By Metropolitan Nektarios of Hong Kong
The so-called “prophecies” that circulate from time to time in Orthodox circles — about great wars, the recapture of Constantinople, the “partition” of states, and spectacular geopolitical upheavals — have a strange endurance over time. They reappear almost inevitably whenever the world is afraid: during wars, in periods of national tension, in economic crises, and even whenever social media discovers a new “publication” with a heavy title and a dramatic promise.
The question, however, is not simply whether some of these “will come true.” The essential issue is whether this kind of discourse belongs to the mind of the Church or whether, on the contrary, it distorts the faith and turns it into a tool of fear and political fantasy.
After the Fall of Constantinople (1453) the subjugated Greek world lived through trauma, loss, and long humiliation. In such circumstances societies generate consoling narratives: “one day justice will come,” “God will restore everything,” “history will take its revenge.” This is not something unique to the Orthodox. History shows that apocalyptic scenarios and eschatological expectations flourish in times of crisis because they give meaning to chaos and transform fear into certainty.
On this soil the prophetic and oracular texts attributed to ancient “prophets” or revered figures also developed. Agathangelos is the most well-known example of this genre: a text that functioned as a religious-national hope, multiplied in manuscripts and editions, and was adapted according to the needs of each era. Printing in earlier centuries — and social media today — made the recycling of such narratives even easier: the historical context is removed, “clarifications” are added, new “details” appear, and eventually the text ends up resembling a news bulletin about the future.
Many of these writings belong to a well-known historical phenomenon: “prophecies after the fact” (vaticinia ex eventu). In other words, they are written or expanded after certain events have already occurred and are then attributed to an earlier authority in order to gain credibility. This explains why they often “predict” developments that already seemed likely and why they fail in the details — which are later corrected with new versions.
Moreover, a recurring “technique” appears: anonymous sources (“an elder said”), quotations without context, vague dates, and language that relies heavily on emotional effect. Instead of leading to repentance, humility, and peace, they often produce anxiety, hostility, and even the idea of a “divine legitimization” for national ambitions. Here lies the theological problem.
Holy Scripture indeed speaks about the “last things” and warns that upheavals will come. Yet its purpose is not to feed curiosity or provide codes for geopolitics. Christ Himself warns about deception and false messiahs and calls for vigilance, without giving His disciples a calendar of events (cf. Matthew 24). The experience of the Church also places enormous emphasis on discernment: the prophetic gift is one thing — a call to repentance — while apocalyptic speculation that claims to “explain everything” with flattering certainties is another.
In simple terms: Orthodoxy is not a religion founded on national restorations or historical revenge. It is a way of life in Christ. When faith is transformed into a mechanism of prediction or a vehicle for hostility, it loses its center.
The Church, as a body that lives from the Gospel and the liturgical experience, does not take anonymous pamphlets or online “revelations” as its teaching. Pastoral practice is clear: the mind should not be fed with rumors; political analysis should not be elevated to “divine revelation”; superstition and obsession with signs and scenarios should be avoided. The Church speaks with sobriety. It calls for prayer, peace, repentance, and respect for truth — not for agitation or national messianism.
A believer does not need to become a “hunter of false prophecies,” nor should he mock those who are afraid. But he does need discernment:
Is the source identifiable and verifiable — or anonymous?
Does it bear the fruit of peace and repentance — or fear and hatred?
Does it accord with the spirit of the Gospel — or does it stir up passions?
Does it show a desire for truth — or merely offer certainties that flatter our ideology?
The hope of the Church is not the “return of the City” as a religious trophy. Its hope is Christ. And if there is anything worth “prophesying” — through our lives — it is the possibility that people can repent, be reconciled, and become a bearer of peace in a world that is so easily swept away by panic.
Source: Translated by John Sanidopoulos.
