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My usual pattern has returned. I write feverishly for a short period of time, and then disappear. No warning, no fare thee well, I just disappear. Really, I am ashamed of myself. As always, though, I have an excuse. Several actually. Try these: my sister kept me from writing. The dog ate my blog. (He would, you know.) Space aliens borrowed my laptop.
Actually, the excuse is a familiar one. Having reveled in the joy of ordination and Christmas, it suddenly struck me that classes resume shortly, and I’ve got a test and a paper. Whoops. Time to get to work. On the plus side, though, I’m happy to report that last Sunday was the first liturgy since my ordination where I finally felt like I was engaged in worship, as opposed to worrying over what I was supposed to do next. Thank goodness for that.
But, by way of making amends, here are some interesting tidbits:
1. Loading the ipod for Lent: I ran across a truly amazing resource today, especially if Carpatho-Russian prostopinije is a part of your liturgical music tradition. It is for my diocese, of course, and also for a sizeable portion of the OCA. At the St. Nicholas Retreat for Deacons, subdeacons and readers in December, Metropolitan Nicholas arranged for Prof. Michael Thompson, who runs the Byzantine Catholic Metropolitan Cantor Institute in Pittsburgh, to come and talk to us about a very extensive rewriting they have just finished of the pew book for their churches. The cultural, political and historical reasons for the split between the Orthodox and the Byzantine Catholics in Carpatho-Rus is simply too complicated to relate briefly, but for our purposes, just keep one thing in mind: a little judicious editing of the commemorations, and the music is identical.
So I was excited to find today that the Institute has put up on its web page very fine recordings of all of the music in their new pewbook. There are a huge number of files – ‘Down them all’ reported 743 mp3s. This includes music for the Divine Liturgy (including, I think, 21 settings for the Cherubic Hymn), St. Basil’s Liturgy, vespers, matins, feast days and many saints. Much of the sheet music is also on the site, or will be soon. For someone who deals with liturgical music, as a choir member or director, or altar server, this is a wonderful resource. For people who just enjoy liturgical music, this will be a blessing.
2. His Eminence speaks in French: A week or so ago I posted Metropolitan Nicholas’ very forceful and excellent pastoral letter on abortion. A reader in Belgium, Jean-Michel, undertook to translate the epistle into French and post it on his blog, Saint Materne. I know just enough French to get into trouble, so I was very happy to see Vladyka’s words translated for an audience in Europe. I was also very interested in a photograph that Jean-Michel sent me. It shows him reading the Gospel in his parish. The practice is to proclaim the Gospel in Greek, after which Jean-Michel will read it in French. I have not been in a great many Greek churches in North America, but I think the same kind of thing is done with readings in Greek and English.
3. If only Alan Greenspan were Orthodox: I also received an e-mail from another reader, Steve Balestra, who is an economist, and also Orthodox. He has written an essay on economics which is infused with his faith, and is a very, very interesting read. I commend it to you. Whether you agree with it or not, I think it is highly important that we consciously seek to meld our faith and our profession. I have been putting a lot of thought into the practice of law in that regard, although without any thoughts coherent enough to write. Steve also writes a blog that is addressed to economic issues. Unfortunately, he probably thinks I have just been ignoring him. Steve, see lame excuses above and select one. And then please accept my apology.
Back to the salt mines. Hopefully, though, I will be back to writing soon. I’m making some real headway here!
This is my own Metropolitan’s message for this year’s March for Life. I should have had this posted sooner, and I failed to do so. Let my negligence, though, remind us that the helpless call out to us every day of the year.
To the Very Reverend Protopresbyters, the Very Reverend and Reverend Clergy and Beloved Faithful of the Diocese:
In the day of the Prophet Amos, the Vision of God’s Will was met with ridicule and dismissal. No one in society wanted to hear that God’s Law was being broken and that His Justice was being ignored. The poor were being abused and taken advantage of. The powerless and the weak were trampled on for the sake of a materialistic society.
The Prophets spoke then, but they were ignored. “The lion roared, the Lord God has spoken”, and the prophecies of God’s command were proclaimed. But society continued on its way of eating and drinking like normal, “stretching out themselves upon their couches” and “singing idle songs” (Amos 6:4).
As it was then, so it is now. The Orthodox Church has proclaimed the sin of abortion. And society has responded by sanctioning infanticide as a phase of the feminist agenda. It has responded by renaming the unborn child as fetal tissue, so it could be more easily disposed of. It has responded by making abortion a matter of personal opinion, and not of right and wrong.
It is God alone Who is the origin of all life. It is He Who holds the key to life and death. It is man, in his arrogance, who usurps the authority of the Almighty, who in his pride deliberates over the validity of God’s divine decrees, who justifies his sin and pacifies the screaming of his conscience in the face of the shedding of innocent blood. We have forgotten the absolute and unchanging nature of Scripture’s declaration, “Thus says the Lord…”.
The blessings of America remain as a contingency: we will keep our freedom and our liberal comforts only if we heed the call of Amos who proclaimed in a voice that echoes across the ages: “Seek the Lord and live!” (Amos 5:6).
I urge you, therefore, to make every effort to support the National Right to Life March in Washington, DC on Monday, January 22, 2007. Support freely and generously the work of Crisis Pregnancy Centers in your area. And be confident, without equivocation, in the hard and simple truth that abortion is sin, and cannot be countenanced or supported in the Orthodox Church.
Assuring you of my Archpastoral supplication for the day on which legalized abortion will end, with blessing I remain
Most sincerely yours in Christ,
+ Metropolitan Nicholas
Lately, Fr. Jonathan over at Second Terrace has been writing a very nice series of essays that take off from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy — I think we know what is being enjoyed in Pittsburgh these days — and end up with trenchant observations about the state of religion and society. I think very highly of Second Terrace, and I hasten to add that I would even if Father was not a teacher of mine at seminary. Sadly, though, I end up posting comments that sound like something the village idiot might post, such as “Amen!” or the like. I am ashamed of myself afterwards, but console myself by thinking that his more intelligent readers probably exclaim how cool it is that Fr. Jonathan can not only speak to the thoughtful, but to the out and out fools like that guy who calls himself Deacon James. We all have a role in this universe, and that is mine. Not holy enough to be a fool for Christ, but ditsy enough to just be an ordinary fool.
But what struck me about Father’s post today was a reference to Thomas Oden, because while Thomas Oden does not know me, I have a vague acquaintance with him. When I was in the last throes of my short career as a Methodist minister — that being the period of time between my accidental acquaintance with Bishop Kallisto’s The Orthodox Church and my entry into the catechumanate — Oden was recommended to me as a tonic for what ailed me.
I should explain, I suppose. Like a lot of converts, my first flirtation with the Church was intellectual. I didn’t have much in the way of heart-knowledge about Orthodoxy, but by golly I read a lot of patristics. It bothered me, to be honest. I wasn’t finding much support for what the urban Methodists were into, like re-imagining God as Sophia and the like, but I also was not finding much of what my own parishioners were into, which involved a lot of once saved always saved, the Rapture and a heavy dose of pentacostalism. In fact, my own parishioners were deeply suspicious of urban Methodists, but that suspicion was one of the few things they and I shared. Oh, and that they were truly wonderful people. I love those people more than I can say.
But I was plainly drifting out of the fold a bit, and I finally decided that I should reveal my doubts to my senior pastor. I met him for lunch, and explained that I was not seeing much correspondence between the patristic writers and thinkers, and modern Methodism, either city or country. My friend was not particularly versed in much of the first century, although he liked to tell about how writing a paper in seminary about The City of God had almost killed him. Privately, I feel much the same way about a lot of what St. Augustine wrote. But my friend did know about Oden, and Oden’s loose movement to bring the denomination back to truly ancient roots. He recommended a book about the subject, which I read, although I can no longer remember the title. He assured me that I would then realize that the Methodist church was riddled, more or less, with a movement of people who thought exactly as I was.
Needless to say, the idea didn’t take. Oden’s notion of molding modern Protestantism and a dash of the first millenium is interesting, and even praiseworthy. Still, in my view, even in those days when I was surpassingly ignorant as opposed to my present condition of being stunningly silly, the notion fell apart because it offered nothing but bones — dry bones if you will. If patristics and dogma represents the bones of the Church, it is the mindset, the phrenoma, that represents the heart and blood. It is what gives life to dogma, and it is what ultimately lets us live the Faith, as opposed to simply understanding it in a theoretical fashion. I knew precious little about that phrenoma in those days, but I sensed it was true, a suspicion that experience has borne out.
That, I think, is what Oden and those like him have not grasped. That is not to say that in American Orthodoxy fried chicken or barbecue could not reasonably replace pirogis — a bold and dangerous statement if there ever was one — but that there is a vital penumbra of belief and practice that gives life to dogma and teaching. We cannot fully grasp all that Orthodoxy is without living it and submitting to it. That is what movements like Oden’s lack. Which is very sad.
Every year I do the same thing: Zacchaeus Sunday comes creeping up on me, and I scratch my head and exclaim “Lent? Already?” I keep promising myself that I will not let it catch me unawares, but every year I fail.
Well, its not Zacchaeus Sunday quite yet, but I was pleased to open the Gospel book this morning and read Luke 18:35-43. If this passage doesn’t serve as an announcement that you-know-what is looming on the horizon than nothing does. The blind man this morning was exceeedingly insistent that Jesus pay attention to him and heal his blindness. How well does that foreshadow our soon to begin labors? As I explained to the altar boy after Liturgy, we must be just as insistent in our pleadings to God, and Lent is just the time to remind ourselves of that. Of course, he’s a smart kid, from a pious home. I could only remind him of what he already knows, which is a blessing to see in a kid nowadays.
But here is the truth of the matter: every year I am unreasonably happy to see Lent roll around. More than most, I need it badly, and I love every moment of it. Zacchaeus Sunday, the Publican and the Pharisee and meatfare Sunday all whet the appetite. Forgiveness Sunday may be my favorite Sunday of the year. That sounds kind of strange, I confess, but I know just how wearing I can be, and the opportunity to seek forgiveness from the people I love is something I look forward to. And then Lent itself — what is there not to like?
I know how odd all of that sounds, but there you have it. As I read this morning’s Gospel, I felt that familiar sense of anticipation. Lent is coming, and this morning was like seeing the first robin of the spring.
This post started out as something else. A case I was involved in came to a sudden, dreadful end, in the form of a murder/suicide. As originally written, it detailed some of what happened, and what had happened in the case up until that point. After only a few minutes, though, I took it down. It didn’t seem right, for a variety of reasons. Mostly, it seemed to me that the details, which were necessarily sketchy, were not the important thing. There are two dead men, one of whom I knew about as well as any lawyer can know a client, but there are also dazed and traumatized survivors, including children. But it wasn’t until this evening that I could begin to understand the true significance of what had happened, of what terrible things like this mean to us, as a wisp of scripture came to mind.
Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not kill; and whosoever shall kill shall be in danger of the judgment: But I say unto you, That whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment: and whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council: but whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire.
Mt 5:21-22
When things like this happen, we are aghast, and our first impulse, usually almost unconscious, is to distance ourselves from the act. The sheer horror of it allows us to reassure ourselves that something like that could not happen in our safe world, even as we sympathize with the victim. Yet from a spiritual perspective, these crimes are years in the making, even if perpetrator and victim become acquainted only at that last fateful moment. It is not that we are inherently depraved, as the Calvinists would argue, nor is it always the direct result of demons, although they have a role and love to see blood shed. Instead, we each drag around after us chains, huge shambling piles of them, the first links of which are forged in our cradles, and new ones added every day. Our passions are both the result and cause of the shackles we wear. Pride, anger, lust, vainglory, fear…you name it, and it can be found in the heart of bruised and wounded people.
Each and every person in this tragedy — each and every one of us — bears the scars of life. In a line that only God can truly trace, there are years and years of slights, indifferences, resentments, misunderstandings. Needs are not met, and a cycle of petty cruelties ensues. Even when the end result is not so spectacular as in this case, the quiet toll is just as devastating. Here is the truth: however we may meet our physical demise, we all die spiritually in the same way. Not in one thrust of the enemy, but in the moral version of death by a thousand cuts. A tiny slice here, another there. We scarcely feel each individual cut, but the cumulative effect of slights and hurts, of disappointment and rejection, leads us to destruction. And we not only bear our own chains. We forge the chains of others.
Do you see? This tragedy began in infancy, it blossomed during adolesence, it bore a poisonous fruit in a marriage, and it was harvested on a quiet winter’s day. But you and I cannot segregate this from our own life. Jesus teaches us that we commit spiritual crimes with each cruel word, each deliberate slight, each crime of the heart. We are each the man, wounded almost to death, who was rescued by the Samaritan. But we are also each the robber, and we assault each other behind polite words and smiling masks, leaving loved ones and strangers alike lying helpless and damaged.
No wonder the second great commandment is to love our neighbor as ourselves! If we ourselves do not break the cycle of pain and hurt being suffered by those around us, by those who bear the very image of God, then who will? What Christ calls us to do is struggle past our own wounds, to offer oil and wine for the hurts of others. We must see within ourselves the potential for murder, of the spiritual variety if nothing else, and the crimes that we commit every day.
After all, I’ve had the flu all weekend, and haven’t left the house for anything. That includes all of this weekend’s Theophany services, which bothers me enormously. Maybe that helps explain why I find myself unreasonably amused by this photograph, of a priest who appears to be explaining things to Vladimir Putin during Christmas services last night.
The expression on President Putin’s face, by the way, closely matches the one I’ve had all weekend.
Ancient Church 