Last night was Pascha. I'm going to make this note quick because frankly I'm enjoying the day too much to blog. I'll do that later.
For those of you who don't know (first timers to this site), last night was Orthodox Easter. I say last night. It was really today (we Orthodox calculate liturgical time like the Jews, from Sundown to Sunup). So we gathered at church at 11:00 at night, 10:00 if we wanted to get a seat, and even then I stood the whole time. The place was packed.
The service starts in relative silence, in a darkened nave with the chanter reciting the Psalms. Then all the lights go out, even the vigil lamps. The priest, with a lone candle, sings "Come take ye light from the Light that is never overtaken by night. Come glorify Christ, risen from the dead!" It is hauntingly beautiful. Then we sing as we light each others candles from that one flame. After that we process around the church. It had been raining, but it stopped long enough for us to march around the church.
After a reading from the shorter ending of Mark we re-entered the church singing, "Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death! And upon those in the tombs bestowing life!" When the entire church is lit and the priests are in their white vestments and everyone is raising their candles together, it looks like the church is sparkling, radiating a heavenly light.
Pascha is the only time we Orthodox get a little Pentecostal. The priests march up and down the church censing and shouting, "Christ is risen!" We respond "He is risen indeed!" Some churches say, "Truly he is risen!" which I have to confess I like better, but no matter. It means the same thing. The priests also "speak in tongues," shouting Christ is risen in as many languages as possible, mostly English, Greek, Arabic, and Russian. But I also heard German – Er ist wahrhaftig aufterstanden! – and what I think was maybe Hawaiian or maybe Aleut. I'll have to ask Fr. Bob when I see him tonight.
After that it is mostly liturgy as usual. The whole thing wrapped up somewhere around 1:30. Then we headed over to the parish hall to have our Pascha Baskets and the food in them blessed. Can you say, "Flesh-meat?" I like to think of the Paschal Feast as an extension of the Eucharist, knitting the Body of Christ together in the fellowship and levity that only forty days of Great Lent, six days of holy week, and about four hours of standing and singing and shouting can bring. Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Holy Unction
I just got back from the service of Holy Unction, where the priest blesses oil, and anoints the faithful, making the sign of the cross on their palms and forehead. The Sacrament of Holy Unction is meant to heal and purify the soul and the body.
Stephanie has the next five days off, and because she is doing the jobs of two-and-a-half people right now (and trying to take care of things before leaving work), she has been working a lot, and I have spent a lot of time flying solo. She wasn't able to make it to the service tonight. Fortunately the kids were wonderful.
George was a little fussy at first, but then he fell asleep and I was able to put him down on my jacket. Kyla was also tired, but she was very "mature" during the service.
Naturally, I was preoccupied with the children, so I couldn't pay as much attention as I might have liked. The service is comprised mostly of a series of Epistle and Gospel readings. At the end, as we approached to receive the oil, the deacons placed the gospel upon our heads, as a sign of the hand of God upon us.
I like the thought of being "touched" by God. Back in my days as a Nazarene that had a very specific meaning. It referred to a kind of heart-warming, spine-tingling experience at the prayer bench. It was a spiritual touch. Spiritual touches are great, I'm sure. But I'm thankful that something getting plopped down upon my head is just as spiritual a touch as any heart-warming experience. It reminds me that, though God is Spirit, God is not opposed to the physical (unless we are Manichean). God touches us through holy things, like the Gospel, and seemingly mundane things made holy, like wine and oil.
Stephanie has the next five days off, and because she is doing the jobs of two-and-a-half people right now (and trying to take care of things before leaving work), she has been working a lot, and I have spent a lot of time flying solo. She wasn't able to make it to the service tonight. Fortunately the kids were wonderful.
George was a little fussy at first, but then he fell asleep and I was able to put him down on my jacket. Kyla was also tired, but she was very "mature" during the service.
Naturally, I was preoccupied with the children, so I couldn't pay as much attention as I might have liked. The service is comprised mostly of a series of Epistle and Gospel readings. At the end, as we approached to receive the oil, the deacons placed the gospel upon our heads, as a sign of the hand of God upon us.
I like the thought of being "touched" by God. Back in my days as a Nazarene that had a very specific meaning. It referred to a kind of heart-warming, spine-tingling experience at the prayer bench. It was a spiritual touch. Spiritual touches are great, I'm sure. But I'm thankful that something getting plopped down upon my head is just as spiritual a touch as any heart-warming experience. It reminds me that, though God is Spirit, God is not opposed to the physical (unless we are Manichean). God touches us through holy things, like the Gospel, and seemingly mundane things made holy, like wine and oil.
Palm Sunday
I know I'm a little behind here. Last Sunday was Palm Sunday. I will be brief, since I don't have a lot of time. At the end of the Divine Liturgy we all took palm fronds (which we had collected at Eucharist) and formed a line outside the church. Our children, carrying candles, processed through the line while we shouted, "Hosanna! Blessed is He that cometh in the name of the Lord!" Okay, most of us just shouted "Hosanna!"
Monday, April 13, 2009
Hectic Lives in Holy Week
I'm just taking a minute to jot out some quick thoughts. I've actually been working on another post for a couple of weeks, but it's been very piecemeal. Our lives have been especially hectic the past few weeks. Last week my son and I were sick. Today it's my daughter. My glasses also broke (so I have taped them, officially achieving uber-nerd status). The new frames came in early last week, but I just haven't been able to go in to get them fixed.
It would be easy for me to get frustrated about this. Actually, I have been frustrated about this. My wife is more 9-5. So when stuff like this happens it usually falls on me, the one with the more flexible schedule, to take care of things on the domestic end. My work tends to go to the back burner at times like these. I get frustrated, but not with my wife; she is putting food on the table, after all. I just get frustrated. Last week was my daughter's spring break, so I had about two hours of dissertation time. I had planned to squeeze in more, but, like I said, we were sick. That was frustrating, too. And last night, as I was looking forward to maybe finishing up a couple of things to get to my adviser this week, and my daughter came out of her room covered in vomit, I was frustrated then too.
To childless folks that my sound harsh. They might think I should look forward to spending quality time with my daughter on her Spring Break, or that I should be more sympathetic when my kids are sick. Actually, I did spend quality time with my Kyla (she went horseback riding for the first time), and I did feel very bad for my kids, and I pray that they get better. Last night I slept on the floor next to my daughter, who was on the couch, so that she wouldn't wake up in the night and get scared, and so I could be there if she got sick again. But I think, for most parents, our sense of love and compassion for our children doesn't take away our stress and anxiety about all the things on our "to do" list. Only crazy people lose their individuality when the doctor hands them their kids. They just take on another role, a dominant role, to be sure, but it doesn't negate the other parts one must play in life. So, we can feel two things at once.
I was frustrated this morning. My wife went to the Presanctified liturgy, while I tried to keep my almost-two-year-old son from bothering my sick little girl. Now, while she is sleeping on the couch and I am taking a moment to type this, I am reminded of what Kathleen Norris said in the Quotidian Mysteries, that even something as seemingly "mundane" as folding laundry can be a spiritual act. I am trying to remember that as I fetch my daughter saltines and tackle the world's largest laundry pile. I'm Orthodox. I should know that a washcloth or a freshly washed pair of pants can become a holy thing when it provides an opportunity for quiet and an occasion for reflection and prayer.
It would be easy for me to get frustrated about this. Actually, I have been frustrated about this. My wife is more 9-5. So when stuff like this happens it usually falls on me, the one with the more flexible schedule, to take care of things on the domestic end. My work tends to go to the back burner at times like these. I get frustrated, but not with my wife; she is putting food on the table, after all. I just get frustrated. Last week was my daughter's spring break, so I had about two hours of dissertation time. I had planned to squeeze in more, but, like I said, we were sick. That was frustrating, too. And last night, as I was looking forward to maybe finishing up a couple of things to get to my adviser this week, and my daughter came out of her room covered in vomit, I was frustrated then too.
To childless folks that my sound harsh. They might think I should look forward to spending quality time with my daughter on her Spring Break, or that I should be more sympathetic when my kids are sick. Actually, I did spend quality time with my Kyla (she went horseback riding for the first time), and I did feel very bad for my kids, and I pray that they get better. Last night I slept on the floor next to my daughter, who was on the couch, so that she wouldn't wake up in the night and get scared, and so I could be there if she got sick again. But I think, for most parents, our sense of love and compassion for our children doesn't take away our stress and anxiety about all the things on our "to do" list. Only crazy people lose their individuality when the doctor hands them their kids. They just take on another role, a dominant role, to be sure, but it doesn't negate the other parts one must play in life. So, we can feel two things at once.
I was frustrated this morning. My wife went to the Presanctified liturgy, while I tried to keep my almost-two-year-old son from bothering my sick little girl. Now, while she is sleeping on the couch and I am taking a moment to type this, I am reminded of what Kathleen Norris said in the Quotidian Mysteries, that even something as seemingly "mundane" as folding laundry can be a spiritual act. I am trying to remember that as I fetch my daughter saltines and tackle the world's largest laundry pile. I'm Orthodox. I should know that a washcloth or a freshly washed pair of pants can become a holy thing when it provides an opportunity for quiet and an occasion for reflection and prayer.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Great Lent is Hard!
Great Lent is supposed to be "easy." We find it hard because our lives are too complicated.
Of course, our lives are complicated, so Lent is hard.
Lent is hard because my children are high-energy. The thought of managing high-energy kids makes me not want to take them to church. I can't really pay attention anyways.
Lent is hard because we work. Stephanie works for "the man." Being an academic, I can be more flexible with my schedule, which is just another way of saying that she works long hours to meet her deadlines, while I help out more here, miss my deadlines, and scramble later to get my work done. Prayer is the first thing to drop off when things get hectic.
Lent is hard because it's so cool. I'm glad my Protestant and Catholic friends give things up for Lent. My Lent is less cool. Self-denial isn't exactly the point (at least not in the same way). This makes Lent hard to talk about.
Lent is hard because I'm really, really tired.
Lent is hard because on nights when I've not been able to get dinner ready ahead of time (see above), it's not like I can just pick something up at Sonic.
I've been reflecting on this post for several days. Letting it sit. Trying to figure out something profound to say at the end of it. Frankly, I've got nothing. The best I can come up with (and it's a lousy answer) is that maybe I've got to think of the difficulty of Lent as a cross to bear. I know that's a really cheap thing to say! It cheapens the cross! When Jesus said, "take up your cross" he wasn't talking about all the busy-ness of life. He was talking about martyrdom.
But I am not a martyr. I am just a busy Christian, and not a very good one at that! So if the only thing I can do to orient my busy-ness Godward is to think of it as a kind of Via Dolorosa...well, that's all I can do. Forgive me.
Of course, our lives are complicated, so Lent is hard.
Lent is hard because my children are high-energy. The thought of managing high-energy kids makes me not want to take them to church. I can't really pay attention anyways.
Lent is hard because we work. Stephanie works for "the man." Being an academic, I can be more flexible with my schedule, which is just another way of saying that she works long hours to meet her deadlines, while I help out more here, miss my deadlines, and scramble later to get my work done. Prayer is the first thing to drop off when things get hectic.
Lent is hard because it's so cool. I'm glad my Protestant and Catholic friends give things up for Lent. My Lent is less cool. Self-denial isn't exactly the point (at least not in the same way). This makes Lent hard to talk about.
Lent is hard because I'm really, really tired.
Lent is hard because on nights when I've not been able to get dinner ready ahead of time (see above), it's not like I can just pick something up at Sonic.
I've been reflecting on this post for several days. Letting it sit. Trying to figure out something profound to say at the end of it. Frankly, I've got nothing. The best I can come up with (and it's a lousy answer) is that maybe I've got to think of the difficulty of Lent as a cross to bear. I know that's a really cheap thing to say! It cheapens the cross! When Jesus said, "take up your cross" he wasn't talking about all the busy-ness of life. He was talking about martyrdom.
But I am not a martyr. I am just a busy Christian, and not a very good one at that! So if the only thing I can do to orient my busy-ness Godward is to think of it as a kind of Via Dolorosa...well, that's all I can do. Forgive me.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Prayer of St Ephraim
O' Lord and Master of my life,
take from me the spirit of sloth,
faint-heartedness,
lust of power,
and idle talk.
But give rather the spirit of chastity,
humility,
patience,
and love to Thy servant.
Yea O' Lord and King
grant me to see my own sins
and not to judge my brother
for Thou art blessed unto ages of ages, Amen.
take from me the spirit of sloth,
faint-heartedness,
lust of power,
and idle talk.
But give rather the spirit of chastity,
humility,
patience,
and love to Thy servant.
Yea O' Lord and King
grant me to see my own sins
and not to judge my brother
for Thou art blessed unto ages of ages, Amen.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Presanctified Gifts are Coming...
So, tonight we are once again going to the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts. I suppose I should explain what that is for the handful of people who actually read this blog, but right now my mind is occupied with thoughts of George throwing his Giraffe (which has lately been called "Jaffy") at the people behind him. I am praying that my kids will be extremely good or extremely asleep. I'll report back later.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
On Lent and Glut
Lent is good for reminding us what we can live without. I was out of town until Saturday night last week. Saturday is grocery day. I do the grocery shopping, which means that the groceries didn't get "shopped." Okay, we did pick up a few essentials on Sunday afternoon, but I did this in a quick five-minute run through Kroger. It wasn't my usual 60 minute trip.
So far, we haven't starved. I made three meals last week. The first was "Dave's Spicy Black Bean Soup" (a secret, much coveted, recipe I came up with myself), Macaroni and Beans, and Lentil Soup. All three are still sitting in our fridge. I'll probably have to swing by Kroger's one more time to get some milk for the kids, but aside from that, it looks like we're set until Saturday. In other words, we've needed a little more than half the groceries we normally do. (As an added bonus, I've spent less time in the kitchen, which is partly the point, I guess.)
Hey! Did anybody notice we're in a recession? We got into this recession for a lot of reasons. One of them was that we thought we needed more than we did, so we spent more than we made. In a consumer-driven economy like ours (was) Lent says, "Don't believe it!" Practicing a little restraint in one area of our lives can have added benefits in other areas, if we reflect on it. Yes, Virginia, you can live without that Plasma TV.
Some of my Protestant friends agree with me that, as a society, we generally need less than we think we need. "Why," they ask, "don't we just live this way all the time? Why do we need a special time of year called Lent to be frugal?" My response is, "How's that working out for you?" We like to talk a good game about restraint, self-control, and moderation, but really most of us are pretty hypocritical about it. There is a wide gap between how we say we should live and how we actually do live (Lent is good for reminding us of that as well). I say 40 days before Easter ain't half bad.
Lent is a school in frugality. The lack of satiety reminds us of our gluttony. Some people can go all year eating beans and rice. I call them monks. The rest of us can live with less only for shorter periods (which is not to say that the monk is necessarily holier than the rest of us; he just lives differently). I am not suggesting that the Orthodox calendar is bulimic, that we live by cycles of binging and purging. The fact is that most of us (middle class Americans) binge all the time. Rather, I would like to think – or at least hope and pray – that the purging we do at Lent makes us binge just a little less the rest of the year.
So far, we haven't starved. I made three meals last week. The first was "Dave's Spicy Black Bean Soup" (a secret, much coveted, recipe I came up with myself), Macaroni and Beans, and Lentil Soup. All three are still sitting in our fridge. I'll probably have to swing by Kroger's one more time to get some milk for the kids, but aside from that, it looks like we're set until Saturday. In other words, we've needed a little more than half the groceries we normally do. (As an added bonus, I've spent less time in the kitchen, which is partly the point, I guess.)
Hey! Did anybody notice we're in a recession? We got into this recession for a lot of reasons. One of them was that we thought we needed more than we did, so we spent more than we made. In a consumer-driven economy like ours (was) Lent says, "Don't believe it!" Practicing a little restraint in one area of our lives can have added benefits in other areas, if we reflect on it. Yes, Virginia, you can live without that Plasma TV.
Some of my Protestant friends agree with me that, as a society, we generally need less than we think we need. "Why," they ask, "don't we just live this way all the time? Why do we need a special time of year called Lent to be frugal?" My response is, "How's that working out for you?" We like to talk a good game about restraint, self-control, and moderation, but really most of us are pretty hypocritical about it. There is a wide gap between how we say we should live and how we actually do live (Lent is good for reminding us of that as well). I say 40 days before Easter ain't half bad.
Lent is a school in frugality. The lack of satiety reminds us of our gluttony. Some people can go all year eating beans and rice. I call them monks. The rest of us can live with less only for shorter periods (which is not to say that the monk is necessarily holier than the rest of us; he just lives differently). I am not suggesting that the Orthodox calendar is bulimic, that we live by cycles of binging and purging. The fact is that most of us (middle class Americans) binge all the time. Rather, I would like to think – or at least hope and pray – that the purging we do at Lent makes us binge just a little less the rest of the year.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
George's Post
This morning George said he wanted to write a post about what he thought about the Presanctified Liturgy last night. He can't type yet, so he's dictating to me. I will use his vocabulary, occasionally explaining his meaning in brackets.
"Last night Daddy picked me up from daycare and took me home. I helped Kyla clean her room. Then I helped Daddy help Kyla with her homework. He would check her reading and I would throw a ball to him.
Then it was time to go pick up Mama from work. She took a long time coming out. I thought I saw her a few times, and, I have to admit, I got pretty upset when I thought I saw her walking away. Then Mama got in the car and we drove to church.
On the way in I saw Fr. Bob blow out the candle [lighting the vigil lamps]. My Daddy had to go potty, but I wouldn't let him go by himself. I went in with him. I tried to get really close to the action, but Daddy kept pushing me away.
Then some people started singing. Daddy brought me and Kyla some colors [coloring books and crayons]. I turned to a page with a doggy on it, scribbled for a few seconds, and announced I was done. Daddy asked if I wanted to color some more. I said No. Then I began exploring our row.
A little later Daddy kept telling Kyla not to talk so loud. He kept saying, 'Whisper, whisper.' Then he took her coloring book away to punish her for not being quiet. That's when Kyla got REALLY loud. Daddy had to take her out of church with his hand over her mouth. She looked a little like my Jaff [Giraffe]. His neck doesn't have any stuffing left, so he bends over backwards a lot.
Naturally, I got upset when I saw Daddy leaving. So I started screaming too. Daddy saw me after he got done talking to Kyla. Then we all went back into church.
I still didn't want to color. I found a little stand with about four Jesuses [icons] on it. The walls in church slant in. So there was room behind it for me to hide. I started hiding from Daddy. It was funny! But Daddy didn't seem to want to play.
Then I discovered that the stand made noise when you kicked it! It was so loud and funny! Daddy wanted to play after that! He chased me for a little bit.
When he put me back in the row I decided to push Jaff through one of the seats, walk around the row, pick it up, and do it again. Then I started walking around, doing circles, in the middle of the church. Daddy says we aren't supposed to play there because that's where the altar is. But I did it anyway.
After a while, just pushing Jaff through the chair wasn't fun. It's more fun to throw him. I threw Jaff so far! He landed at the feet of the lady behind us. When Daddy went to get it, I decided to play chase again. A strange man with glasses tried to pick me up, but I ran away. Daddy caught me and put me back in our row. I stayed there for a minute, then threw Jaff again.
Daddy took me to the back of the church after this. He called it the Narthex. I thought it was kind of neat. First I tried to play with the sand that held the candles. Then I tried to walk up the stairs a few times. Then I hit the wall.
Daddy looked tired. He tried to show me a few icons, but I wasn't interested. I told him who Jesus and Mary were just to humor him. Sometimes I call Jesus Mary, just to mess with him.
I decided a few times that I wanted to go back in church, but Daddy wouldn't let me. Meanie!
When we went back into church Daddy told me it was almost time for Eucharist.
Then Kyla said she really had to go to the bathroom.
After I took Eucharist I wanted to get the bread that the big kids always hold in the bowls. But there was none! 'BREAD! BREAD!' I screamed.
Daddy took me in the back again. But I wanted Mama, too! So I screamed louder! Mommy didn't hear me. Daddy took me back into church and Mama held me.
Then church was done. We went to have supper. Daddy got me a plate of sketti [spaghetti], fruit, bread, and peanut butter and jelly. I took a bite of the sketti and said I didn't like it. (I really do like it, but I wanted to mess with him). Mama gave me some milk. Then I took a couple bites of the sandwich. I'd never had peanut butter before, but I decided I didn't want that either. I ripped the bread in half and licked the butter a little. Daddy kept trying to get me to eat the fruit salad. He wanted me to try something he called a 'Mango.' But I knew I wouldn't like it, so I refused. Then daddy got me some lemonade (I had finished my milk). I drank that too. I said I wanted down, but Mama and Daddy weren't done yet. So Mama gave me a piece of chocolate. Success! My plan worked!
I don't remember much of what happened after that. I have some scattered memories of being put into the crib and helped out of my coat. I do remember crying at night. I had a very wet diaper! All the lemonade I guess. Daddy mumbled something about '1:00 in the morning'. He wasn't in a good mood. But I got some milk. I won't go back to sleep without milk. Good thing too! Because I was so hungry!"
"Last night Daddy picked me up from daycare and took me home. I helped Kyla clean her room. Then I helped Daddy help Kyla with her homework. He would check her reading and I would throw a ball to him.
Then it was time to go pick up Mama from work. She took a long time coming out. I thought I saw her a few times, and, I have to admit, I got pretty upset when I thought I saw her walking away. Then Mama got in the car and we drove to church.
On the way in I saw Fr. Bob blow out the candle [lighting the vigil lamps]. My Daddy had to go potty, but I wouldn't let him go by himself. I went in with him. I tried to get really close to the action, but Daddy kept pushing me away.
Then some people started singing. Daddy brought me and Kyla some colors [coloring books and crayons]. I turned to a page with a doggy on it, scribbled for a few seconds, and announced I was done. Daddy asked if I wanted to color some more. I said No. Then I began exploring our row.
A little later Daddy kept telling Kyla not to talk so loud. He kept saying, 'Whisper, whisper.' Then he took her coloring book away to punish her for not being quiet. That's when Kyla got REALLY loud. Daddy had to take her out of church with his hand over her mouth. She looked a little like my Jaff [Giraffe]. His neck doesn't have any stuffing left, so he bends over backwards a lot.
Naturally, I got upset when I saw Daddy leaving. So I started screaming too. Daddy saw me after he got done talking to Kyla. Then we all went back into church.
I still didn't want to color. I found a little stand with about four Jesuses [icons] on it. The walls in church slant in. So there was room behind it for me to hide. I started hiding from Daddy. It was funny! But Daddy didn't seem to want to play.
Then I discovered that the stand made noise when you kicked it! It was so loud and funny! Daddy wanted to play after that! He chased me for a little bit.
When he put me back in the row I decided to push Jaff through one of the seats, walk around the row, pick it up, and do it again. Then I started walking around, doing circles, in the middle of the church. Daddy says we aren't supposed to play there because that's where the altar is. But I did it anyway.
After a while, just pushing Jaff through the chair wasn't fun. It's more fun to throw him. I threw Jaff so far! He landed at the feet of the lady behind us. When Daddy went to get it, I decided to play chase again. A strange man with glasses tried to pick me up, but I ran away. Daddy caught me and put me back in our row. I stayed there for a minute, then threw Jaff again.
Daddy took me to the back of the church after this. He called it the Narthex. I thought it was kind of neat. First I tried to play with the sand that held the candles. Then I tried to walk up the stairs a few times. Then I hit the wall.
Daddy looked tired. He tried to show me a few icons, but I wasn't interested. I told him who Jesus and Mary were just to humor him. Sometimes I call Jesus Mary, just to mess with him.
I decided a few times that I wanted to go back in church, but Daddy wouldn't let me. Meanie!
When we went back into church Daddy told me it was almost time for Eucharist.
Then Kyla said she really had to go to the bathroom.
After I took Eucharist I wanted to get the bread that the big kids always hold in the bowls. But there was none! 'BREAD! BREAD!' I screamed.
Daddy took me in the back again. But I wanted Mama, too! So I screamed louder! Mommy didn't hear me. Daddy took me back into church and Mama held me.
Then church was done. We went to have supper. Daddy got me a plate of sketti [spaghetti], fruit, bread, and peanut butter and jelly. I took a bite of the sketti and said I didn't like it. (I really do like it, but I wanted to mess with him). Mama gave me some milk. Then I took a couple bites of the sandwich. I'd never had peanut butter before, but I decided I didn't want that either. I ripped the bread in half and licked the butter a little. Daddy kept trying to get me to eat the fruit salad. He wanted me to try something he called a 'Mango.' But I knew I wouldn't like it, so I refused. Then daddy got me some lemonade (I had finished my milk). I drank that too. I said I wanted down, but Mama and Daddy weren't done yet. So Mama gave me a piece of chocolate. Success! My plan worked!
I don't remember much of what happened after that. I have some scattered memories of being put into the crib and helped out of my coat. I do remember crying at night. I had a very wet diaper! All the lemonade I guess. Daddy mumbled something about '1:00 in the morning'. He wasn't in a good mood. But I got some milk. I won't go back to sleep without milk. Good thing too! Because I was so hungry!"
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Forgiveness Vespers
I have never celebrated Ash Wednesday. When I was a Protestant, my church rejected Lent and all its trappings as too "Catholic" (anything remotely Roman was bad in my old church). Ash Wednesday was ignored. It seems like a beautiful ritual, being marked as a follower of Christ with a sign on the forehead, and one reminiscent of the seal placed on the forehead at one's baptism, to boot! Still, the emphasis that gets placed on personal sins – and the understanding of Lent as a time of penance before Easter – makes me worry that Ash Wednesday might feed into my legalistic compulsions.
As an outsider, I'm hardly equipped to say that Forgiveness Vespers is a "more beautiful" way of entering into Great Lent. I'm not even sure what such a statement might mean. Instead, I will only say that Forgiveness Vespers is beautiful.
The Forgiveness part of Forgiveness Vespers is tacked onto the end of a more or less regular Vespers service. The colors of the church are changed to purple. Then priests and deacons, standing on the ambo (platform) bow, make the sign of the cross, ask forgiveness of each other, and embrace. "Forgive me, a sinner," one says. "I forgive and God forgives" is the reply. This is followed by the clergy's families, then the rest of the faithful.
The church lines up and repeats this little ceremony. Moving from the front rows to the back, the faithful form a line of forgiveness that gradually wraps its way around the church, until everybody has exchanged forgiveness with everyone else.
The hardest thing, at least for me, about Forgiveness Vespers is not mumbling words about forgiveness or hugging people I barely know – or sometimes don't know at all! The hardest part is looking someone in the eye when I ask for forgiveness. Where I come from, looking someone in the eye means that I have to mean what I say. And, frankly, its a lot easier just to go through the motions and pretend I've wronged someone than to admit to myself that I've really sinned, that I harbored bitterness in my heart toward my sister, that I judged my brother, or that I gossiped about someone else's sins and made excuses for my own.
Not that Forgiveness Vespers make me feel especially guilty! Far from it! It makes me feel honest, which I suppose is exactly what it is supposed to do. After all, Great Lent is not exactly about sorrowing over our shortcomings while wearing sackcloth and sitting in a pile of ash (not that there's anything wrong with that). Great Lent is about confronting the dark sides of ourselves – the sides that we like to keep in the shadows and pretend aren't there – to hold our sins and our shortcomings up before our Heavenly Father, and, with the help of Divine Grace, to overcome them (even if we fail to do that most of the time).
Forgive me, a sinner.
As an outsider, I'm hardly equipped to say that Forgiveness Vespers is a "more beautiful" way of entering into Great Lent. I'm not even sure what such a statement might mean. Instead, I will only say that Forgiveness Vespers is beautiful.
The Forgiveness part of Forgiveness Vespers is tacked onto the end of a more or less regular Vespers service. The colors of the church are changed to purple. Then priests and deacons, standing on the ambo (platform) bow, make the sign of the cross, ask forgiveness of each other, and embrace. "Forgive me, a sinner," one says. "I forgive and God forgives" is the reply. This is followed by the clergy's families, then the rest of the faithful.
The church lines up and repeats this little ceremony. Moving from the front rows to the back, the faithful form a line of forgiveness that gradually wraps its way around the church, until everybody has exchanged forgiveness with everyone else.
The hardest thing, at least for me, about Forgiveness Vespers is not mumbling words about forgiveness or hugging people I barely know – or sometimes don't know at all! The hardest part is looking someone in the eye when I ask for forgiveness. Where I come from, looking someone in the eye means that I have to mean what I say. And, frankly, its a lot easier just to go through the motions and pretend I've wronged someone than to admit to myself that I've really sinned, that I harbored bitterness in my heart toward my sister, that I judged my brother, or that I gossiped about someone else's sins and made excuses for my own.
Not that Forgiveness Vespers make me feel especially guilty! Far from it! It makes me feel honest, which I suppose is exactly what it is supposed to do. After all, Great Lent is not exactly about sorrowing over our shortcomings while wearing sackcloth and sitting in a pile of ash (not that there's anything wrong with that). Great Lent is about confronting the dark sides of ourselves – the sides that we like to keep in the shadows and pretend aren't there – to hold our sins and our shortcomings up before our Heavenly Father, and, with the help of Divine Grace, to overcome them (even if we fail to do that most of the time).
Forgive me, a sinner.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Goals for Lent
When I say that I have a couple of goals to meet during Lent, you can rest assured that – sinner that I am – I will fail to meet them. But the point of this blog is to help me be accountable during Great Lent. The struggle is more important than the victory.
My first goal is a pared down version of one of my lifetime goals. I have a dream of being a decrepit old man, standing on the hillside of my coffee plantation/vineyard/brewery/zombie-impregnable-fortress, and greeting the sunrise by reciting the Psalter. But for now, Psalm 50 is a good place to start: "Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy great mercy: according to the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out mine iniquity..." I pledge to pray this daily and to have it memorized before Pascha.
The second goal is harder. I have been thinking about the fast by reading the Prophet Isaiah, who wrote, "Is this not the fast that I choose...to share your bread with the hungry, and to bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked to cover him, and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?" (Is. 58.6-7, RSV). The angel who spoke to the Pastor of Hermas said something similar: It's not a fast if I keep my excess. What is not spent on food must be shared with the poor. Like many families during Lent I drop my extra change into a money box that goes to a fund established by our archdiocese. Let me be brutally honest, the nice thing about doing things this way is that I don't actually have to be near the poor. I don't have to touch them or smell them or ask their names. I can simply send in my disembodied cash. Keeping poverty at a distance protects me from confronting my own year-round excess. It allows me to be comfortable in my middle-class lifestyle. Of course, this is wrong. So this year, along with dropping change into my little box, I'm going to take half of my weekly spending money and find a way to give it to a person with a face. There tend to be some homeless hanging around Vanderbilt. My goal, in all of this, is not simply to give money (which I know a lot of you probably think I shouldn't do, but I prefer not to presume that I know what is best for somebody else; I would rather give in faith and hope). I also want to give a little dignity.
My friend Doug introduced me to this concept a few years ago. When people stopped him and asked for money, he would stop and ask for their names. Sometimes he gave a little change. Sometimes he didn't have any change to give. But every time I've seen him do it I saw a little light appear in the eyes of the person he spoke to. Begging has to be humiliating. Sometimes it is good to remind the homeless that they have dignity, that they too are made in the image of God. Asking for a name is a good way to do that.
Last year my goal was to attend more services. My "record" is going to be a little lower this time around. It was easy to attend the Presanctified Liturgy when I could rock George to sleep, but right now he's at the age where as soon as he gets into church all he wants to do is knock over icons and play with the vigil lamps. So I will attend as many services as I can with him. (Stephanie and I may tag-team, who knows?) In the meantime, these two goals are a good place for me to begin to journey with Christ to Jerusalem.
My first goal is a pared down version of one of my lifetime goals. I have a dream of being a decrepit old man, standing on the hillside of my coffee plantation/vineyard/brewery/zombie-impregnable-fortress, and greeting the sunrise by reciting the Psalter. But for now, Psalm 50 is a good place to start: "Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy great mercy: according to the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out mine iniquity..." I pledge to pray this daily and to have it memorized before Pascha.
The second goal is harder. I have been thinking about the fast by reading the Prophet Isaiah, who wrote, "Is this not the fast that I choose...to share your bread with the hungry, and to bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked to cover him, and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?" (Is. 58.6-7, RSV). The angel who spoke to the Pastor of Hermas said something similar: It's not a fast if I keep my excess. What is not spent on food must be shared with the poor. Like many families during Lent I drop my extra change into a money box that goes to a fund established by our archdiocese. Let me be brutally honest, the nice thing about doing things this way is that I don't actually have to be near the poor. I don't have to touch them or smell them or ask their names. I can simply send in my disembodied cash. Keeping poverty at a distance protects me from confronting my own year-round excess. It allows me to be comfortable in my middle-class lifestyle. Of course, this is wrong. So this year, along with dropping change into my little box, I'm going to take half of my weekly spending money and find a way to give it to a person with a face. There tend to be some homeless hanging around Vanderbilt. My goal, in all of this, is not simply to give money (which I know a lot of you probably think I shouldn't do, but I prefer not to presume that I know what is best for somebody else; I would rather give in faith and hope). I also want to give a little dignity.
My friend Doug introduced me to this concept a few years ago. When people stopped him and asked for money, he would stop and ask for their names. Sometimes he gave a little change. Sometimes he didn't have any change to give. But every time I've seen him do it I saw a little light appear in the eyes of the person he spoke to. Begging has to be humiliating. Sometimes it is good to remind the homeless that they have dignity, that they too are made in the image of God. Asking for a name is a good way to do that.
Last year my goal was to attend more services. My "record" is going to be a little lower this time around. It was easy to attend the Presanctified Liturgy when I could rock George to sleep, but right now he's at the age where as soon as he gets into church all he wants to do is knock over icons and play with the vigil lamps. So I will attend as many services as I can with him. (Stephanie and I may tag-team, who knows?) In the meantime, these two goals are a good place for me to begin to journey with Christ to Jerusalem.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Great Lent is about to Begin
If you are new to this blog, you should know that I use it as a public journal of my experiences during Great Lent. I do it because I am weak, and without some kind of public accountability I will find all sorts of reasons to be spiritually lazy.
Great Lent begins on March 2 (or March 1, depending on how you are keeping time). In Orthodoxy, if we are going to do anything, we are going to overdo it! So just as Great Lent prepares us for Pascha, a lot of what happens this month prepares us for Great Lent. This Sunday is the Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee. Next week is the Sunday of the Prodigal Son. After that the Sunday of the Last Judgment. Are you seeing a theme here? The Church is helping us repent. We do not enter Lent by being sorry for our sins and simply begging forgiveness from them. Ash Wednesday is a beautiful thing, but there is no comparison to it in Orthodoxy. The stress, in our Church, is on repentance – metanoia – turning around and (like the prodigal son) heading in a different direction. Great Lent is a contest between us and our sinfulness. We struggle and pray so that, by God's grace, we might overcome them.
That is also why we fast. We do not fast so that God may see us, sitting in sackcloth and ashes, and have mercy on us (may God, indeed, have mercy on us!). We fast because, as Church fathers from St Gregory of Nyssa to St John Chrysostom to St Augustine have known, the desire to eat and the desire to sin are not fundamentally different. I am not saying that eating is sinning. I am saying that overcoming one kind of desire helps us overcome another kind of less-healthy desire (besides, let's be honest; most of us eat too much anyways). We have an appetite for sin just as we have an appetite for too much, or too fancy, food. When our stomachs grumble in church we ignore it, and pray a little louder. Likewise, when our habitual sins press themselves upon our souls, our reaction should be no different. We ignore them, and we pray a little louder.
Great Lent begins on March 2 (or March 1, depending on how you are keeping time). In Orthodoxy, if we are going to do anything, we are going to overdo it! So just as Great Lent prepares us for Pascha, a lot of what happens this month prepares us for Great Lent. This Sunday is the Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee. Next week is the Sunday of the Prodigal Son. After that the Sunday of the Last Judgment. Are you seeing a theme here? The Church is helping us repent. We do not enter Lent by being sorry for our sins and simply begging forgiveness from them. Ash Wednesday is a beautiful thing, but there is no comparison to it in Orthodoxy. The stress, in our Church, is on repentance – metanoia – turning around and (like the prodigal son) heading in a different direction. Great Lent is a contest between us and our sinfulness. We struggle and pray so that, by God's grace, we might overcome them.
That is also why we fast. We do not fast so that God may see us, sitting in sackcloth and ashes, and have mercy on us (may God, indeed, have mercy on us!). We fast because, as Church fathers from St Gregory of Nyssa to St John Chrysostom to St Augustine have known, the desire to eat and the desire to sin are not fundamentally different. I am not saying that eating is sinning. I am saying that overcoming one kind of desire helps us overcome another kind of less-healthy desire (besides, let's be honest; most of us eat too much anyways). We have an appetite for sin just as we have an appetite for too much, or too fancy, food. When our stomachs grumble in church we ignore it, and pray a little louder. Likewise, when our habitual sins press themselves upon our souls, our reaction should be no different. We ignore them, and we pray a little louder.
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