St. John Maximovich, St. Tikhon, and the Western Liturgy: An Orthodox Witness Beyond East and West

By: The Most Rev. George (Parrish), First Hierarch, The Orthodox Mission in the Americas


Introduction

The question of Western Orthodoxy is not, at its heart, a modern innovation or a concession to novelty. Rather, it is an old question, rediscovered in a new setting: how the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church may faithfully receive and sanctify peoples whose historical, cultural, and liturgical inheritance developed in the Latin West, without compromise to dogma, sacramental integrity, or Orthodox phronema. Two towering figures of twentieth-century Orthodoxy—St. Tikhon of Moscow and St. John Maximovich—stand as sober, pastoral, and thoroughly Orthodox witnesses to this question. Their thought and practice offer not merely permission, but a framework: careful, conservative, and missionary, yet deeply rooted in Tradition.

It is fitting to reflect on this legacy in the context of the Orthodox Mission in the Americas, where the Church stands once more at a cultural crossroads. The task before us is not invention, but remembrance—remembering how the Church has always engaged cultures without surrendering the faith once delivered to the saints.


St. Tikhon and the Western Liturgy: Pastoral Prudence, Not Experiment

St. Tikhon, later Patriarch of Moscow and Confessor of the Russian Church, encountered the Western liturgical question not in theory but in pastoral necessity. As bishop in North America at the turn of the twentieth century, he shepherded a flock composed not only of Eastern European immigrants, but also Western Christians—particularly Anglicans—who sought reception into Orthodoxy while retaining a familiar liturgical structure.

St. Tikhon’s response was characteristically Orthodox: cautious, methodical, and obedient to the wider Church. He did not improvise. He studied. He corresponded. He submitted proposals to the Holy Synod in Russia. His now-famous report included a sober assessment of the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, identifying elements incompatible with Orthodox doctrine while also recognizing that much of its structure derived from ancient Western usage predating the Great Schism.

Crucially, St. Tikhon did not argue that Western rites should replace Eastern ones, nor that Orthodoxy needed “Westernization” to survive in America. Instead, he acknowledged a simple historical fact: the Church once worshiped in the West using Western forms. If those forms could be purified of post-schism errors and restored to Orthodox doctrine, there was no theological reason to forbid their use.

The Holy Synod’s response affirmed this principle. It authorized further study and eventual correction of a Western liturgical form suitable for Orthodox use. The result was not the wholesale adoption of Anglican theology, but the careful adaptation of a Western rite, doctrinally Orthodox, sacramentally sound, and episcopally governed.

This is an important point, and one often misunderstood. St. Tikhon’s openness was not driven by ecumenical sentimentality or cultural accommodation. It was driven by missionary realism and historical consciousness. Orthodoxy, he knew, was not geographically Eastern by dogma, but catholic by nature.


St. John Maximovich: The Saint Who Lived the Answer

If St. Tikhon laid the canonical and pastoral groundwork, St. John Maximovich embodied the answer in flesh and blood. Few saints of the modern era so clearly transcend cultural categories. A Russian bishop in exile, a pastor of Chinese, French, Dutch, and American faithful, St. John lived Orthodoxy as a universal reality, not a museum of ethnic customs.

St. John’s attitude toward Western Orthodoxy was neither theoretical nor polemical. It was ecclesial. He knew Western saints. He venerated them. He preached about them. He insisted—sometimes to the discomfort of his contemporaries—that saints of the West prior to the Schism were fully Orthodox saints, belonging to the same Church, confessing the same faith.

This conviction was not antiquarian nostalgia. It shaped his pastoral practice. In Western Europe, St. John actively supported Orthodox communities that made use of restored Western liturgical forms. He did so not as a novelty-seeker, but as a guardian of continuity. To deny the legitimacy of Western Orthodox worship, he believed, was to imply that the Church had somehow ceased to exist in the West long before 1054—a claim no Orthodox theologian could responsibly make.

St. John’s ecclesiology was uncompromising. He rejected doctrinal minimalism, syncretism, and liturgical improvisation. At the same time, he rejected the unspoken assumption that “Orthodox” meant culturally Byzantine by necessity. For him, Orthodoxy was defined by right belief, right worship, and apostolic succession—not by language, vestment style, or musical idiom.

One might say, with a touch of gentle irony, that St. John was far too traditional to be narrow.


Unity of Faith, Diversity of Expression

Taken together, St. Tikhon and St. John offer a coherent Orthodox vision: unity of faith with legitimate diversity of liturgical expression. This is not relativism. It is catholicity.

The Eastern rites themselves bear witness to this principle. The liturgies of St. John Chrysostom, St. Basil, and St. James are not identical, yet all are fully Orthodox. Likewise, ancient Western liturgies—Roman, Gallican, Sarum—developed organically within the same Church before doctrinal rupture. To acknowledge this is not to blur the boundaries of Orthodoxy, but to affirm its historical depth.

Both saints understood something often forgotten in modern debates: liturgy is not merely a text, but a theological ecosystem. When rightly ordered—under a canonical bishop, confessing the Orthodox faith, and embedded in Orthodox ascetic and sacramental life—it forms souls in Orthodoxy. When detached from that ecosystem, even Eastern liturgical forms can become hollow shells.

Thus, the question is not whether a rite is “Eastern” or “Western,” but whether it is Orthodox.


Implications for the Orthodox Mission in the Americas

For the Orthodox Mission in the Americas, this legacy is not academic. It is missionary. America is not Byzantium, nor is it medieval Rus’. It is a land shaped by Western Christianity—Augustinian, Gregorian, Anglican—often distorted by later theological departures, yet still bearing deep liturgical memory.

To offer Orthodoxy here solely as a cultural transplant risks unnecessary barriers. To offer it as a formless, adaptable spirituality risks something far worse: loss of identity. The path charted by St. Tikhon and St. John avoids both errors. It is conservative without being reactionary, missionary without being careless.

Western Orthodoxy, when rightly understood, is not a parallel church, a compromise, or a concession. It is Orthodoxy expressed in a Western key—disciplined by the same dogma, guarded by the same episcopacy, nourished by the same sacraments.

Or, to put it plainly: it is not Orthodoxy with an accent; it is Orthodoxy speaking its native tongue to Western souls.


A Final Word

St. John Maximovich once remarked that the Church is always the same, yet always new to those who encounter her. St. Tikhon acted on that truth with pastoral courage. Together, they remind us that fidelity to Tradition does not require fear of history, nor does missionary zeal require abandonment of principle.

As the Orthodox Mission in the Americas continues its work under  the witness of these saints, who stand as both guardrail and encouragement. The past has already given us the answer. Our task is simply to live it—carefully, prayerfully, and without embarrassment at being fully Orthodox, whether East or West.

Orthodoxy, after all, has always been bigger than geography. And saints, mercifully, tend to know that.

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