“Behold, I will create new heavens and a new earth; the former things will not be remembered, nor will they come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I will create, for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight and its people a joy.” (Isaiah 65:17–18)
I read this verse recently, and it gave me a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, especially the part that says, “the former things will not be remembered.” I am not worried about forgetting the hype of GTA 6 or how I felt watching the Avengers. What I fear most is forgetting those I love.
My great-grandmother passed away from Alzheimer’s disease, and by the end she had forgotten all of her loved ones. I watched her regress into childhood, remembering people who had died long ago but not those standing right in front of her. Occasionally, she would have moments of clarity, but they passed as quickly as they came. I do not want to look at my wife or my children and not know who they are.
At first glance, this verse seems to say that we will not remember the former things of this life. But what does that include? Does it include the unsaved? And who are the unsaved, those outside the Church? Will I see my father again? Questions like these immediately flood my mind.
Unlike what my previous church taught, Christian Orthodoxy, through its 2,000 years of tradition, teaches that salvation is an ongoing process, one that can be lost. It is not simply accepting Christ and then living however we please. That would be easy, and being a Christian is neither easy nor meant to be. The struggle against our passions is what shows Christ that we desire to be with Him. Through that struggle, we are purified for eternal life.
I love my family deeply. The idea of forgetting any of them weighs heavily on me, especially because I know how difficult the Christian life is, and I cannot predict how their struggles will unfold. All I can do is pray for them and trust in God’s infinite mercy and His will.
And there is always hope.
I see that hope in my sister. I cannot say with certainty what she once believed. At times, it seemed like she believed in God but was angry with Him. Other times, she claimed not to care, or denied religion altogether. At best, she was agnostic; at worst, atheist.
One day, she came with us to watch Man of God, the film about St. Nektarios. I cried, and she may have as well, but what I do know is that it moved her. A seed was planted in her heart. And God, the great gardener, cultivated it.
She is now inquiring into the Church, with the hope of being baptized as Nektaria. Someone who once seemed firmly opposed to God has had her heart transformed.
I see that same hope in my wife. When I began attending my parish in 2018, she was skeptical. She thought it was just another one of my “phases.” Having been forced to attend church as a child, she wanted nothing to do with it.
I asked my priest how I could help her convert. He told me to leave her alone and simply live faithfully as an Orthodox Christian, trusting that God would work in her heart.
Over time, things began to change.
Our son was born, and he started attending with me. Then he and I were baptized. Eventually, she began coming along as well. Later, our daughters were born and were baptized. She started taking an interest in head coverings. She began waking me up for church. What was once difficult became natural.
Now we listen together to Fr. Josiah Trenham’s catechesis.
God has already shown me that my priest was right. This same hope extends to the rest of my loved ones. I pray for my mother, my grandmother, and my in-laws, and I trust that God is working in ways I cannot see.
But what about those who have already passed outside the Church?
The Orthodox Church teaches Extra Ecclesiam Nulla Salus, or “outside the Church there is no salvation.” Taken rigidly, this could lead to fear for those like my father, who never knew Orthodoxy, as well as for my uncles, my grandparents, and my ancestors.
But Orthodoxy is not legalistic in this way.
The phrase is better understood as “outside the Church there is no safety.” It tells us where salvation is found, not where it is impossible. God is not bound by our understanding. He saves whom He wills.
This perspective avoids treating God as juridically constrained. Instead, it affirms that the Church is the secure path of healing and union with Him, while still leaving room for His mercy beyond visible boundaries.
Those outside the Church are not automatically condemned, but they lack the fullness of truth, sacrament, and healing. That is why we pray for them, that they might receive God’s infinite mercy.
It is this faith in God’s mercy that gives me hope, hope that I will see my father again, and all those I love.
So, while I may still feel that fear from time to time, the fear of forgetting, I can rest in this:
In Paradise, those I love are not lost, and they are not forgotten.
Kevin Brownfield 
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