A Church Without Persecution or a Church Without Truth?

Ioannis N. Paparrigas | January 14, 2026

 

 

We live in an age in which, increasingly, we see the Church adapting to the demands of “harmonious coexistence,” and the avoidance of all tension is presented not merely as a necessity but almost as an ecclesiological virtue. Gradually, an image is being shaped of a Church of “good manners.” Within this framework, the Church is often called upon to prove that it is “responsible,” “non-provocative,” and “compatible.” Her witness is no longer understood as a confession that may entail cost, but as a presence that neither disturbs nor unsettles. The canonical and patristic tradition, however, never knew the Church as an institution of good manners, but as the Body of Christ which exists within the world without being defined by it. The peace she proclaims is not identical with social calm, nor is her love to be equated with the avoidance of clear boundaries. Historically, the Church lived in pagan or hostile environments without ever considering that her survival depended on her adaptation. The Martyrs did not enter into conflict out of ideological stubbornness, but because they refused to turn worship into a social symbol. In our present age, however, a gradual shift is observed. Acceptance is presented as a criterion of success, social recognition as a sign of sound pastoral care, and the absence of conflict as a mark of maturity. What would formerly have been considered ecclesiological confusion is today baptized as “discernment”; what once would have provoked questions of canonical conscience is now justified in the name of peace. But the question remains: Can the Church continue to be the Church when she defines her presence primarily in terms of compatibility? Can she bear witness to Christ when her witness must neither offend, nor disturb, nor be deemed “extreme”? The patristic experience shows that the Church does not save the world by adapting to it, but by remaining what she is—even when this entails a cost. If the Church is transformed into a polite, accepted, and harmless institution, she risks losing her witness—and a Church without witness ceases to be what her own history has known and handed down.

Ecumenism does not ask you to renounce the faith, but alters it through the argument of “peaceful coexistence” with others. It does not appear as a denial of truth, but as a smoothing out of differences, as an invitation to a mild, harmless version of the faith that neither provokes, nor sets boundaries, and ultimately does not confess. The alteration happens covertly, by shifting the center of gravity from dogma and ecclesiology to the ethos of good behavior and social acceptance. The Church is called to stand not as the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church, but as an equal dialogue partner among others, with the sole common denominator being coexistence. Thus, without changing a single word of the Creed, its meaning is silently changed. Peaceful coexistence—self-evident and rightfully accepted as a social necessity—is transformed into a theological criterion. Whatever hinders coexistence is considered problematic, whatever raises questions is equated with a lack of love, and whatever sets boundaries is labeled fanaticism. In this way, canonical precision is seen as an obstacle and ecclesiological clarity as a threat to social peace. The Church is not asked to lie, but to remain silent wherever her truth becomes disturbing. In this manner, witness is replaced by management, confession by negotiation, and the experience of the Cross by the need for acceptance. The Church is not persecuted, but disarmed; her freedom is not taken away, but she is offered space in exchange for the silencing of her boundaries—and this is perhaps more dangerous than open persecution, because it does not produce martyrs, but adapted believers. Ecumenism does not function as open conflict with the Church, but as a gentle mutation of her self-consciousness. The Church is called to continue existing, provided she ceases to disturb—to speak of love without truth, of peace without the Cross, and of unity without the Church.

On the other hand, the secularized spirit usually does not come as a denial of the faith; it does not say that the Church is wrong, but that it must “modernize,” speak the language of the times, adapt—and without abolishing forms, symbols, or dogmatic formulations, it alters the content of ecclesiastical life. Pastoral care gradually turns into communication, and discernment is confused with diplomacy. Thus, the Church risks functioning more as an organization seeking balance than as a Body called to heal and sanctify. The Church is indeed called to be present everywhere, but without demanding anything, without causing discomfort, without calling for rupture with the spirit of the world.

The most troubling aspect of the secularized spirit is that it presents itself as sensitivity. The secularized spirit and Ecumenism meet at the same point, even if they begin from different starting points. Both seek a Church that is acceptable and harmless—a Church that is not persecuted because it does not resist, that does not disturb because it sets no boundaries, and that is not crucified because it does not bear witness.

The history of the Church was not founded on acceptance or social harmony, but on witness. From the earliest centuries, the Church was recognized as such not because it adapted, but because it refused to turn faith into a matter of decorum. The Martyrs did not clash with authority out of ideology, nor did they seek conflict for its own sake; they were not put to death because they attacked the system, but because they refused adaptations that would have secured them peace and safety. They were not asked to hate, but to compromise; they were not asked to abolish their faith, but to shift it—and their refusal reveals that, for the Church, witness is not a matter of tension, but of truth. Even in times when the Church ceased to be openly persecuted, witness did not vanish. The holy Fathers who resisted heresies, state pressures, or “compromise solutions,” did not fight the world, but they did not allow the world to define the Church. If the example of the Martyrs and Confessors teaches anything, it is that the Church is not called to be polite in order to survive, but to be true in order to save—and every era that attempts to replace witness with adaptation, confession with silence, and the Cross with acceptance, brings back in another form an old question: Do we want a Church without persecution—or a Church without truth?

Some may consider the things mentioned as “extreme” or “strict,” and they do so because the language of witness has now become foreign, and the notion of extremity has shifted. What is considered extreme today is not that which silently alters the ecclesiastical identity, but that which dares to defend it without compromise. Whoever speaks of canonical boundaries, of witness, and of cruciform consistency is presented as a source of tension or an obstacle to coexistence. Thus, the discussion no longer revolves around whether something is true, but whether it is “convenient” or “socially acceptable.” The Martyrs were deemed dangerous to public order, the Confessors divisive for unity, the Fathers rigid and unwilling to compromise—and if the criterion of truth were the acceptance of their own time, then the Church would have no history. If all this seems extreme today, it is likely because we have become so accustomed to a manageable Church that genuine witness now appears excessive—and this is a sign of how deeply the mindset has changed through the very alteration we described above.

Finally, a necessary clarification must be made. In every era, there have been and still are attitudes that can rightfully be characterized as extreme—not because they are incompatible with the spirit of the world, but because they lack ecclesiastical discernment. Fanaticism, contempt for canonical order, and the transformation of faith into an ideological weapon do not constitute witness, but a distortion of it. However, discernment lies elsewhere. There is a difference between extremism born of pride and precision that flows from ecclesiastical conscience. The Martyrs and the Fathers were not extreme in the sense of blind confrontation; they were precise. They did not seek rupture, but neither did they avoid it when it arose as a consequence of confession. They did not reject peace, but they did not exchange it for silence. And the existence of real extremes cannot be used as an alibi for neutralizing every voice of witness.

 

Greek source: https://entoytwnika1.blogspot.com/2026/01/blog-post_14.html