Tears Burning like a River of Fire

There is much that came to mind when I read the close of Kalomiris’s “River of Fire”. Mostly what sticks is the sense of God’s unrequited love for so many of us, and how in turn we seem to experience something similar in so many of our fractured marriages and families. Some measure of this disappointment may stem less from an act of will than perhaps from the simple fact that so often love speeds ahead of friendship through lust or through matter-of-fact birth, and the assumed catch-up fundamental to maturity seldom receives the priority it should: We’re just too busy.

So whenever the day comes when we find ourselves confronted with a lull in the lovefest, we communicate more haphazardly if at all. And all a little chaos needs to end badly is a little momentum, the sort that unguarded conversations seem to find as readily as water flows down a hill. It is here where congratulating ourselves on “how easy it’s been” soon finds us wondering why or whether in fact we dodged out on “the sweat of our brow thing”. Maybe we’ve avoided what needed doing, maybe we’ve just deferred it, or maybe it was just skipped over as we rolled along happily assuming time together covered all the bases.

As a wag once observed there’s a difference between experience (time spent together) that’s all the same – even if good, and experience that winds progressively towards a goal – though both may objectively appear the same. Our babies and those of others we’ve married just aren’t once-and-for all delivered; nor are we. And change happens. Even where we have the best of starts, these are only starts. There’s just so much more that’s supposed to follow on to help us find what our values are, and whether in fact we value each other.

Wish I knew the answer, but I’m not even sure I have the question. I am equally as unaware of the work I’ve done as I am of the work I’ve left undone.  Tend to discover these on the fly. And the puzzle of Maslow’s theory of utility continues to rear it’s head: What works well and develops well at one point just can’t be relied on to work always. Other needs and solutions come along and need feeding as well. Some of us get comfortable sticking with what works, and if it stops, maybe “it’s just a phase”. So we keep hitting on the same nail with the same hammer. And if maybe in a moment of inspiration we decide the time has come to adjust our tolerances, widen allowances for one or the other, maybe it’s a good thing to allow room to breathe and discover where we are – at least as long as we continue to define ourselves as together in some fashion. This fashion is clear-cut with our spouses (I hope), but more ambiguous for our kids who are no doubt on their way to full-fledged independence, but often equally anxious about it.

The problem is that these things are two-sided, and both of us can be so busy working each other’s variables with good intent that one zigs while the other zags. Granting freedom can seem like not caring, and granting latitude can seem like disinterest… when in fact this is so far from the truth and the focus indeed lies in discovering what makes the other happy. Evidently, there’s no risk-free solution and a light but constant touch on the tiller is probably the best. And that’s just some of the difficulties where the interest converge… where they don’t… Lord have mercy.

So there is much joy whenever these momentary fractures surface and are healed in a new and healthier place. Sure they will break again… it’s the course of life, but clarification of a heart’s intent is worth much rejoicing… for it endures. And it gives confidence that no matter what comes next… for there is always a next time… whatever’s next may present a pause, but not an impediment.

Thus this closing excerpt  from the “River of Fire” paints a picture that to me seems one of great pain – where love remains unrequited and there is no second chance. We’re fairly warned.

“Depart from Me, ye cursed, into the everlasting inner fire of hatred, saith the Lord, because I was thirsty for your love and you did not give it to Me, I was hungry for your blessedness and you did not offer it to Me; I was imprisoned in My human nature and you did not come to visit Me in My church; you are free to go where your wicked desire wishes, away from Me, in the torturing hatred of your hearts which is foreign to My loving heart which knows no hatred for anyone. Depart freely from love to everlasting torture of hate, unknown and foreign to Me and to those who are with Me, but prepared by freedom for the devil, from the days I created My free, rational creatures. But wherever you go in the darkness of your hating hearts, My love will follow you like a river of fire, because no matter what your heart has chosen, you are and you will eternally continue to be, My children.”

Hold that foolish thought

This blog is as much a place marker for thoughts I’d rather not lose… some mine, more those of others… as it is a place to develop and share thoughts.  Thoughts fleet in and out and its a wonder anything gets thought long enough to amount to anything more than nonsense… but in truth, I wonder that nonsense doesn’t have its merits, too.

Fact is that nonsense is vastly under-rated as a spiritual guide. It may not be terribly advanced, and maybe it won’t get us very far. But given the rudimentary place on the ladder,  where most of us find our feet remain firmly planted… unmoving on the ground level… maybe as a relief from taking ourselves far too seriously, as an escape from our insistence on being right… nonsense could at least help keep us from more serious mischief.

Nonsense can yield a touch of humorous detachment, offer a nod in the direction of humility, and lead to softening of our crusted outer shells.  This may be all there is for most of us… as I’d guess most will likely separate shortly afterwards into those who advance toward serious sanctity… or those who follow after the Holy Fools. Then again there’s that group  stuck at the beginning that …well, let’s be gracious and say they just haven’t made up their minds yet.

So as I think of it…  if we can’t swing Path A… and the risks standing pat aren’t looking so hot… then there’s only Path B. But we’ve got a serious lack of guidance here. My guess would be that  none of the Holy Fools recorded their wit and wisdom in writing. Definite strike one against Path B. Maybe it defeats the exercise, brings the faithful streaming to one’s doors, fame goes to the head, and first thing y’know… bang… you’re back at “Go” – only you don’t collect $200, the halo or the whole bit. So whatever it is they’re smoking… my guess it stays a secret. And their “it’s not quite a prayer rule”… but something more like a jokester rule…  the Wit and Wisdom of St. What’s-His-Name… inevitably remains a secret lost to humility.

And it’d be my guess is we won’t catch these guys doing stand-up on cable either. And that’s at least a foul ball for Path B as the road less travelled… as we can’t possibly learn their moves, much less send in Babawa Wawa to ask what sort of twee they could be if only they could. I think it’s a crime against humanity though I’m sure many would call it a blessing, because… well.. I’m pretty sure they’d take that question as likely the only one that wouldn’t mess with their gig. And oddly enough it’s this sort of thinking that brings to mind the possibility that of course Ms. Walters is in fact the greatest Holy Fool of all time… and that’s Strike Two…  how do you tell the difference between a Holy Fool and a Just Plain Fool… or is this itself a trick question, part of the discernment, and it-takes-a-saint-to-know-a-saint bit? I mean, if you’ll forgive the reference, as Elder Groucho of Beloved Memory once put it, “He may look like an idiot and talk like an idiot, but don’t let that fool you: He really is an idiot.”

But there’s also other corollary issues with this hidden path… I mean is it only for one guy, the path is subsequently lost to the rest of us… then where’s the good news in that? Where’s the evangelism? Maybe it’s part of the edge in saintly humor and nonsense… or maybe there’s just some real risks in this. And maybe for every Fr. Anatoly (The Island / Ostrov) that survives or is recognized and glorified, far more are martyred by their friends and family who just reach the point… like in “Network” where they just can’t take it any more… before they “make it”.  I’m not sure this is dying for your faith so much as “getting died” (as my kids used to say) because you’re… well… I can only call it like I see it : “Because you’re… you’re like so annoying, man.”And that could be the third and final strike against the program… leaving me with the unpalatable hard work of Path A… or back at “Go” waiting for a better option.

But maybe that’s the ultimate in nonsense: Dying for what seems like nothing… to all but a few. Maybe that’s the point and the text of Holy Fooldom. Whatever it is… perhaps there is thus far more to nonsense than we understand: The sense in Nonsense is  “non”.

Anyway… that aside, what I really wanted to do was clip and save something seen a while back on Isabella’s excellent blog that she found on Joseph Patterson’s Mind in the Heart blog.

You cannot be too gentle, too kind.

Shun even to appear harsh in your treatment of each other.

Joy, radiant joy, streams from the face of him who gives and kindles joy in the heart of him who receives.

All condemnation is from the devil.

Never condemn each other.

We condemn others only because we shun knowing ourselves.

When we gaze at our own failings, we see such a swamp that nothing in another can equal it.

That is why we turn away, and make much of the faults of others.

Instead of condemning others, strive to reach inner peace.

Keep silent, refrain from judgment.

This will raise you above the deadly arrows of slander, insult and outrage and will shield your glowing hearts against all evil.

- St Seraphim of Sarov

Fr. Stephen on Fr. Mel

Fr. Stephen Freeman, one of the more prolific and excellent Orthodox bloggers wrote on an excerpt from Fr. Mel’s “Bread and Water, Wine and Oil”. As a fan of both authors, I recommend the post though I would add that often Fr. Mel makes the distinction between “being right” and “being righteous” more clear to those of us slow on the uptake by emphasizing the call “to be good, rather than right”. In this, Fr. Stephen’s insight lies not just in the selected text, but also in the response to a reader’s comment where he differentiates nicely some of the characteristics of Orthodox conversion:

My experience, particularly with mature, Orthodox Christians, including a fair number of hierarchs, is of a profound humility in the face of the truth. From outside, it is easy to misjudge Orthodoxy as being about “being right.” Instead, it is about confronting truth and discovering how far short we fall of that truth. In a sense, the “received” quality of Orthodox dogma, frees the believer from constantly trying to find out what is right or make it up or argue about it – and instead asks of the heart to live it.

Arguments and judgments don’t disappear any more than sin disappears – but they keep getting revealed (it seems to me) as something that misses the mark.

When I converted to Orthodoxy, the arguments (which had been endless) stopped. But only then did the reality of conversion begin. The instability of truth – the rejection of revelation on the part of many Christian groups – postpones the encounter with God. Its also possible to keep the arguments and judgments going as an Orthodox Christian (as we distract ourselves) and postpone the encounter as well. We’ve been good at finding hiding places ever since Adam.

As Fr. Thomas Hopko told me (when I said that the more I write the less I know): “Keep writing. Some day you’ll know nothing. Then you’ll be holy.”

With fear of God…

When the priest sings, “With fear of God, and faith and love, draw near…”  we’re invited to come forth and partake of the body and blood, bind Christ into our core, and allow sacrifice and thanksgiving energize our spirit in love and harmony with those around us. It’s an awe-filled moment. And in this setting, there’s a sense in which our understanding of the full context is straightforward, and we get it. Fear is not about being afraid.

But whenever I think of the term “Fear of God” outside this setting, the meaning darkens, becomes opaque and almost abstraction. And what was sensed almost innately as part of the experience in the Eucharist slips into an ordinary separateness, and narrows understanding. But realizing my confusion is the first step towards isolating a problem, and so I came to realize this whole fear of God thing…is worth a second look, or at least a look of its own as a step along the road to enfolding oneself in the Church.

As noted here sometime back, whenever we begin to look for something, it enables our senses to open, we see and discover often far more than we thought we were looking for – indeed, objects literally leap out of far greater interest than the mundane things we were searching for at the start, and sometimes the wonder simply seizes hold. The more this is noticed, the more one finds that it may in fact be the misdirection of a searching gaze that allows the revelation… not because we don’t want to find something, but because we do, and because so often we are unaware what we are really looking for.

So of course in wondering more about reading icons and renewing studies here, I stumbled on a definition of “Fear of God” without knowing I wanted it… or at least not expecting to find it here. So I read past it… but it stuck and drew me back. I have of course looked further… and I’m tucking my findings in here so they won’t get lost. At the start, there’s Archbishop Lazar Puhalo’s book, “The Ikon as Scripture” where he treats the icon of  Moses at the church of San Vitale in Ravena, and contrasts this image with that of Michelangelo… or Hollywood’s Charleton Heston:

“…God calls Moses,”…very meek, beyond all the men on the earth” (Nu.12:3). The strength of Moses was his meekness, humility and readiness to obey God and submit to his will, and because of this, God called him to His service. Moreover, in both the Hebrew painting (great synagogue of Dura Europa) and the Orthodox Christian ikon, it is clear that Moses has no power of his own and does nothing of himself, for here too, we see the hand of God bestowing grace upon the submissive and obedient servant. Note also the peacefulness and love on the face of the man who is trembling in fear – this is peaceful fear, a love-filled fear. This is what is meant by “Fear of God” – a loving awe, filled with a spirit of peace and hope, assured that God, in all His awesome might, is also a loving Father.

We can see all these qualities more clearly in the following portrayal of Moses in an ikon at St. Catherine’s Monastery in Mt. Sinai. In this portrayal, study the face and disposition of Moses. Is this not a scripturally correct portrayal of the man of whom God testifies, “he is the meekest man on earth” ? Study the tenderness and love on the face of Moses, as he trembles in godly fear before the presence of his Creator and Lord, his loving Father who desires the freedom and salvation of His children.”

I love this description: “Moses as the meekest man on earth.” Icons are great way of making this sense of “Fear of God” clear. But the writings of the Fathers make clear that there is more to this, that perhaps Moses got here through a more ordinary way… through a process as outlined by the Fathers, and the scriptures as well.

“Fear of God is of two kinds. The first is generated in us by the threat of punishment. It is through such fear that we develop in due order self-control, patience, hope in God and dispassion; and it is from dispassion that love comes. The second kind of fear is linked with love and constantly produces reverence in the soul, so that it does not grow indifferent to God because of the intimate communion of its love. “The first kind of fear is expelled by perfect love when the soul has acquired this and is no longer afraid of punishment (cf I John 4:18). The second kind, as we have already said, is always found united with perfect love. The first kind of fear is referred to in the following two verses: “Out of fear of the Lord men shun evil” (Prov. 16:6), and “Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom (Ps. 111:10). The second kind is mentioned in the following verses: “Fear of the Lord is pure, and endures forever” (Ps. 19:9 LXX), and “Those who fear the Lord will not want for anything” (Ps. 34:10 LXX). ” St. Maximus the Confessor.

St. Maximus the Confessor clarifies that there is a progression, and the higher form is the result of the lower… and given the tendency to want to skip over the lower form as “all that fire and brimstone stuff”, its helpful to see the relationship between the two. Of course, those of us not much into F&B might prefer to look at it as facing eternity with God  and experiencing God ’s love as  our burning ingratitude or irrascibility or some variation… but perhaps the sense of unsought consequence is enough.

“The prophet Jeremiah, speaking in the place of God, tells us that from above there comes the very fear of God by which we may cling to Him. “I shall give them one heart and one way so that they may fear me during all their days, so that all will be well for them and for their sons after them. And I will make an everlasting covenant with them and I shall not cease to do good things for them and, as a gift, I shall put fear of Me in their hearts so that they may never go away from Me (Jer. 32:39-40). Ezekiel speaks in similar terms: “And I shall give them a single heart and I will put a new spirit in them and I will remove the strong heart from their bodies and I will give them a heart of flesh instead. And I shall do this so that they may walk as I command and respect my decisions and carry them out. Then they shall be my people and I shall be their God” (Ez. 11:19-20).” St. John Cassian

As I’m a fan of Hosea’s opening chapters, St. John’s putting these two together gets to the heart of the virtue of fear in this sense. But I further appreciate that fear need not enable only one sort of response.

“There is a humility that comes from the fear of God, and there is a humility that comes from the fervent love of God. One man is humbled because of his fear of God, another is humbled because of his joy. The man humbled from fear of God is possessed of modesty in his members, a right ordering of his senses, and a heart contrite at all times. But the man humbled because of joy is possessed of great exuberance and an open and insuppressible heart.” The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac of Syria

Finally, there is a sense that both spirits enabled will result in works that do in fact bear their spirit in a righteous, God pleasing way.

“Acts of Kindness and generosity are spoilt by self-esteem, meanness and pleasure, unless these have first been destroyed by fear of God.” St. Kosmas Aitolos

On Departures and Re-Entry into the Temple

As we depart the Temple, we dis-integrate and fragment as the Body of Christ. From our midst, we disperse in so many directions that comprehending the meaning and manner of how these fit together and in what order is simply unfathomable. Through prayer we hold on to what we have been given and continue to live within something of the vision – or even to deepen it, but without the corporeal reality that gives the opportunity, and allows our life, breath and dimension to inhabit what could otherwise be a dis-embodied experience of God (I think that’s why we’re supposed to do prostrations on our own). This is as true for us as Orthodox Christians departing on any Sunday after liturgy as it is for those whose departures began from a point that never graced the inside of our walls or the inside our faith, but whose whole experience of the Church, of Christ, and the Trinity… or whatever there tradition may be… lay elsewhere.  Yet for us, we have so many more benefits that it is simply unfair to compare or expect those from elsewhere to follow along our way. They sadly do not share our understanding of presence, our understanding of the Body, or in many cases, the fullness of the Trinity… and our understanding of worship from the heart.

In recent months, I have buried far more folks than I care to count. None have been Orthodox… and as much as I’d love to see the Orthodox process… I’ll allow time to work its way. I’d rather pray for anyone to have many, many years rather than memory eternal.

Yet the experience of grief draws us out as few other occasions when we, or someone close to us really lives into the moment in front of our eyes. There is much that we are given in this, and yet also much in which we participate in our own way – no matter our role. And as so often seems the case, our gifts lie more in terms of our presence rather than our thoughts, our words, or our expressions. So much of what we would wish to give, we don’t know how to give without invitation, or with the gentleness that enables a welcome. And though some choose an uprightness of expression, this seems even harder to manage and more still to appreciate, but at least sometimes it may be greeted as well said. And so wisdom lies more often than not in keeping the mouth shut, allowing the others to say there piece – especially the subjects of our visit, and instead we follow their lead. And we listen, we view, and we cherish these last moments we have together… even at our expense.. .for they may be all that may remain with us.

This is real life lived where it is sweetest – close to the bone in ways we might not otherwise find. Whether it is holding a hand, or hearing lips finally say what all have long known must be true, or just watching eyes close, a tear fall, a smile creep across a weary face, or sleep come and enfold our loved ones at the last. It is all for the good. It is hard, and our fears are real. And yet welcome or not… it is still for the good.  My sense is that the silence of the grave is not so strange where we have allowed its strangeness to fall beneath our experience together in life as we have the chance. And the strangeness of leaving more unsaid than said can be a virtue that brings us back together… if not in life, then in prayer. No, I wouldn’t suggest that this is by any means an immediate comfort… because it rings hollow at the time  for most. But as the years extend from those hard moments we can and do renew those severed bonds in this way… and at least for some of us new to Orthodoxy – it is something of a surprise and a refreshing one.

I suppose the constant sense of unfinished business feeds our desire, and our desire fuels an enlargement of our hearts, that we may be re-joined in spirit. For where there is true love – any one of its many kinds, there  seems always more to share… and something is impressed in ourselves of that person as a gift – even when at times it seems a burden – that compels us towards another meeting that no matter its nature, strengthens something of our relationship. We should want it to be one that honors the other rather than ourselves… but we don’t always manage that.

So through the course of these visits to other churches, graveyards, nursing homes and the like, I’d attest there is much that gives one pause, and sometimes, it takes a special effort to find the joy, the gift, and the honor of living in Christ that remains. There is the temptation to pass by unmoved because the folks were not or are not Orthodox – whether big or little “O”. There is the temptation to respond to the otherness by trumpeting  the wonders of our Church, to bemoan the heresies and outright unseemliness experienced, and more simply to wonder why these folks can’t realize they just need to be more like us… as if the people of Israel had never been challenged by their surroundings as well as the hidden wolves in their midst. No, I’ve done my bit there already… I won’t memorialize it here but rather repeat my earlier hard learned rule that the great difficulty of finding the truth  and becoming Orthodox is to bear it with the grace it really merits and to let it be a gift rather than a burden… both to ourselves and others… as a glorification of Christ. And in this, I have a long way to go before I am dead to my sins.

So if I may, I’d close with the note that after a particularly baffling funeral service that left many wondering at just how weird can it get, I was delighted to worship in my own Orthodox parish in a familiar liturgy celebrating our patron saint, St. Gregory the Great ( St. Gregory the Dialogist). As our pastor felt honoring his festival in the middle of Lent presented a conflict, we transferred our celebration of this alternate feast day. And so we celebrated the person of St. Gregory, his faith, his life of holiness, and our full bodied worship together. For me in particular and this evening especially of all, following a liturgy evolved over 1600 years, integrating scripture in readings and hymns together with well worn rubrics, worshipping in the fullness of the faith… body, mind and spirit… led to a purposed, and much needed re-integration. Moreover, our voices lifted up a chant of praise of the Trinity according to Gregory’s guiding hands and I shared a new sense of appreciation for the gifts we have in the richness of Orthodox worship. And with  the eucharist followed by veneration of St. G’s holy relics, we completed the perfect antidote to the day and my service renewed my life in the Church.

Thanks be to God for our lives in this Church, and for the lives of all those we have lost (or may yet soon lose)… here, there, and everywhere… and may God grant that their memory be eternal.

What a Hoot

So it’s a usual rush home. Gotta make it in time to go for a run, take a shower and go out to dinner by seven thirty. Thursday night before a long weekend… yeah… I guess folks aren’t going to work tomorrow. But of course I’m not one of them. So I’m late leaving, and gonna have to squeeze more out of a time window than I have.

We do the usual routine: Get in the car, punch the CD over to the Capella Romana CD, start the evening prayers, and pull out of the parking lot…. wheels not quite screeching. Get to the parking lot gate… and I’m already halfway done. Wait for the light on to the main drag… follow it down, and I’m in mid “Lord have mercy” count down.

Get to the “… who are God glorified in all and by all… ” wind up at the end, and that guy with the Oregon plate is really bugging me. Looks like he’s on his phone. And he’s dragging man.Obviously doens’t get where I have to be… and what I have to get done.

New prayer line comes out after the “Amen.”: “C’mon buddy, let’s go.”

And it’s then it hits me how ridiculous this whole bit is. And I break out laughing. What a hoot: me a holy guy. Like that’s happening. Best I can hope for is that God is laughing at me and saying, “Seriously… I’m not buying it.either”. Worst case… he’s reaching for a thunderbolt.We laughed a long time. Most of the way home in fact. And no, I’m not buying it either to the quadzillionth power.

Lord have mercy.

So… Ever Ride with The Searchers?

For a while John Ford’s “The Searchers” was rated THE top flick of all time. Subsequent to my viewing… “Oh he’s watching it, now?”… the shocked critics have of course recanted of the whole cowboy thing, or substituted “Broke Whatever…” as their token nod to the impact of “The West” on Hollywood, and thereby on America and American culture.

“Any you folks seen my keys?”

Me? Well, I never became the cowboy/pilot/astronaut/war hero I thought I would. Never even got on a horse or anything remotely similar. Just got married, went to work, raised a couple of kids and got put out to pasture. “Chewing cud seems to suit ‘em, huh?” So my view of “The West” is something of a nostalgic memory of what might have been… which is also something of what’s in the story.  And for me at least, the “pull” is still strong, and the theme… still touches everyday life as I see it… only I’m not looking for “Debbie” (Natalie Wood), but much more mundane stuff. Yet I never miss a chance to stand in a door-way with my arm clasped in the film’s signature visual quote.  It just seems sort of peaceful like.

Like the other night.

There they were. Sitting ’round the old hearth. I wander in. And there’s this news that the car keys have gone missing… again. Back in the day, we had a solution for this kind of rustlin’. Now of course, it wouldn’t be fashionable… so we don’t. Only we still got go out and git ‘em from time to time. Guess… an’ beggin’ your pardon for puttin’ myself forward and such…it’s what I’m here for:  Findin’ things. It’s kind of what I’m good at.

That’s of course because of my other purpose in life: Losing things… so I can find them… only to return them… to their earlier state. That’s the state of things that are lost… or at least not found. And that’s ’cause no one even knows they’re missing yet. But they are. And that creates a whole sort of an interim state…y’know… in-between. Like a purgatory for things you’re gonna need sometime soon, but you don’t need right now. So you put them away for that other time, but because the whole is a mess from an altogether different time… where the eternal leaks into the zone of the “now”… your brain is caught in-between instead. And you think about here, but your hand stretches out into the other zone, and puts them down there. It’s as if your mind and your hand are in two realities. It’s confusing, but because you’re walking around as if dead to what you’re doing… you’re not even aware you’re confused. But you are.  So this focus on whatever can’t be found now creates the opportunity for whatever won’t be found next. And it grabs the opportunity… even as your hand puts it down.

Anyone seen my aspirin? And what’d I do with that glass of water… that was right over… here? Oh there it is. Thanks.

Okay. I’m better. Now where were we? Right…  So there I am again… wherever we were when we began this thing. Oh yeah. Sitting at the table. And then they wander in: A couple of the toughest hombres West of the Pecos. ‘Course that’d be my Keys, my Wallet, my Glasses… even that book I was reading that was supposed to be under the bed… only it’s not. And all four look like they just came off the dustiest trail any unshaved, unwashed cowpoke ever walked…’cause he couldn’t find his horse. But as they saunter over, unholstering their six shooters an’ chewin’ on their Marlboro’s (’cause they couldn’t find a match between the four of them) ,  the Keys turn to Wallet and says:

“Think we can take him?”

“I don’t know. I hear he’s pretty fast…”

“Maybe if we get ‘im to move outside…”

“Yeah… you distract him… while I creep up real slow like…”

In the end, these things always seem to turn out the same way, don’t they? Over and over…. every search goes on and on and on… and then only when you’re NOT looking for something… or you’re looking for something else… can you actually find the thing you’re looking for. You put yourself in the right place, and in the right mode… and then you distract yourself from the way you think you’re going to find what you think you’re looking for… and it turns up… because you’ve distracted yourself to focus on searching as if  for the next of kin… if you will.  And there it is… the first thing… your heart’s desire. And it turns up not because you found it, but because you finally slowed down, and allowed its presence to be made known… as if it had been in plain sight all along… for it was. And now your “relaxed” view sees what your over-stressed, over-eager mind earlier could not. And so, as with everything else, I can’t help but wonder whether looking for Christ runs this way as well.

Zizioulas on the Epicletical Apocalypse

Let me admit at the outset to a bit of mystification with the Apocalypse. This is not just with part of it, but with the whole. I’ve much appreciation for the Orthodox premise that the book is really a model of worship, but like so much, it’s not just an allegory and surely there is a more literal meaning more consistent with the text that is at the same time loving rather than the common distorted condemnation of one’s troubles and unruly demons.  As they say: “Maybe, and maybe not”. But we’re not going there here.

And we’re not going there because my own confusion and caution on this book dates at least as far back as high school when I started an attempt to unpack the vision in a painting that remains judiciously unfinished. I may still have the sketches of the scene around the seated elders folded up with stuff in the attic, but it was good to stop. And stopping, if I’m honest, reflected as much as my limited drawing skills as the confusion of the subject matter for a guy whose exposure at the time was limited to the late-20th century Anglican church. For even in Anglican cathedrals, worship is nevertheless inadequate to illumine an understanding of the liturgy and its accoutrements much less it’s unfolding. In the text, there’s this going on, then this…. no that. And maybe it’s all going on at the same time, but how do you draw this? And where do you find a model to follow if you haven’t even had art history? Ah, that’s where a shortage of humility came in handy to starting out anyway… that heady point where desire overwhelms common sense. Perhaps I was literally saved by the bell….the end of the school year.

So Zizioulas’s thought makes it easier to see the Apocalypse as simply the consecration of the world, and this offers a view that synthesizes both the literal text and the concept of the text as an account of worship by holding it as a eucharistic ending (or offering) of the whole.  Most folks probably are way ahead of me on this, but if you’re like me these days, and studiously putting off re-reading it, maybe this is a good enough point of departure, or at least something useful and worth more pondering – or alternatively worth a “duh” in the comment box:

“The ecclesiological significance of this can be illustrated by the ideas of the book of the Apocalypse, in which the Church lives in an intense epicletic atmosphere containing a syntheseis of two elements: on the one hand, the assurance of Christ’s presence on the eucharistic table and, on the other, the Church’s cry: “Come Lord, come.” When the Church lives epicletically, she cannot but long for what she already is. The synthesis of the historical with the eschatologocial in the epicletical conditioning of history constitutes what we may properly – and not in the distorted sense – call the sacramental nature of the Church.”

Okay… honestly it’s not looking as clear here as I thought it did the other night… but it sure seems like it was suggested somewhere. Then again, maybe that’s my Thickheaded brain misfiring.

Otherwise Engaged

These days, there’s no doubt I am Otherwise Engaged. There’s blogging, and there’s real life. Blogging to me is less about following every thread, documenting every twit, or whatever some prefer to do, and more of an effort to keep track of what’s happening in the ol’ noggin’ and on occasion, making an effort here to sort out the wheat from the chaff in an incoherent way. I’d struggle for a coherent strategy, but that’s above my pay grade, so we go with what we’ve got.  Perhaps you’ve noticed that in my case, the sorting finds a lot of chaff.

So taking these things as if from the top of the do-list:

First there’s “The  Good” – the Top Rung:

The good news is that Sunday, the one-and-only and I passed the 29-year mark. So that’s 4 times the seven-year itch plus one… and still not scratching. Not even itchy. And if you know me… you know that’s saying something. Adding in the “extra” of the pre-quell years in our “five-year (longest ever) relationship” walking around with the dinosaurs, that means it’s been 34 years of dating only one person…the same person… like it’s supposed to be. Call it keepin’ it simple, stayin’ happy, and stayin’ alive…. but without a BeeGee voice anywhere… and that’s a very, very good thing.

Okay… next there’s The Middle Rung:

Lately I’ve been reading John D. Zizioulas’s “Being as Communion”. It’s tough slogging for the first couple of zillion uses of “ontology” in surprising places and then those “Ousia” folks keep showing up over and over… like they think we leave the homemade chocolate chip cookies out all the time or something… and it’s freebies… but then Zizioulas finds the wind on the starboard quarter, the zephyrs kick in, we lift up on to the stern wave, and start surfing. Things start to make sense, he even kicks in with some handy summaries… and the first thing you know… you’re “gittin’ it”. So now I’m real comfortable dropping ontology in most of my phrases… like, “Can you please pass the bread… it’s like ontologically on your left?” and stuff like that. Makes you real edified and all. You even get to look at squinched up looks on folks faces… like you’re some kind of obscure professor or something and they’re thinking: “What the hey? Do I have to know this… or is this just some b-twinky stuff  I’ll never see on the test?”

Actually, I’d say that Zizioulas’s summaries offer excellent theological notes helpful in dealing with many of the underlying complexities of the Church in a unifying way. And he seems to manage this with ample lucidity. I’m not done with my first-time through… and in truth, this book probably is worth a second or third pondering, but you do get more than you’d expect the first time through, and so I do want to say that for all those who recommended this book: Thank you! Few are the authors who not only know their subject well enough to present it clearly, but know their subject well enough to direct further research through comparative contrast to show the limitations of our current understanding. The work here is pretty doggone irenic, and seems at the same time very Orthodox… which of course comes from a guy most would say is “not very …. meaning me… so take that… with a chocolate chip cookie.

Oh… you heard that? Yeah, the guy actually points out some… er… deficiencies in our… er.. theology…. some places where we could kind of get busy and do some clean up. Hmmm. I knew there was something…. besides the scary icons, vestments, candles, fancy digs, chants, and all that bit…. keeping the potential converts at bay. So here we are… a virtual wish list for the brilliant thinkers out there. Send me the memo when you’ve got it figured out.

Finally – The Tough Stuff:

I’ll be visiting my godfather in a brief layover on a busy trip through the South the end of this week. He’s not doing well.  But I won’t be back in the ‘hood again in October, so for now though it’s a quick check-in, it’ll have to do.  A brief visit to cheer up a three-months-and-counting resident doing time as a patient rather than the chief of surgery he’s so used to being. The family gathered a while back, but as vacation time got used up, had to re-disperse. For now he’s survived a tough blow… an infection from what was supposed to be a simple injection of pain killers, but now seems the blow is just being alone. We’ll all be here soon enough, so this is a no-brainer…. and even for those of us with no training for this kind of thing.  I mean… I’m sure the training offers much, but… this ain’t about efficiency. Still.. when it comes to these things, you always wished you’d worked with hospice, hospital visiting, pastoral care or something of that sort rather than finding one’s experience limited to just the family thing…. ’cause then somehow you’d know what to do.

But maybe that’s not the point. Knowing what to do might be simply a matter of taking it too much in stride and tossing it off rather than dealing with it as the drama it is. Balance is always tough to maintain, and tone hard to set – even when everyone’s just sitting around a table feeling good, feeling happy, and wondering what to do next. Doing these things in the hospital just seems to up the ante… like “you’re on” so you’ve got to make it right. Hard to say what’s right and what’s wrong, as I’ve seen what clearly looked like each one time or another, only to find it perceived differently by the important folks in the story.

So I guess what little experience I have simply says that we have what we have, and what we’re able to manage… is still accepted no matter what it is.. EVEN when we think it probably wasn’t or shouldn’t. Anyway, we’ll just have to let the blundering begin, trust somehow it’ll go better than not going at all, and manage to offer a little company, share a few moments, empathize, and perhaps even pray. It’s the least one can do. I don’t know whether he’ll be awake, whether he’ll be open to my visit, or what, but I will be there and give it a shot. And I’m guessing the power of silence, presence, and companionship covers a lot of shortcomings on my part in this errand of mercy business.

Besides… somewhere nearby there’s a grilled cheeseburger Saturday evening.

Orthodox Christianity and Anti-Semitism

Fr. Andrew of Orthodox England responded to a question in the current issue of his excellent journal (Orthodox England,Volume 12, Number 4) to an matter which tends to linger especially with a faith that for most of us Americans has been obscured by our more Western European heritage and allegiances. Almost three years ago now, I had started an inquiry of a similar vein on the excellent forum over on monachos.net and it is always surprising both the direction a discussion can take and how it expands in untold ways to inform our understanding.

The topic of course is Anti-Semitism, but more fully rounds out to discussion of the relationship between Orthodox Christians and other faiths. In some measure, one of the acid tests of our faith may be found in terms of how we approach those outside it as we find them – whether in suffering, or causing our own suffering, or in some other (hopefully happier) state. The stories in the Gospel are full of these examples. Many of our modernist Protestant bretheren unfortunately take them to support the thesis that Christianity is all about making good men better rather than turning within to reflect on our relationship with  the god-man Christ, but I think we are mistaken ourselves if we fail to seize on the whole of these lessons in an of themselves. Our world is not so confined as to be wholly Orthodox, nor are we supposed to insulate ourselves, or respond perhaps as much of the misguided in our Old Testament texts accounts of ancient Israel reflect as shunning or assaulting the outsiders. Indeed, though there are many loving stories of a relationship within the Body, there are many (shorter) of sound relationships beyond.

I understand the anti-Ecumenist, anti-Kumbaya movement. I also understand the Rodney King “We’re all in this together” sensibility that seems to be “the next thing” for dealing with the atheism of the European Union. Personally, I’m not working to fix my church, fix my jurisdiction or the people in it, or fix the world… I tend to think there is much to the old Buddhist adage that we begin to fix the world by beginning with ourselves, and anyone at all vaguely familiar with my scribblings can attest that in some cases, this is a full-time job, or at least if we shelve the project  (consciously or unconsciously makes little difference) for a few decades, the catch-up work can be consuming. But the consumption with self is less a matter of principle than a recognition of my need for preparation. I’m not sure where it ends, but have always thought that the three years that it took St. Paul (according to one account somewhere) was probably a good indicator of what a younger and holier man could accomplish… though I’m not sure how this translates or what it means to a backslider like me… other than a plea for “more time”.

So with my background attesting to how uncertainty can be as much a mire as a virtue, I would turn you instead to the virtues of Fr. Andrews response to a common, but thorny issue. As with much in his excellent journal, I find it illuminating, and with his permission, have quoted it in its entirety:

What would you reply to those who say that Orthodox are anti-Semitic? After all it was Orthodox who carried out the pogroms. (L., Pennsylvania)

I cannot wholly agree with your last statement. I think we have to see the so-called ‘pogroms’ in their economic context. Pogroms took place all over Europe at the end of the nineteenth century. Therefore they were not carried out uniquely by Orthodox, but rather by all Europeans. The ‘pogroms’ in Berlin and Vienna were particularly bad, far worse than in western Russia. As regards the attacks in what was then the Russian Empire, they were carried out mainly by Catholics and Uniats in Polish-speaking, Ukrainian-speaking and Romanian-speaking areas.

These pogroms should not be viewed in a religious context, but a cultural one. They should be seen in the context of economic jealousy on the part of nominal and decadent Christians, not on the part of practising Christians. It is a fact that most Jews were often hardworking (more than many Orthodox) and successful. Some of them, the non-practising Jews, used their economic success to exploit others – both Jews and Non-Jews. (Karl Marx should be seen as one of these – he exploited the naïve with his absurd ideology, which he reckoned to be ‘scientific’).

This exploitation caused jealousy, especially in poor parts of Europe, like Poland, Lithuania, the Ukraine and Romania. (It should be noted that Jews were only living in large numbers in these areas of Central and Eastern Europe, because they has been expelled by the mediæval anti-semitism of Catholic Western Europe, especially in countries like Spain, France and England, whereas in Central and Eastern Europe they enjoyed complete religious freedom and prospered there). So it is pure hypocrisy on the part of Western Europe to talk about their persecution there. They were only there because of Western persecution and in Central and Eastern Europe they had complete religious freedom, unlike in Western Europe.

Thus Orthodox who were involved with the attacks on Jews, in which dozens, perhaps hundreds of innocent Jews were killed (not tens of thousands, as some people claim) were only nominal, not practising. These attacks were condemned time and again by Orthodox. For example, by the future Metropolitan Antony Khrapovitsky, then bishop of the strongly Jewish town of Zhitomir, or St John of Kronstadt who wrote of the Kishenev pogrom: ‘What are you doing? Why have you turned into barbarians – destroying and robbing people who live in the same country as yourselves?’ (My thoughts on the violence of Christians towards Jews in Kishinev).

St. Tikhon, Patriarch of Moscow, wrote: ‘We have heard reports of Jewish pogroms … Orthodox Russia! May this disgrace pass you by. May this curse not affect you. May your hand not turn crimson in the blood that calls out to heaven … Remember the pogroms – this is dishonour for you’. (Message of 8 July 1919). In other words, I think we need to see the pogroms (like the tens of thousands of times worse Jewish genocide carried out by the Western European Nazis who received the co-operation of the ‘Catholic’ French, Lithuanians, Croats, Slovaks and many other peoples) in the context of the de-Christianisation of Europe, which process sped ahead from the mid-nineteenth century on and led to two great European Wars.

We cannot forget how the Jews lived in Constantinople, much to the scandal of the late 11th and 12th century. Crusaders, who performed the first pogroms in the Rhineland in 1095, which marked the beginning of ‘Anti-Semitism’ in Europe, were astonished by this. Indeed, the fourteenth century Patriarch Philotheus was racially a Jew. (Can you imagine a Pope of Rome at the time being racially a Jew?). Some sources say that Emperor Michael II was also a Jew, as were many other saints, for example St Romanus the Melodist. Some100,000 Jews joined the Russian Orthodox Church in the nineteenth century alone. Of course, this is no different from the case of the Apostles – racially Jews – and the Mother of God and the human nature of Christ.

(By the way, the word anti-Semitism is incorrect, for the Arabs are also racially Semites. To call the Arab Palestinians anti-Semitic, as some do, is absurd. The term should surely be anti-Jewish).