Christ is Risen!

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!

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.

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!"

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.