting statements in Scripture follows: “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; but while I am coming, another steps down before me” (Jn 5:7). How often is it the case today that callousness and general indifference towards the plight of others prevents “the least among us” from receiving their necessary water, whether in the form of drink, medicine, or basic hygiene?
Conversely, there is another thought-provoking, water-related event recounted in the Gospel of John. Christ famously performs his first sign or “miracle” at Cana, changing the vats of water kept for ritual purification into “good wine” for the wedding feast (Jn 2:10). It is a straightforward and light-hearted introduction to His earthly ministry. In essence, He has come to announce the inauguration of the Kingdom of Heaven, which will be consummated at the eternal wedding feast of the Bridegroom, Christ, and His Bride, the Church. Yet to turn “water into wine” has since become shorthand for “miraculously” exchanging the commonplace (and thereby dispensable) for something that is essentially different and incomparably better. This is unfortunate, for it seems to lose sight of the symbolic significance of water and, consequently, to miss the point of Christ’s sign, which is not to replace that which is merely mundane but to reveal its essential beauty and proper purpose.
In The Brothers Karamazov, the great Russian Orthodox author Fyodor Dostoevsky issues an indirect challenge to this simplistic interpretation of Christ’s sign at the Wedding at Cana. Approximately halfway through the novel, Elder Zozima, a saintly monk who has taken on the innocent and impressionable Alyosha Karamazov as his spiritual child, dies of old age. A scandal shortly thereafter ensues when his body proves not only corruptible but begins to decompose rather rapidly. A distraught and disillusioned Alyosha storms out of the monastery, only to return later that night once the initial commotion has subsided.
Alyosha returns to find the funeral service already underway, attended only by the priest who, in accordance with Orthodox tradition, is to read the Gospel unceasingly over the deceased hieromonk’s body. Kneeling to pray, Alyosha discovers that the priest has reached the story of the Wedding at Cana. Delighted by this passage and overcome with sleep, Alyosha begins to dream he is present at the wedding himself. To his surprise, he spots from afar Elder Zozima seated at the great table, who then approaches him and shares the joyous news that even he has been “called and bidden” to the wedding feast. The Elder explains to Alyosha that:
“He is terrible in His greatness, awful in His sublimity, but infinitely merciful. He has made Himself like unto us from love and rejoices with us. He is changing water into wine that the gladness of the guests may not be cut short. He is expecting new guests, He is calling new ones unceasingly forever and ever.”⁴
To my mind, there is no better artistic summation of the Orthodox faith than this short excerpt. More specifically, Elder Zozima conveys here the essence of an Orthodox approach to the theology of water: an experience of the ever-present revelation of God’s infinite love and cosmic concern—that is, the mystery of the Incarnation itself—manifested through the most basic yet vital element of creation. And if we recall that the water kept at the wedding feast was intended for ritual purification, whereas the wine is made for the gift of spontaneous joy, the point of Christ’s sign becomes even clearer: through Him, creation—symbolized in the form of water—is no longer hopelessly subjected to the afflictions of sin and disorder. Nor is it to remain a purely mundane or material reality. Instead, it is meant to be (and surely will be) the enchanting cosmos of Psalm 103, a Paradise and place of communion. For He who “sends the springs into the valleys” gives forth as well “wine that makes glad the heart of man.” (Ps 103:10;15).
As Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew has emphasized time and time again, the way we treat the earth—its air, soil, and perhaps most demonstrably, its water—is directly correlated to how we treat other creatures, our fellow human beings, and God Himself. An Orthodox theology of water allows us to see more clearly how the essential integrity of creation, the ethical imperatives of Gospel morality, and the eternal impetus of salvation are deeply intertwined realities. The Orthodox Church’s mission in the world is precisely to give witness to this interconnectivity of Christian purpose—to proclaim the cosmic fluidity of our calling—and to inspire all peoples to live by the promise that He is changing water into wine that the gladness of the guests may not be cut short.
¹ Alexander Schmemann, Of Water and the Spirit (Crestwood: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1974), 39.
² A detailed account of Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew’s ecological ministry, including descriptions of the various water-related conferences and symposia held under his tenure, can be found in the “The Green Patriarch: A Contemporary Worldview and Witness,” in John Chryssavgis, Creation as Sacrament (London: T&T Clark, 2019), 183-201.
³ Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, On Earth as in Heaven, ed. John Chryssavgis (New York: Fordham University Press, 2012), 140.
⁴ Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, trans. Constance Garnett (New York: Barnes and Noble Books, 2004), 329-332.
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