The Agony of the Church (1917) — Inside the Classic
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esus was the second Adam, the expected Redeemer, God's Messenger.
Egypt had an intuition into the mystery of the Divinity as a Trinity. However rough may have been that idea, the Trinity being thought of as a human family of Father, Mother, and Son, still it existed very vividly in Egypt. And the people expected the coming of God's only Son, the third person of their Trinity, not an imaginary being like Horus, but the real son of Osiris in flesh and blood who would bring happiness to men. Well, Jesus of Nazareth was this Son of God, and He as Christ was the eternal sharer of the Divine Trinity.
India was the cradle of the teaching of the Incarnation. The supreme God, Brahma, had already been incarnated in many persons since the dawn of history. But the highest incarnation of Him was still to come. Well, Jesus Christ was this highest incarnation of Brahma in human shape.
The cultivated polytheists did not like the idea of a monotonous theology of one solitary God. They liked rather a divine company upon Olympus. Well, Christianity with its Trinity-teaching presented to them a limited polytheism. God was not physically one, as in Judaism, nor many, as in Hellenism. He was a Trinitarian Plurality in Unity. He was not a grim hermit, but He had the riches of an eternal life.
The intellectual Greeks and Hellenists climbed to the idea of one God and of Logos, the Mediator between God and the world, through whom God created whatever He created, and who may be incarnated for the salvation of the fallen, suffering creation. Well, Jesus Christ could include in His person this wonderful doctrine of Neoplatonism.
The mountainous Asia under Caucasus and Ararat, plunged into the mystery of Mithras, which was born out of the Zoroastrian dualistic religion of light and darkness, of Ormuzd and Ahriman. Well now, Christ, the friend of humanity, revealed Himself as the God of light struggling against Satan, the enemy of humanity.
Rome, politically ruling the world, was longing for a sacred King, for a Prince of Peace, who should come from the East and bring to the people some higher and truer happiness than that deceiving chimera of political bigness. Well, Christ should be this universal, sacred King, this Prince of Peace, and Messenger of a durable happiness. It is not true that Christ had His prophets among the people of Israel only. His prophets existed in every race and every religion and philosophy of old. That is the reason why the whole world could claim Christ, and how He can be preached to everybody and accepted by everybody. Behold, He was at home everywhere!
(b) Inclusive in Worship.--Inclusive in doctrine, the primitive Church was wisely inclusive in worship too. It would be nonsense to speak of Christian worship as of something quite new and surprising. There was very little new and very little surprising in it indeed; almost nothing. The first Church met for prayer in the Jewish temple. Wherever the apostles came to preach the new Gospel they went to the old places of prayer, to the temples of Jehovah. Their Christian spirit did not revolt against the old forms of worship. Later on the naked Christian spirit needed to be clothed, and it was clothed. But when Israel looked to Christian worship they recognised much--forms, signs, vestments and administration--to be like their own. And not only Israel, but even Egypt, India, Babylon and Persia, Greece and Rome, yea, the Pagans of North and South. If Nature could speak, it could say how much it lent of its own to Christian worship.
A student of ancient history one day asked me: "How can I recognise the Christian religion as the best of all, when I know how much it borrowed from the ancient religious forms of worship? How poor it looks without all that!"
Velimirović opens with a stark contrast: the primitive Church fought against exclusive Patriotism and Imperialism, while the modern Church serves them obediently. He supports this with a list of churches—Austrian, German, Russian, British, French, Serbian, and others—each adopting its government's war stance without protest. The author does not claim a war of religions but of patriotisms and imperialisms, with churches as tools.
The book originated as lectures at St Margaret's, Westminster, and is published by the Student Christian Movement, which had earlier ties to Velimirović in Serbia. The foreword by Principal Alexander Whyte calls the Eastern Church 'the Mother of us all,' framing the work as a voice from that tradition speaking to a Western audience during World War I.
The Church as Servant, Not Guide
Velimirović argues that Europe's soul is its religion, but that religion is no longer a guide—it is 'Europe's most obedient servant.' He points to the war as evidence: churches did not protest mobilizations but supported them wholeheartedly. The Austrian Church backed Vienna; German Protestant and Catholic churches supported the Kaiser's policy; Russian and British churches aided their governments without being consulted. The author emphasizes that no church stated a different standpoint from its government, as if war were 'a surprisingly new event in history.'
This pattern, he claims, was not limited to wartime but visible in previous peace. The contrast with the primitive Church, which 'fought most tenaciously and heroically' against similar forces, is drawn explicitly. Velimirović does not name exceptions or suggest any church dissented; his evidence is the uniform adoption of state positions across denominations and nations.
Europe's Humiliating Record
The author presents a statistical claim: over the last thousand years, Europe has seen more wars, bloodshed, and criminal unrest than the heathen countries of the Far East—China, Japan, and India. He calls this 'a very humiliating fact, both for the white race and for its religion.' The passage is notable for its directness: Europe, the 'metropolis of Christianity and Christian civilisation,' is where peace was most endangered.
Velimirović uses this to argue that the Church is sick because Europe is sick. He does not offer a remedy in the excerpt, only the necessity of unveiling wounds: 'How can a wounded man be healed unless his wounds are unveiled?' The tone is diagnostic, not prescriptive, and the evidence is historical comparison rather than theological argument.
The Essence Beyond Institutions
In the introductory thoughts, Velimirović distinguishes between churches and the Church. 'Churches may disappear, but The Church never will,' he writes, using an analogy: rivers disappear into the sea, the sea into steam, but water remains. This metaphysical claim frames the entire critique: institutional failures do not negate the essence.
The author acknowledges that official churches have preserved Christ as 'the treasury of the world,' even if they only repeated 'Lord! Lord!' This concession is brief but important—it prevents the critique from becoming total rejection. The tension between the institutional church's servility and the Church's indestructible essence runs through the work, though the excerpts do not show how Velimirović resolves it.
Readers should note that the text is a wartime lecture series, not a systematic theology. Velimirović's evidence is selective—he lists churches on both sides of the conflict but does not examine internal dissent or theological justifications for war. The book's value lies in its stark, uncomfortable questions about the relationship between Christian institutions and national power, posed from an Eastern Orthodox perspective to a Western audience in 1917.
Reading how Velimirović mourned the Church losing its early defiance, I thought of my grandfather’s old pew Bible—its margins filled with quiet notes. That same ache for a purer, untamed faith surfaced years ago in The Religious Life of the Zuñi Child — Context and Discussion, where ritual still breathed with unselfconscious wonder. Both books, in their way, felt like witnessing a slow, holy forgetting.
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