Oh, my. A *year*? Although I've said it before, I'm determined to get back to blogging.
Much has changed since a year ago. Pippin has gone to the Rainbow Bridge to join Jackson. A new Irish terrier, a young male rescued from a puppy mill auction, now lives with us. Dempsey (named by his foster mom for Dr. McDreamy for his adorable "love sponge" eyes) was joined in December by Angel, a who-knows-what mix (likely some bull terrier of some sort with maybe Doberman, but that's just a guess) when we knew that Pippin would be leaving us in the near future.
We had Ike come to visit and take off half our house. It's put back together, at the cost of my work on my iconography...there was only so much energy and for months it went solely into "Jan's General Contracting Emporium"! But the house is better than new.
And we had this election....
I don't generally do politics here. It's not what the blog is about; never has been. Still, these are extraordinary times and I hope to reflect, in the coming days, about how we are to live in the face of these challenges. Whether you voted for Obama or not; whether you particpated in the Tea Parties yesterday or not (and it was "not" if you, like me, had to get to church for Unction service!), as Christians we share a common call. That call is to live in Christ, as we live IN, but not OF, the world. I find it hard to do, myself, right now. When I unavoidably reflect on my own take on the political situation...which will make sense as I reflect on my struggles to overcome the anxieties and stresses of this age...it is not meant to be some equation of my political views with Christianity in general, certainly not with Orthodox Christianity. Just thought I'd get that out there now, and I'll repeat it.
However, politics takes an easy back seat this week. It is Holy Week. Actually, it is Holy Thursday morning, and I am preparing to go to the Niptir service (the washing of the feet). Tonight is the service of the Twelve Passion Gospels. Lent, as such, is over. The first part of Holy Week has strengthened us, has prepared us for the coming of the Bridegroom. Last night we were anointed with oil for healing and forgiveness, a reminder of our baptismal anointing, a foreshadowing of our anointing at the time of death. Now we move into the very heart of it all, into those days which turned all creation on its head, destroyed Death and took away forever its "last word" in our lives. Today, the Mystical Supper is commemorated; tonight, the betrayal, the trial, and the crucifixion. Tomorrow we will read the Hours, have Vespers at the time of the taking down from the cross, and tomorrow night sing the Lamentations.
May you be blessed as you reflect on these things over the next few days and prepare for Pascha!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Christ is risen (still?)
My friends who are western Christians find it amusing, and a little baffling, that we are *still* singing "Christ is risen". They haven't said it in so many words, but their looks are plain: enough already, Easter was weeks ago, and you do know it's almost June, don't you? Of course we do. But until next Wednesday, when we take our leave of Pascha for another year on the forefeast of Ascension, it's still Paschatide in the Orthodox churches, and we're still celebrating.
Oh, we've probably put away our Pascha candles, the ones that aren't already burned to a nub. We may have quit saying "Christ is risen" when we greet another Orthodox Christian. The flowers we received have all wilted and dried up, and have been burned or buried (mine go in my front bougainvilla garden where NOBODY walks amidst all those thorns!) And, honestly, it does seem like it's been a long time since the light of Pascha was kindled in the church that Saturday night in late April, and we first sang "Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life!"
That "long time"? That's a good thing. We are a society of seconds. Nothing lasts; the presidential candidates vie for the most powerful governmental post in the world, in 30-second sound bites. Commercials are never an entire minute anymore, because the viewer can't be trusted to pay attention that long...so we are bombarded by quick sensory jabs to get us to remember the latest soft drink, the latest cocktail, or the latest cholesterol medication. When we sing "Christ is risen" for 40 days after Pascha, we balance the celebration with the fast that came before. We remember that Christ said that the guests do not fast while the Bridegroom is with them; and, of course, from Pascha to Ascension, He was with them. We don't just remember it for a day. We don't just remember it for a week, until the curtains on the Royal Doors close and it's "business as usual". We remember every single day of those 40 days, and 40 days is, indeed, a long time.
Why is this so important? After all, everybody KNOWS that He is risen (or, for those who are not believers, they know that we claim He is risen). It's not like we're learning something new here.
Well, we should be.
Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life:
---those in the tombs of sin, who cannot find their way out of their self destructive behaviors;
---those in the tombs of grief, who mourn lost opportunities, lost relationships, lost time, lost love;
---those in the tombs of despair, for whom the sunrise is gray and shadowed and hollow, and who have lost hope;
---those in the tombs of fear, who cannot see the next turn in the road and who are choked with anxiety at what it holds;
---those in the tombs of sloth, who know there is more to the world than they are partaking of, yet cannot find their way out of their self-constructed cocoon of inactivity;
---those in the tombs of addiction, to sex, to alcohol, to narcotics, to thrill-seeking, to gambling, who cannot quit;
---those in the tombs of hate, for whom the world is 'us' and 'them' and who know not mercy and peace;
---and our tombs. Yours. Mine.
He died, and He went and staged the greatest rescue operation ever. He died, and death could no longer hold mankind, because it could not hold Him. He died, and He grabbed Adam and Eve out of their graves and pulled them along to Paradise. He died, He trampled down the gates of death, so that they cannot be rebuilt to hold *us*, and he bestowed life to us all.
If we haven't learned anything new from it, now would be a good time to pay attention. We have a week left.
Christ is risen. Indeed He is risen.
Blessings,
Mary Brigid
Oh, we've probably put away our Pascha candles, the ones that aren't already burned to a nub. We may have quit saying "Christ is risen" when we greet another Orthodox Christian. The flowers we received have all wilted and dried up, and have been burned or buried (mine go in my front bougainvilla garden where NOBODY walks amidst all those thorns!) And, honestly, it does seem like it's been a long time since the light of Pascha was kindled in the church that Saturday night in late April, and we first sang "Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life!"
That "long time"? That's a good thing. We are a society of seconds. Nothing lasts; the presidential candidates vie for the most powerful governmental post in the world, in 30-second sound bites. Commercials are never an entire minute anymore, because the viewer can't be trusted to pay attention that long...so we are bombarded by quick sensory jabs to get us to remember the latest soft drink, the latest cocktail, or the latest cholesterol medication. When we sing "Christ is risen" for 40 days after Pascha, we balance the celebration with the fast that came before. We remember that Christ said that the guests do not fast while the Bridegroom is with them; and, of course, from Pascha to Ascension, He was with them. We don't just remember it for a day. We don't just remember it for a week, until the curtains on the Royal Doors close and it's "business as usual". We remember every single day of those 40 days, and 40 days is, indeed, a long time.
Why is this so important? After all, everybody KNOWS that He is risen (or, for those who are not believers, they know that we claim He is risen). It's not like we're learning something new here.
Well, we should be.
Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life:
---those in the tombs of sin, who cannot find their way out of their self destructive behaviors;
---those in the tombs of grief, who mourn lost opportunities, lost relationships, lost time, lost love;
---those in the tombs of despair, for whom the sunrise is gray and shadowed and hollow, and who have lost hope;
---those in the tombs of fear, who cannot see the next turn in the road and who are choked with anxiety at what it holds;
---those in the tombs of sloth, who know there is more to the world than they are partaking of, yet cannot find their way out of their self-constructed cocoon of inactivity;
---those in the tombs of addiction, to sex, to alcohol, to narcotics, to thrill-seeking, to gambling, who cannot quit;
---those in the tombs of hate, for whom the world is 'us' and 'them' and who know not mercy and peace;
---and our tombs. Yours. Mine.
He died, and He went and staged the greatest rescue operation ever. He died, and death could no longer hold mankind, because it could not hold Him. He died, and He grabbed Adam and Eve out of their graves and pulled them along to Paradise. He died, He trampled down the gates of death, so that they cannot be rebuilt to hold *us*, and he bestowed life to us all.
If we haven't learned anything new from it, now would be a good time to pay attention. We have a week left.
Christ is risen. Indeed He is risen.
Blessings,
Mary Brigid
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
The Very Best Boy
There is nothing on earth so unconditional as the love of a dog. Humans, no matter how holy, no matter how selfless, no matter how committed, judge, weigh, balance, every hour of every day. It is an integral part of our fallen nature; some of us, certainly, more than others (hand raising here....!) but every one of us does it. A dog does not judge. You walk in the door, and his day is complete. He asks for nothing other than you.
And there is, therefore, nothing quite so hard as to take that last ride to the vet, and hold the giver of that unconditional love as he quietly slips away from this life.
Jackson, shown above, was a dog of, um, uncertain parentage. The breeder who rescued him from the Jackson, Mississippi airport in 1999 believed that he may have been a full-blooded, albeit badly bred, Irish terrier. As he matured over the years, my husband and I became convinced that there was something else there: he had a sight hound's ability to spot quarry (in his case, strange cats) a half-block away with the cat sitting stone still...he had a short snout, a wide head, and of course there were those ears which were about as hound-y as you can get. When he was caught at the Jackson airport, he had heartworm, and had been running loose for some undetermined length of time. The local shelter and Irish Terrier Rescue took him in, got him treated for heartworm, fed him up, and ITR put him up for adoption....just about the time I had gotten over the death of my previous Irish terrier and was ready to consider getting another.
I lived in Austin at the time; he, in Jackson. Amy Sumners, the breeder who cared for him there, agreed that we could meet in Longview, Texas, in the northeast corner of the state, and I could look at him in person, decide if he was the one I wanted. I'd seen his picture; but when I got out of my van and Amy got him out of hers, I knew he was meant to be mine, goofy ears and all; and he fastened himself onto me without reservation. The ride home was long, but he stood between the two front seats of the Windstar, wanting to be petted and fed Cheerios all the way home. After that ride, I wanted to name him Cheerio, for his personality as well as his snack preferences....the family hooted it down (probably just as well, actually) and Jackson he was christened.
He was a big doofus; a total attention scrounge who would cheerfully shoulder our other dog, Gracie, out of the way to get petted (and later, Pippin got the same treatment). He learned to stick his nose under an unsuspecting dangling hand and flip it upward, moving himself just enough forward that the descending hand landed smack on top of his head. He finally got chased out of our bed, much to his sorrow, when he simply would *not* quit sleeping with his head on my husband's pillow. I suppose, in retrospect, I can see my husband's point, though for a long time I'd let him sneak up on the outside of *my* side of the bed anyway.
He had some health problems for most of his life. Early on, several years after he came to us, we learned (the hard way) that he'd developed an allergy to wheat...that was after he'd snagged an entire loaf of bread off the counter top and gone into anaphylaxis. Come to think of it, we got to know the emergency vets in the area quite well there for awhile, until he apparently finally "got it" that those yummy smelling bags of food caused him to feel REALLY awful. That lesson did take awhile....! Later, the allergy extended to soy, beef, and corn, which put him on a premium lamb and rice kibble for most of the rest of his life.
A year ago, he developed something in one of his lymph glands in his neck. The lump was huge, and I took him into our former vet for diagnosis. The lump was so large, and had grown up so fast, that he was having issues breathing around it. Antibiotics and anti-inflammatory drugs caused an abeyance of symptoms...yet apparently the disease itself was still lurking. Over the last few weeks it apparently began to grow again, this time in his abdomen. I thought he was gaining weight and cut back on his food; he kept getting larger. He lost his sparkle, quit coming to the door to greet me, wanted to stay under the dining room table most of the time. A visit to our new vet, and he got a shot of anti-inflammatory and some oral meds, which once again appeared to rally him back to normal.
At least it did for about two weeks. In that two weeks, though, Jackson and Pippin got to go up to the ranch with me, to be "cow dogs" for a couple of days, and he ate it up. Walked the whole ranch; found out why you really are NOT supposed to walk in prickly pear cactus, smelled trails of deer and other wild animals, and loved every minute of it. It was to be his first, and last, trip, save one.
Saturday, he looked horrible. Both of us, without saying so, were expecting to wake Sunday morning and find him gone. Instead, we found him happy, up and moving, eating, going out, and looking happy and well. Likewise on Monday; but I had an appointment for him with our new vet for Tuesday morning, because I wanted more than medication for him; I wanted answers.
Tuesday was his last day. He awoke very sluggish, barely able to walk to the back yard, unable to hold up his leg to "go". I took him in for his appointment at 10:20. He stayed for bloodwork and and x-ray, and never came home again. The vet called me in the early afternoon: a huge mass, probably his lymph glands, was pushing his colon and even his kidneys out of place. He was inoperable, and in her guess, probably had only a few more days.
I drove back to the clinic, filled out the hateful paperwork for cremation, for euthanasia itself, wrote the check, then went in to the exam room. Jackson was brought back in, walking slowly, painfully, but happy to see me. I talked to him for awhile, petted him, told him he was "the very best boy in the whole wide world" (his favorite praise). The vet came in with her assistant and lifted him up to the table. I cradled him in my arms as the drugs started to go into his body, and I kept talking to him as he peacefully sighed and laid himself down into my arms. Still, he did not want to go, and fought to stay alert, then to stay alive; the vet said that his blood volume and pressure were so low, it was hard for his heart to circulate the drug through his body. I placed my hand by his nose, and told him "it's ok, you can go....go find Gracie". (Gracie was our dog when he first came to us, and he missed her terribly when she passed.) He sighed, and let go, and off he went over the Rainbow Bridge.
If you have never heard of the Rainbow Bridge (not an Orthodox dogma, I must point out) let me introduce you:
A good friend wrote me this morning and said this, which I want to pass on to you...also not as Orthodox dogma, not at all, but as a tribute to the very best boy in the whole wide world:
He has left an enormous hole in the hearts of all who knew him. Last night I received emails from as far away as Australia, from people who raised a glass to the very best boy in the whole wide world. He will make one last trip to Rancho San Tomas, where his ashes will be placed in a garden that will be Jackson's Garden. It might even contain a prickly pear.
Love you, buddy. And I miss you so.
Mary Brigid
There is nothing on earth so unconditional as the love of a dog. Humans, no matter how holy, no matter how selfless, no matter how committed, judge, weigh, balance, every hour of every day. It is an integral part of our fallen nature; some of us, certainly, more than others (hand raising here....!) but every one of us does it. A dog does not judge. You walk in the door, and his day is complete. He asks for nothing other than you.
And there is, therefore, nothing quite so hard as to take that last ride to the vet, and hold the giver of that unconditional love as he quietly slips away from this life.
Jackson, shown above, was a dog of, um, uncertain parentage. The breeder who rescued him from the Jackson, Mississippi airport in 1999 believed that he may have been a full-blooded, albeit badly bred, Irish terrier. As he matured over the years, my husband and I became convinced that there was something else there: he had a sight hound's ability to spot quarry (in his case, strange cats) a half-block away with the cat sitting stone still...he had a short snout, a wide head, and of course there were those ears which were about as hound-y as you can get. When he was caught at the Jackson airport, he had heartworm, and had been running loose for some undetermined length of time. The local shelter and Irish Terrier Rescue took him in, got him treated for heartworm, fed him up, and ITR put him up for adoption....just about the time I had gotten over the death of my previous Irish terrier and was ready to consider getting another.
I lived in Austin at the time; he, in Jackson. Amy Sumners, the breeder who cared for him there, agreed that we could meet in Longview, Texas, in the northeast corner of the state, and I could look at him in person, decide if he was the one I wanted. I'd seen his picture; but when I got out of my van and Amy got him out of hers, I knew he was meant to be mine, goofy ears and all; and he fastened himself onto me without reservation. The ride home was long, but he stood between the two front seats of the Windstar, wanting to be petted and fed Cheerios all the way home. After that ride, I wanted to name him Cheerio, for his personality as well as his snack preferences....the family hooted it down (probably just as well, actually) and Jackson he was christened.
He was a big doofus; a total attention scrounge who would cheerfully shoulder our other dog, Gracie, out of the way to get petted (and later, Pippin got the same treatment). He learned to stick his nose under an unsuspecting dangling hand and flip it upward, moving himself just enough forward that the descending hand landed smack on top of his head. He finally got chased out of our bed, much to his sorrow, when he simply would *not* quit sleeping with his head on my husband's pillow. I suppose, in retrospect, I can see my husband's point, though for a long time I'd let him sneak up on the outside of *my* side of the bed anyway.
He had some health problems for most of his life. Early on, several years after he came to us, we learned (the hard way) that he'd developed an allergy to wheat...that was after he'd snagged an entire loaf of bread off the counter top and gone into anaphylaxis. Come to think of it, we got to know the emergency vets in the area quite well there for awhile, until he apparently finally "got it" that those yummy smelling bags of food caused him to feel REALLY awful. That lesson did take awhile....! Later, the allergy extended to soy, beef, and corn, which put him on a premium lamb and rice kibble for most of the rest of his life.
A year ago, he developed something in one of his lymph glands in his neck. The lump was huge, and I took him into our former vet for diagnosis. The lump was so large, and had grown up so fast, that he was having issues breathing around it. Antibiotics and anti-inflammatory drugs caused an abeyance of symptoms...yet apparently the disease itself was still lurking. Over the last few weeks it apparently began to grow again, this time in his abdomen. I thought he was gaining weight and cut back on his food; he kept getting larger. He lost his sparkle, quit coming to the door to greet me, wanted to stay under the dining room table most of the time. A visit to our new vet, and he got a shot of anti-inflammatory and some oral meds, which once again appeared to rally him back to normal.
At least it did for about two weeks. In that two weeks, though, Jackson and Pippin got to go up to the ranch with me, to be "cow dogs" for a couple of days, and he ate it up. Walked the whole ranch; found out why you really are NOT supposed to walk in prickly pear cactus, smelled trails of deer and other wild animals, and loved every minute of it. It was to be his first, and last, trip, save one.
Saturday, he looked horrible. Both of us, without saying so, were expecting to wake Sunday morning and find him gone. Instead, we found him happy, up and moving, eating, going out, and looking happy and well. Likewise on Monday; but I had an appointment for him with our new vet for Tuesday morning, because I wanted more than medication for him; I wanted answers.
Tuesday was his last day. He awoke very sluggish, barely able to walk to the back yard, unable to hold up his leg to "go". I took him in for his appointment at 10:20. He stayed for bloodwork and and x-ray, and never came home again. The vet called me in the early afternoon: a huge mass, probably his lymph glands, was pushing his colon and even his kidneys out of place. He was inoperable, and in her guess, probably had only a few more days.
I drove back to the clinic, filled out the hateful paperwork for cremation, for euthanasia itself, wrote the check, then went in to the exam room. Jackson was brought back in, walking slowly, painfully, but happy to see me. I talked to him for awhile, petted him, told him he was "the very best boy in the whole wide world" (his favorite praise). The vet came in with her assistant and lifted him up to the table. I cradled him in my arms as the drugs started to go into his body, and I kept talking to him as he peacefully sighed and laid himself down into my arms. Still, he did not want to go, and fought to stay alert, then to stay alive; the vet said that his blood volume and pressure were so low, it was hard for his heart to circulate the drug through his body. I placed my hand by his nose, and told him "it's ok, you can go....go find Gracie". (Gracie was our dog when he first came to us, and he missed her terribly when she passed.) He sighed, and let go, and off he went over the Rainbow Bridge.
If you have never heard of the Rainbow Bridge (not an Orthodox dogma, I must point out) let me introduce you:
Just this side of Heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing: they each miss someone very special, someone who was left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; his eager body begins to quiver. Suddenly, he breaks from the group, flying over the green grass, faster and faster. You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into those trusting eyes, so long gone from your life, but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together...
A good friend wrote me this morning and said this, which I want to pass on to you...also not as Orthodox dogma, not at all, but as a tribute to the very best boy in the whole wide world:
Jan,
Our Creator and God would never allow the intense, undying love that is packaged up in the heart of a dog, if that love was destined to disappear forever. Jackson, like all dogs, is a reflection of the love our God has for us, otherwise he would not have named them in the reverse of His name.
In the place that is prepared for us, there awaits our loyal and loving companions who walk on four legs and wag their tails so hard and so fast; which is to say "I love you so much my human, I could just pee."
He has left an enormous hole in the hearts of all who knew him. Last night I received emails from as far away as Australia, from people who raised a glass to the very best boy in the whole wide world. He will make one last trip to Rancho San Tomas, where his ashes will be placed in a garden that will be Jackson's Garden. It might even contain a prickly pear.
Love you, buddy. And I miss you so.
Mary Brigid
Sunday, May 04, 2008
What you're remembered for
Christ is risen!
It is the first Sunday after Pascha; the chanters mostly have their voices back, although we had one chanter still suffering from laryngitis (get better, Isabel!) as of today. Our energy level is mostly back as well, although my cold has dug in for the duration and has gone to deep cover in my lungs somewhere. Unless this thing is *gone* tomorrow morning I foresee another visit to the doc and another round of antibiotics to clear it out. Blah.
In western churches the Sunday after western Easter is usually referred to as "low Sunday"....in reference to the number of members who are *not* at church that day. At our church we thought we were about to have as low a Sunday as had ever been... but just about the time Liturgy was to start, suddenly the place was almost full! I can't speak for other Orthodox congregations, but in the churches I've been in, Pascha's just the start of the celebration. In our old church before we became Orthodox, Easter was, well, the end of Lent. Something was finished, over, done...and we'd pick up again with celebration at Pentecost, certainly, but the time between was just....Ordinary Time.
Not in Orthodoxy. There is NOTHING ordinary about the Pascha season. Today, for example, was Thomas Sunday. As Fr. James noted in his sermon today, when you say the name "Thomas" in the context of the apostle, there is one word that gets hung in front of his name every time. Doubting. To be a "doubting Thomas" is to be a skeptic, someone to whom everything must be proven.
Personally, I think he gets a bad rap.
If you read the gospels, you will note that Thomas is known for something else. He is, more than any of the apostles, courageous. When Jesus, in the last weeks of His life, told His disciples that it was time for him to go to Jerusalem, the gospels tell us that the other apostles tried to talk Him out of it. "They're out to kill you!" "They just tried to stone you!" (Probably there were a few muttered "we're all gonna DIE" comments in there too, but the gospels don't record those. Myself, had I been there, that would have been me....)
But not Thomas. He did what you'd sort of expect Peter to have done....Peter, always "bigger than life", a bit of a braggart (remember that "everybody else might betray you but ***I*** never would" line?) Peter, you'd expect to form up an advance team, plan the defenses, take charge, get things going.....Peter, we don't hear a word from. But we do from Thomas.
"Let us go with Him, that we may die with Him."
Doesn't sound like much of a skeptic, now, does it? I can probably count on one hand the things I'd be truly willing to die for. My family. My country. My church, and by extension, my Lord. Every one of those things is something that defines me, without which I wouldn't BE me. They are things, they are people, that I utterly, totally, and absolutely am committed to, love, and believe in.
And I think that sums up Thomas, too.
Yes, it is true that he did not believe the apostle's news of the risen Lord. They would hardly have been the first, or last, human beings to think they saw a loved one they just lost unexpectedly and violently. He had no reason TO believe them. It's hardly fair, judging him from our perspective of 2000 years later....we get to read the back of the book, we know how it came out, as it were. He didn't. And he could not give himself up to hope without some tangible, clear sign that it really was true.
It's worth comparing Thomas, at this point, to the Pharisees who dogged Jesus' steps during His ministry. The Pharisees were constantly demanding a sign from Him, to prove that He was the Messiah. Thomas, on the other hand, never asked for anything. Never demanded anything that we know of. He simply said, "I have to see it for myself."
And the Lord granted that.
It is BECAUSE Thomas utterly, totally, and absolutely was committed to Christ that his response upon seeing the risen Lord was, itself, a courageous act. Faced with the risen Lord, he cried, "My Lord and my God!" He had the courage to proclaim, for the first time ever (as Fr. James pointed out in his sermon) that Jesus was not just the Son of God, but is in fact God in the flesh. He may not have understood how that could be, but he believed, and he spoke his belief.
Thomas is remembered for his doubts, not of Christ....never of Christ....but of the apostle's experience. It is for this reason that Christ invites him to "come and see", without censure or reproach. And Thomas speaks those words of faith, proclaiming the divinity of Christ to us all. He went on, later, to proclaim it in south Asia, founding the church in India that still cherishes his memory.
My husband and I have always had a connection to St. Thomas. We were married 26 years ago in an Episcopal church named for him. When we became Orthodox, we took St. Thomas as the patron and protector of our family, and we have had an icon of him for all those years. When we bought the ranch in Llano, we spent quite some time thinking about what to call it (Birdsong Ranch seemed appropriate, among others) and ended up deciding on Rancho San Tomas. On my icon table is a preliminary study of an icon of St. Thomas that will eventually be completed for an outdoor shrine that we'll set up near the front gate of the ranch.
"Doubting" Thomas??? His whole life from the moment he met Jesus was devoted to Him and proclaimed Him as his Lord, and eventually proclaimed him as ours as well. Doubting Thomas? We should all be able to show a life of such "doubting" at the dread judgement seat.
St. Thomas, our patron and protector, pray for us.
Blessings,
Mary Brigid
It is the first Sunday after Pascha; the chanters mostly have their voices back, although we had one chanter still suffering from laryngitis (get better, Isabel!) as of today. Our energy level is mostly back as well, although my cold has dug in for the duration and has gone to deep cover in my lungs somewhere. Unless this thing is *gone* tomorrow morning I foresee another visit to the doc and another round of antibiotics to clear it out. Blah.
In western churches the Sunday after western Easter is usually referred to as "low Sunday"....in reference to the number of members who are *not* at church that day. At our church we thought we were about to have as low a Sunday as had ever been... but just about the time Liturgy was to start, suddenly the place was almost full! I can't speak for other Orthodox congregations, but in the churches I've been in, Pascha's just the start of the celebration. In our old church before we became Orthodox, Easter was, well, the end of Lent. Something was finished, over, done...and we'd pick up again with celebration at Pentecost, certainly, but the time between was just....Ordinary Time.
Not in Orthodoxy. There is NOTHING ordinary about the Pascha season. Today, for example, was Thomas Sunday. As Fr. James noted in his sermon today, when you say the name "Thomas" in the context of the apostle, there is one word that gets hung in front of his name every time. Doubting. To be a "doubting Thomas" is to be a skeptic, someone to whom everything must be proven.
Personally, I think he gets a bad rap.
If you read the gospels, you will note that Thomas is known for something else. He is, more than any of the apostles, courageous. When Jesus, in the last weeks of His life, told His disciples that it was time for him to go to Jerusalem, the gospels tell us that the other apostles tried to talk Him out of it. "They're out to kill you!" "They just tried to stone you!" (Probably there were a few muttered "we're all gonna DIE" comments in there too, but the gospels don't record those. Myself, had I been there, that would have been me....)
But not Thomas. He did what you'd sort of expect Peter to have done....Peter, always "bigger than life", a bit of a braggart (remember that "everybody else might betray you but ***I*** never would" line?) Peter, you'd expect to form up an advance team, plan the defenses, take charge, get things going.....Peter, we don't hear a word from. But we do from Thomas.
"Let us go with Him, that we may die with Him."
Doesn't sound like much of a skeptic, now, does it? I can probably count on one hand the things I'd be truly willing to die for. My family. My country. My church, and by extension, my Lord. Every one of those things is something that defines me, without which I wouldn't BE me. They are things, they are people, that I utterly, totally, and absolutely am committed to, love, and believe in.
And I think that sums up Thomas, too.
Yes, it is true that he did not believe the apostle's news of the risen Lord. They would hardly have been the first, or last, human beings to think they saw a loved one they just lost unexpectedly and violently. He had no reason TO believe them. It's hardly fair, judging him from our perspective of 2000 years later....we get to read the back of the book, we know how it came out, as it were. He didn't. And he could not give himself up to hope without some tangible, clear sign that it really was true.
It's worth comparing Thomas, at this point, to the Pharisees who dogged Jesus' steps during His ministry. The Pharisees were constantly demanding a sign from Him, to prove that He was the Messiah. Thomas, on the other hand, never asked for anything. Never demanded anything that we know of. He simply said, "I have to see it for myself."
And the Lord granted that.
It is BECAUSE Thomas utterly, totally, and absolutely was committed to Christ that his response upon seeing the risen Lord was, itself, a courageous act. Faced with the risen Lord, he cried, "My Lord and my God!" He had the courage to proclaim, for the first time ever (as Fr. James pointed out in his sermon) that Jesus was not just the Son of God, but is in fact God in the flesh. He may not have understood how that could be, but he believed, and he spoke his belief.
Thomas is remembered for his doubts, not of Christ....never of Christ....but of the apostle's experience. It is for this reason that Christ invites him to "come and see", without censure or reproach. And Thomas speaks those words of faith, proclaiming the divinity of Christ to us all. He went on, later, to proclaim it in south Asia, founding the church in India that still cherishes his memory.
My husband and I have always had a connection to St. Thomas. We were married 26 years ago in an Episcopal church named for him. When we became Orthodox, we took St. Thomas as the patron and protector of our family, and we have had an icon of him for all those years. When we bought the ranch in Llano, we spent quite some time thinking about what to call it (Birdsong Ranch seemed appropriate, among others) and ended up deciding on Rancho San Tomas. On my icon table is a preliminary study of an icon of St. Thomas that will eventually be completed for an outdoor shrine that we'll set up near the front gate of the ranch.
"Doubting" Thomas??? His whole life from the moment he met Jesus was devoted to Him and proclaimed Him as his Lord, and eventually proclaimed him as ours as well. Doubting Thomas? We should all be able to show a life of such "doubting" at the dread judgement seat.
St. Thomas, our patron and protector, pray for us.
Blessings,
Mary Brigid
Friday, May 02, 2008
Eagle's nests and other musings
One of absolutely COOLEST things about our ranch in Llano isn't even on our ranch. It's a bald eagle's nest, located about seven miles east of Llano on State Highway 29. There are a goodly number of bald eagles that live in the near environs of the Highland Lakes (Lake Buchanan, Inks Lake, Lake LBJ) and you can even take a boat cruise to go look at the nests that are perched in wilderness where you are unlikely to ever walk. But the nest on Hwy. 29 is just that...ON the highway (well, ok, maybe 100 yards south of the highway). The state has paved a pull-off area for people who want to stand and watch these majestic birds. And people do; sometimes as many as a hundred folks will be clustered along the chain link fence, their high-powered telephoto lenses catching amazing photos of the parents and their chicks.
It's quite a sight to behold, from about November to March. The parents return to that nest every year, and will until they die.
The babies, though....when April comes, the parents make one last trip as parents with their babies, showing them the flight paths to take to get from central Texas to Alaska, where they will fish for months before the incipent chill of fall drives them south again.
When the parents return, they will return to an empty nest.
Of course, it won't be empty for long....mama eagle will lay another clutch of eggs and, God willing and nature behaving, those eggs will hatch another crop of chicks. Chicks who need food....lots of it....that the nearby Llano River provides in abundance. The nest gets fouled; mama and daddy clean it out. More tourists will watch them grow, until the cycle repeats itself the following spring.
Mind you, the babies tend to think this system is pretty comfortable. Who wouldn't....sushi on demand all day long; safety; warmth; an easy life. So mama pulls a little trick on those babies of hers. She weaves the inside of the nest such that it is prickly. Sticks, thorns, are turned inward. When the chicks are little it's no problem; but as they get bigger, and heavier, those inward-turned twigs and thorns become a motivation to learn to fly. And learning to fly is THE precursor to leaving the nest for good. In other words, mama doesn't let them get TOO comfy with their adolescence. When it's time to go, it's time to go; and she makes certain they are ready.
I have launched my own chicks this same way. And this past weekend, on Pascha, my last one flew the nest.
Of course he didn't fly too far...he is sharing an apartment with his older brother. And not a day has yet gone by when he hasn't called needing something or other. That will continue for a bit. But his bedroom is almost empty (the closet, with its hundreds and hundreds of Magic: the Gathering, and Yu-Gi-Oh playing cards, still remain for me to box up and put in the attic). The posters are down. The icons were moved to his new place, where he and his brother (who never come to church, mind you) have set up an icon corner. The walls need repair, the nail holes, spackle; everything needs a good cleaning and scrubbing. I will be working on that for the next few weeks; and eventually the room will be turned into a spare bedroom.
For now, this mama eagle is a bit bereft.
For the first time in 35 years, I do not have a child to teach, feed, care for, run after, clean up after, ferry to various places. It is a very odd experience. It is I now, not the chicks, who feel the pricks and sticks of the nest walls. It is a time we have looked forward to, certainly, still being in our early 50's and thus still having health and energy to enjoy life together. But it is a time I have dreaded, too, and it is here.
A friend of my husband's sent along a note, with the observance that you can always tell mothers with a newly empty nest. They are the ones wearing dark glasses so as to hide their red eyes from others. That, I have not found to be necessary, but then I was taught long ago never to cry; and I rarely do. But neither do I have much smile available just now. Bright Week is shadowed, tinged with gray. And the silence of a home without a child is very, very loud.
Blessings,
Mary Brigid
It's quite a sight to behold, from about November to March. The parents return to that nest every year, and will until they die.
The babies, though....when April comes, the parents make one last trip as parents with their babies, showing them the flight paths to take to get from central Texas to Alaska, where they will fish for months before the incipent chill of fall drives them south again.
When the parents return, they will return to an empty nest.
Of course, it won't be empty for long....mama eagle will lay another clutch of eggs and, God willing and nature behaving, those eggs will hatch another crop of chicks. Chicks who need food....lots of it....that the nearby Llano River provides in abundance. The nest gets fouled; mama and daddy clean it out. More tourists will watch them grow, until the cycle repeats itself the following spring.
Mind you, the babies tend to think this system is pretty comfortable. Who wouldn't....sushi on demand all day long; safety; warmth; an easy life. So mama pulls a little trick on those babies of hers. She weaves the inside of the nest such that it is prickly. Sticks, thorns, are turned inward. When the chicks are little it's no problem; but as they get bigger, and heavier, those inward-turned twigs and thorns become a motivation to learn to fly. And learning to fly is THE precursor to leaving the nest for good. In other words, mama doesn't let them get TOO comfy with their adolescence. When it's time to go, it's time to go; and she makes certain they are ready.
I have launched my own chicks this same way. And this past weekend, on Pascha, my last one flew the nest.
Of course he didn't fly too far...he is sharing an apartment with his older brother. And not a day has yet gone by when he hasn't called needing something or other. That will continue for a bit. But his bedroom is almost empty (the closet, with its hundreds and hundreds of Magic: the Gathering, and Yu-Gi-Oh playing cards, still remain for me to box up and put in the attic). The posters are down. The icons were moved to his new place, where he and his brother (who never come to church, mind you) have set up an icon corner. The walls need repair, the nail holes, spackle; everything needs a good cleaning and scrubbing. I will be working on that for the next few weeks; and eventually the room will be turned into a spare bedroom.
For now, this mama eagle is a bit bereft.
For the first time in 35 years, I do not have a child to teach, feed, care for, run after, clean up after, ferry to various places. It is a very odd experience. It is I now, not the chicks, who feel the pricks and sticks of the nest walls. It is a time we have looked forward to, certainly, still being in our early 50's and thus still having health and energy to enjoy life together. But it is a time I have dreaded, too, and it is here.
A friend of my husband's sent along a note, with the observance that you can always tell mothers with a newly empty nest. They are the ones wearing dark glasses so as to hide their red eyes from others. That, I have not found to be necessary, but then I was taught long ago never to cry; and I rarely do. But neither do I have much smile available just now. Bright Week is shadowed, tinged with gray. And the silence of a home without a child is very, very loud.
Blessings,
Mary Brigid
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Christ is risen!
For those of you not of the Orthodox persuasion, that is the greeting with which we say "hello" for the next 40 days. The response is, "Indeed He is risen!" It's always a hoot during the Pascha service when it gets said in many different languages, all, down here, with a serious Texan accent. When we say it in Greek (Christos anesti!) the Greek speakers in the congregation crack up. Arabic is worse. Once, when I was choir director, I asked one of the longsuffering Arab ladies in the congregation to teach us to say "Ya rub burham" (close as you can get in English script). Eventually she gave up, more because she was holding her sides helplessly laughing than anything else. I think we can safely say we mangled just about every foreign language we tried last Sunday (with the possible exception of Spanish, as anyone who's got a pulse can probably pull off a reasonable Spanish phrase here in Texas.)
This first week is particularly interesting; we don't do the normal morning and evening prayers that are contained in the prayer books. Rather, we are directed to the "Paschal Hours", which is a repeat of some of the prayers from that very, VERY long night's service.
The one thing we don't get to repeat, and won't hear again until next year, is St. John Chrysostom's famous Paschal sermon. In many churches, it is the only sermon for Pascha, although many priests can understandably not resist the opportunity to preach to people they see only that one time a year (yes, we too have our "C & E Christians:, lol).
For those of you who did not attend Pascha last weekend; and as a treat for those who did, the following is St. John's wonderful sermon for Pascha:
If anyone is devout and a lover of God, let him enjoy this beautiful and radiant festival. If anyone is a wise servant, let him, rejoicing, enter into the joy of his Lord. If anyone has wearied himself in fasting, let him now receive his recompense. If anyone has labored from the first hour, let him today receive his just reward. If anyone has com at the third hour, with thanksgiving let him keep the feast. If anyone has arrived at the sixth hour, let him have no misgivings,; for he shall suffer no loss. If anyone has delayed until the ninth hour, let him draw near without hesitation. If anyone has arrived even at the eleventh hour, let him not fear on account of his delay. For the Master is gracious and receives the last, even as the first; he gives rest to him that comes at the eleventh hour, just as to him who has labored from the first. He has mercy upon the last and cares for the first; to the one he gives, and to the other he is gracious. He both honors the work and praises the intention.
Enter, all of you, therefore, into the joy of the Lord, and whether first or last, receive your reward. O rich and poor, one with another, dance with joy! O you ascetics and you negligent, celebrate the day! You that have fasted and you that have disregarded the fast, rejoice today! The table is rich-laden; feast royally, all of you! The calf is fatted; let no one go forth hungry!
Let all partake of the feast of faith. Let all receive the riches of goodness. Let no one lament his poverty, for the universal kingdom has been revealed. Let no one mourn his transgressions, for pardon hath dawned from the grave. Let no one fear death, for the Savior's death has set us free.
He that was taken by death has annihilated it! He descended into hades and took hades captive! He embittered it when it tasted his flesh! And anticipating this Isaiah exclaimed, "Hades was embittered when it encountered thee in the lower regions." It was embittered, for it was abolished! It was embittered, for it was despoiled! It was embittered, for it was bound in chains!
It took a body, and face to face, met God! It took earth and encountered heaven! It took what it saw but crumbled before what it had not seen! "O death, where is thy sting? O hades, where is thy victory?"
Christ is risen, and you are overthrown! Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen! Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice! Christ is risen, and life reigns!
Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in a tomb!
For Christ, being raised from the dead, has become the First fruits of them that slept.
To him be glory and might unto ages of ages, Amen.
***************************************************************************
For this week in particular, the Church celebrates each day. There is no fasting allowed (Wendy's single hamburger with cheese, here I come tomorrow...!) There is no prostration during prayer allowed. The doors of the iconostasis, usually closed, are thrown open as symbolic of the stone of the tomb being thrown aside. This is not to say that all Orthodox Christians walk around with a plastic smile on their faces, regardless of the circumstances of their lives....what one of our old professors called "Dry Gums Christianity", since all you get from that behavior is dry gums. Rather, even if our own circumstances are sorrowful, the joy of this week stands in counterpoint, showing us that there is much more than these things that weigh us down....that the tomb is truly empty.
Christ is risen. Indeed He is risen.
Blessings,
Mary Brigid
This first week is particularly interesting; we don't do the normal morning and evening prayers that are contained in the prayer books. Rather, we are directed to the "Paschal Hours", which is a repeat of some of the prayers from that very, VERY long night's service.
The one thing we don't get to repeat, and won't hear again until next year, is St. John Chrysostom's famous Paschal sermon. In many churches, it is the only sermon for Pascha, although many priests can understandably not resist the opportunity to preach to people they see only that one time a year (yes, we too have our "C & E Christians:, lol).
For those of you who did not attend Pascha last weekend; and as a treat for those who did, the following is St. John's wonderful sermon for Pascha:
If anyone is devout and a lover of God, let him enjoy this beautiful and radiant festival. If anyone is a wise servant, let him, rejoicing, enter into the joy of his Lord. If anyone has wearied himself in fasting, let him now receive his recompense. If anyone has labored from the first hour, let him today receive his just reward. If anyone has com at the third hour, with thanksgiving let him keep the feast. If anyone has arrived at the sixth hour, let him have no misgivings,; for he shall suffer no loss. If anyone has delayed until the ninth hour, let him draw near without hesitation. If anyone has arrived even at the eleventh hour, let him not fear on account of his delay. For the Master is gracious and receives the last, even as the first; he gives rest to him that comes at the eleventh hour, just as to him who has labored from the first. He has mercy upon the last and cares for the first; to the one he gives, and to the other he is gracious. He both honors the work and praises the intention.
Enter, all of you, therefore, into the joy of the Lord, and whether first or last, receive your reward. O rich and poor, one with another, dance with joy! O you ascetics and you negligent, celebrate the day! You that have fasted and you that have disregarded the fast, rejoice today! The table is rich-laden; feast royally, all of you! The calf is fatted; let no one go forth hungry!
Let all partake of the feast of faith. Let all receive the riches of goodness. Let no one lament his poverty, for the universal kingdom has been revealed. Let no one mourn his transgressions, for pardon hath dawned from the grave. Let no one fear death, for the Savior's death has set us free.
He that was taken by death has annihilated it! He descended into hades and took hades captive! He embittered it when it tasted his flesh! And anticipating this Isaiah exclaimed, "Hades was embittered when it encountered thee in the lower regions." It was embittered, for it was abolished! It was embittered, for it was despoiled! It was embittered, for it was bound in chains!
It took a body, and face to face, met God! It took earth and encountered heaven! It took what it saw but crumbled before what it had not seen! "O death, where is thy sting? O hades, where is thy victory?"
Christ is risen, and you are overthrown! Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen! Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice! Christ is risen, and life reigns!
Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in a tomb!
For Christ, being raised from the dead, has become the First fruits of them that slept.
To him be glory and might unto ages of ages, Amen.
***************************************************************************
For this week in particular, the Church celebrates each day. There is no fasting allowed (Wendy's single hamburger with cheese, here I come tomorrow...!) There is no prostration during prayer allowed. The doors of the iconostasis, usually closed, are thrown open as symbolic of the stone of the tomb being thrown aside. This is not to say that all Orthodox Christians walk around with a plastic smile on their faces, regardless of the circumstances of their lives....what one of our old professors called "Dry Gums Christianity", since all you get from that behavior is dry gums. Rather, even if our own circumstances are sorrowful, the joy of this week stands in counterpoint, showing us that there is much more than these things that weigh us down....that the tomb is truly empty.
Christ is risen. Indeed He is risen.
Blessings,
Mary Brigid
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Voluntary Passion
What would you die for?
No fast answers, now. What would you die for, seriously? For your family, your spouse and kids? For your country? For your faith? How about for a total stranger? For an Army buddy? Not too long ago, a Navy SEAL fell onto a grenade to protect his comrades. They all lived. He is honored in our memories, a hero.
As many readers of this blog know, I am a target shooter (rifle and pistol), total amateur (this, by the way, is germane to the paragraph above. Stay with me.) In 2005, the weekend of Katrina, I took the concealed handgun license class given here in Texas, to receive a license to carry a concealed pistol or revolver. I did this to protect my own life, certainly; but I had to (and still do have to) think long and hard to answer the question "for whom else would you pull that gun to protect them?" I'm not a police officer, I have no legal *duty* to protect...but I know in my heart that there are circumstances one can imagine in which I would do so, regardless of the risk that I might die for that decision.
So....who would you die for? How about your enemy? Think about the person or persons who have done the most damage to you in your life. The person who has spat on everything you are, who has turned their back on you, perhaps betrayed you. I would like to say "Yes, I would. I would forgive. I would do the right thing."
I'd like to say that, but I try not to lie to my readers; so all I can say is "I'd hope that I would, but I don't know."
Why do I ask? Because tonight is (liturgically) the beginning of Thursday; Holy Thursday, about which I promised to write. It is, for me, the day that Lent is *really* over. Tonight, we heard seven readings from the epistles, seven gospel readings, seven prayers prayed by the priest for us, his flock. Tonight we knelt, prostrating ourselves, while he held the book of the gospels over us and prayed for our utter, complete, total, absolute healing. Physical healing. Emotional healing (the prayer book we use calls it "psychic healing", meaning, of course, the healing of the psyche, the mind). Spiritual healing and release from the things to which we are bound. Even, from a church perspective, legal healing...as we pray for any among us "under the ban of a priest" (that is to say, refused the Chalice, refused communion, due to grave sin.) And we receive it. Make no mistake, that prayer is heard, and it is answered. I will set aside for the moment the obvious questions that arise regarding physical healing, particularly the odd practices of some western sects in that regard. I'll come back to them another time if someone will remember to remind me.
Healing and forgiveness are two sides of the coin in Orthodox faith. We see sin not in the legal-system view of the west, but rather in the sense that we are broken, we're sick, we're messed up, we don't work right. So when we come to this unique service on chronological Wednesday night, looking ahead to this liturgical Holy Thursday, we ask for and receive forgiveness and we ask for and receive healing; and they are one in the same.
How can this be? How can we "have standing to sue" (to use a secular legal term), to ask God for such audacious requests? We can do this because of what is about to happen next in this week. He Who created all this we see around us, He Who would have been totally complete in Himself without ever creating *anything*, cannot...will not...leave it, leave us, broken, sick, messed up, not working right. He created in the first place because He loves; and it is the nature of Love to expand, to grow, to share, to give. Having created us, having loved us into being, He cannot and will not simply step aside and leave us to our ruin.
He comes to the rescue. He comes to make it right. He comes to His voluntary Passion. He comes to "bear our infirmities and heal our diseases". He comes to take upon Himself all that broken, sick, messed up, dysfunctional nature and make it right. He does it voluntarily; He accepts and enters into His Passion.
There is always a lot of mental gymnastics present among western theologians, and one of the things they like to discuss is the nature of this most dread night. To the west, we are not messed up and sick. Rather, we're criminals. Traitors. And the penalty for treason against the lawful King is death. To the west, Christ came to pay that penalty in place of us, and in so doing, saves us and enables us to enter into His Kingdom. Perhaps the most extreme, and well known, exposition of this view is the famous sermon by the Rev. Jonathan Edwards of the Puritans, entitled "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God." If you're of a mind to have nightmares, don't read it too close to bed....
We see it differently. Christ came, and entered voluntarily into His Passion, in order to mount a rescue in the prison from which no rescue was possible without it. He had to die in order to go to Hades; and when he went, it was not as a bound prisoner. Not hardly. Take a look some time, a close look, at the icon called "The Harrowing of Hell". Christ stands, triumphant, centered in a mandorla of deep blue which symbolizes heaven. He stands on top of the crossed, broken-off, crushed gates of Hell. Beneath is the abyss; and in that abyss, we see broken locks, broken chain links, flotsam and jetsam of an instantaneous invasion that destroyed the prison gates once and for all. He stands, one hand pulling Adam from his grave; the other, pulling Eve, as in the background, the righteous of the Old Testament stand and marvel. John the Forerunner is there, still bearing witness "this is the One of whom I spoke".
We've been forgiven. We've been healed. And in going voluntarily to His Passion, Christ rescues us from death itself. Oh, this bag of bones I rattle around in will quit functioning at some point, sure. But death has no power to hold me separate from Him anymore. There's no gates to hold anybody in at all. Now, if someone ends up in Hell, it's because they've chosen it for themselves throughout their lives, not because it's the "default option" after our last breath.
Tomorrow (ack! past midnight already, so I'll have to say "later this morning") we will celebrate that Last Supper. We will re-enact the washing of the disciple's feet, we will share in the Holy Mysteries. Then later that night, we will remember the rest of it.
1) The betrayal.
2) The arrest.
3) The interrogations and beatings and mocking and spitting and scourging
4) The cowardice of Pilate; the hate of the crowds
5) The walk to Gesthemane
6) the hammering in of nails (think "railroad spikes" here, not something you'd put up a snapshot on the wall)
7) The agony of His Mother as She stands at the foot of the cross.
Tomorrow night, there is a song, which I will be privileged to sing partway through the twelve accounts of these events.
""Today is suspended upon the Tree,
He who suspended the land upon the waters
Today is suspended upon the Tree,
He who suspended the land upon the waters
Today is suspended upon the Tree,
He who suspended the land upon the waters
A crown of thorns crowns Him,
Who is the King of Angels.
He is wrapped about with the purple of mockery
Who wrapped the Heavens with clouds,
He received smitings,
He, Who freed Adam in the Jordan.
He is transfixed with nails,
Who is the Son of the Virgin
We worship Thy Passion, O Christ.
We worship Thy Passion, O Christ.
We worship Thy Passion, O Christ.
Show us also, Thy glorious Resurrection."
We are whom He died to rescue. We are whom He died to set right. Not because we deserve it. But simply because He loves us, and would never leave us without hope. His answer to "who would you die for?" is....you. Me. Us.
Have a blessed Holy Thursday.
---Mary Brigid
No fast answers, now. What would you die for, seriously? For your family, your spouse and kids? For your country? For your faith? How about for a total stranger? For an Army buddy? Not too long ago, a Navy SEAL fell onto a grenade to protect his comrades. They all lived. He is honored in our memories, a hero.
As many readers of this blog know, I am a target shooter (rifle and pistol), total amateur (this, by the way, is germane to the paragraph above. Stay with me.) In 2005, the weekend of Katrina, I took the concealed handgun license class given here in Texas, to receive a license to carry a concealed pistol or revolver. I did this to protect my own life, certainly; but I had to (and still do have to) think long and hard to answer the question "for whom else would you pull that gun to protect them?" I'm not a police officer, I have no legal *duty* to protect...but I know in my heart that there are circumstances one can imagine in which I would do so, regardless of the risk that I might die for that decision.
So....who would you die for? How about your enemy? Think about the person or persons who have done the most damage to you in your life. The person who has spat on everything you are, who has turned their back on you, perhaps betrayed you. I would like to say "Yes, I would. I would forgive. I would do the right thing."
I'd like to say that, but I try not to lie to my readers; so all I can say is "I'd hope that I would, but I don't know."
Why do I ask? Because tonight is (liturgically) the beginning of Thursday; Holy Thursday, about which I promised to write. It is, for me, the day that Lent is *really* over. Tonight, we heard seven readings from the epistles, seven gospel readings, seven prayers prayed by the priest for us, his flock. Tonight we knelt, prostrating ourselves, while he held the book of the gospels over us and prayed for our utter, complete, total, absolute healing. Physical healing. Emotional healing (the prayer book we use calls it "psychic healing", meaning, of course, the healing of the psyche, the mind). Spiritual healing and release from the things to which we are bound. Even, from a church perspective, legal healing...as we pray for any among us "under the ban of a priest" (that is to say, refused the Chalice, refused communion, due to grave sin.) And we receive it. Make no mistake, that prayer is heard, and it is answered. I will set aside for the moment the obvious questions that arise regarding physical healing, particularly the odd practices of some western sects in that regard. I'll come back to them another time if someone will remember to remind me.
Healing and forgiveness are two sides of the coin in Orthodox faith. We see sin not in the legal-system view of the west, but rather in the sense that we are broken, we're sick, we're messed up, we don't work right. So when we come to this unique service on chronological Wednesday night, looking ahead to this liturgical Holy Thursday, we ask for and receive forgiveness and we ask for and receive healing; and they are one in the same.
How can this be? How can we "have standing to sue" (to use a secular legal term), to ask God for such audacious requests? We can do this because of what is about to happen next in this week. He Who created all this we see around us, He Who would have been totally complete in Himself without ever creating *anything*, cannot...will not...leave it, leave us, broken, sick, messed up, not working right. He created in the first place because He loves; and it is the nature of Love to expand, to grow, to share, to give. Having created us, having loved us into being, He cannot and will not simply step aside and leave us to our ruin.
He comes to the rescue. He comes to make it right. He comes to His voluntary Passion. He comes to "bear our infirmities and heal our diseases". He comes to take upon Himself all that broken, sick, messed up, dysfunctional nature and make it right. He does it voluntarily; He accepts and enters into His Passion.
There is always a lot of mental gymnastics present among western theologians, and one of the things they like to discuss is the nature of this most dread night. To the west, we are not messed up and sick. Rather, we're criminals. Traitors. And the penalty for treason against the lawful King is death. To the west, Christ came to pay that penalty in place of us, and in so doing, saves us and enables us to enter into His Kingdom. Perhaps the most extreme, and well known, exposition of this view is the famous sermon by the Rev. Jonathan Edwards of the Puritans, entitled "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God." If you're of a mind to have nightmares, don't read it too close to bed....
We see it differently. Christ came, and entered voluntarily into His Passion, in order to mount a rescue in the prison from which no rescue was possible without it. He had to die in order to go to Hades; and when he went, it was not as a bound prisoner. Not hardly. Take a look some time, a close look, at the icon called "The Harrowing of Hell". Christ stands, triumphant, centered in a mandorla of deep blue which symbolizes heaven. He stands on top of the crossed, broken-off, crushed gates of Hell. Beneath is the abyss; and in that abyss, we see broken locks, broken chain links, flotsam and jetsam of an instantaneous invasion that destroyed the prison gates once and for all. He stands, one hand pulling Adam from his grave; the other, pulling Eve, as in the background, the righteous of the Old Testament stand and marvel. John the Forerunner is there, still bearing witness "this is the One of whom I spoke".
We've been forgiven. We've been healed. And in going voluntarily to His Passion, Christ rescues us from death itself. Oh, this bag of bones I rattle around in will quit functioning at some point, sure. But death has no power to hold me separate from Him anymore. There's no gates to hold anybody in at all. Now, if someone ends up in Hell, it's because they've chosen it for themselves throughout their lives, not because it's the "default option" after our last breath.
Tomorrow (ack! past midnight already, so I'll have to say "later this morning") we will celebrate that Last Supper. We will re-enact the washing of the disciple's feet, we will share in the Holy Mysteries. Then later that night, we will remember the rest of it.
1) The betrayal.
2) The arrest.
3) The interrogations and beatings and mocking and spitting and scourging
4) The cowardice of Pilate; the hate of the crowds
5) The walk to Gesthemane
6) the hammering in of nails (think "railroad spikes" here, not something you'd put up a snapshot on the wall)
7) The agony of His Mother as She stands at the foot of the cross.
Tomorrow night, there is a song, which I will be privileged to sing partway through the twelve accounts of these events.
""Today is suspended upon the Tree,
He who suspended the land upon the waters
Today is suspended upon the Tree,
He who suspended the land upon the waters
Today is suspended upon the Tree,
He who suspended the land upon the waters
A crown of thorns crowns Him,
Who is the King of Angels.
He is wrapped about with the purple of mockery
Who wrapped the Heavens with clouds,
He received smitings,
He, Who freed Adam in the Jordan.
He is transfixed with nails,
Who is the Son of the Virgin
We worship Thy Passion, O Christ.
We worship Thy Passion, O Christ.
We worship Thy Passion, O Christ.
Show us also, Thy glorious Resurrection."
We are whom He died to rescue. We are whom He died to set right. Not because we deserve it. But simply because He loves us, and would never leave us without hope. His answer to "who would you die for?" is....you. Me. Us.
Have a blessed Holy Thursday.
---Mary Brigid
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