Candles in the dark

I do want to talk about Kairos more sometime when I can think more about it. Just a quick thought, stealing more from Standing at the Corner of East and Now from Frederica Mathewes-Green:

Between the songs the lead singer urges listeners not to
let the joy of the faith grow cold in their hearts. I hear several
bands give messages like this between songs, which makes me
wonder if cooling emotion is a recurrent problem. It doesn’t
seem to be a concern that listeners will actually lose their faith,
but rather that they’ll fail to experience a sufficiently vivid level
of emotional engagement with it, that they may gradually grow
numb or take it for granted.

A liturgical church has an advantage over one where worship
is relatively spontaneous, in that people powered by religious
emotion simply do run out of steam. Where there is a
liturgy you show up each week and merge into that stream, and
allow the prayers to shape you. But where the test of successful
worship is how much you felt moved, there’s always performance
anxiety; even the audience has to perform.

I had been a Christian about ten years when I noticed to my
dismay that my spiritual feelings were changing; the experience
was growing quieter, less exciting. I feared that I was losing my
faith, or that I might hear the Lord’s words to the church at
Ephesus, “I have this against you, that you have left your first
love” (Revelation 2:4). Then I came to sense that my faith had
undergone a shift of location. It had moved deep inside, and
was glowing there like a little oil lamp; if I were swept away with
emotionally noisy worship, it might tip and sputter. Silence and
attentiveness were now key.

I think this happens naturally in a believer’s relationship
with God, just as it does between two people who are in love. At
first being in love is all so strange, and the beloved is so other
and exciting, that every moment is a thrill. But gradually over
long years the couple grows together and grows alike. They no
longer find each other a thrilling unknown, but drink deeply of
a treasured known that will always extend to mystery. At the beginning,
the heart pounds just to see the beloved’s handwriting
on an envelope; at the end, two sit side-by-side before a fire and
don’t need to speak at all. When these rock bands urge their
audience not to let the joy fade, they may be calling them to
fight a fruitless battle against moving to the next stage of spiritual
communion, the one where God moves deep inside. When
years shape us to be like Him, His presence is less electric and
strange; yet as we draw nearer, deeper faith yields deeper awe.

One of the most salient sentences of that passage for me, and this has to do with Kairos is this: "A liturgical church has an advantage over one where worship
is relatively spontaneous, in that people powered by religious
emotion simply do run out of steam. Where there is a
liturgy you show up each week and merge into that stream, and
allow the prayers to shape you."

We are merging into a stream that has existed, continues to exist, and will exist.

In the French language, there is a verb tense that we don't really have an equivalent for in English: The present perfect continuous tense.

Let's say I am sitting on a bus, and someone calls me and asks me what I am doing. I would use the present perfect continuous tense in French to describe what I was doing: I am currently sitting on the bus, I have been sitting on the bus, and I will continue to sit on the bus for an indeterminant length of time.

They have one verb tense that conveys all of that at once.

Kairos is like that with regard to the spiritual life: I am praying. I have been praying. And I will continue praying indefinitely. When we enter liturgical worship with priests and prayers who have been passing down traditions for 2 thousand years, we are entering a kind of space that defies normal time. It's sacred time. This is also true of Jews all over the world who are covering their eyes and praying before candles at the start of Shabbat. It's been going on for centuries, and when we continue it today, we are participating in something sacred, something larger and beyond ourselves.

But even more than that: We are entering a stream of worship that is constantly ongoing in Heaven. And Heaven is very real, and all around us-- we are surrounded by Saints and Angels worshipping God. So, often during worship services, it is easy to feel transported into another realm, one in which the worship is eternal, and one that we will someday join permanently. This is Kairos: Getting to experience this now.

Last night Darren and I were talking, and he said, "I feel like I am always doing it wrong at church."

And it took me a minute, but I realized he feels this way because he is always being told that he's doing it wrong. This is true-- but I don't think the priest means it the way Darren interprets it, which is more worldly: "You can't do anything right, you'll never get it right, so why bother?"

The way the priest intends it is more like this:

If we are standing in a dark room, we don't really notice the darkness of our own souls. We don't recognize our own sinful nature, because we are accustomed to darkness, so we blend in. We don't seem that bad compared to our surroundings.


If someone lights a candle, we can see a little bit, so we can compare our own darkness to that little bit of light, but it's still not so bad. 

Now, let's say that any poximity to light, even a candle, represents our own metanoia, our own turning toward Christ, however small that turn may be. And so, our turning represents repentance, and a cleansing of our souls, and as we repent, we receive more and more access to Christ's light.



Now, we are in a fully lit room. And we are in this lit room because we have been turning toward Christ and trying to keep our focus on him, we have realized that some of the things we do and think make us dark, and we crave the light, so we try to change our actions and thoughts to keep us in the light. But at the same time, that light reveals us starkly. So, at the same time that we are becoming more holy, more able to stand in the light, we may actually FEEL less worthy to stand in it than we did when we were fully engulfed in the darkness and had no light to compare ourselves to.



Continue this analogy until you're standing in the noonday sun,

or perhaps a spotlight on a stage. Father Paul tells us that the more we empty out the concrete and dirt of our hearts, the more room we have for the living water of Christ. But what happens when you add water to dirt? Even a little bit of dirt? You have mud.



So, the more holy we become, the more light we're present for and the greater the light we are comparing ourselves to. So, even though maybe we are far holier and more righteous than we were when we first started, in comparison to the brightness we now see, we feel dark.

This is what it means to say, in Orthodoxy, that we are doing it wrong: We are in a fallen state. We will never quite get to merge with the light in the way that we want. But we will get closer and closer to it. But this is why the holiest of saints and the most humble of monks consider themselves the worst among sinners: They have received the most grace, they have the most knowledge of the light, so they, more than any of us, know how far they have to go. And of course, they are going to feel that they are failing miserably. However, the rest of us are comparing our darkness to that of the saints and monks and thinking, "They're insane to say that they are chief among sinners." And from our perspective it seems that way-- but when we are where they are, we will understand. Just as those of us who have seen glimmers of candle light can tell those who are completely in the dark that they are actually in darkness-- their eyes have just adjusted to the darkness, so they don't fully realize it. Without Christ, they have nothing to compare it to. 

Kairos

During Christmas break, I noticed one day that AncientFaith’s ebooks were on sale for $5 each! I bought five, and I have read three of them. I am currently reading the fourth.

Darren and I have been talking recently about how during services at church, we frequently experience a phenomenon where it feels like we are transported somewhere else. Or maybe some time else. It’s like we enter the realm of heaven where the prayers are constantly occurring with the saints and angels.

In two of the books I have read so far, I have encountered an explanation for why we experience this. It’s because of Kairos. Bear with me—their explanations of Kairos are better than I can paraphrase. 

I have more I want to say about this, but I have been tired lately, so when I get time to write, I'm too tired. So, with perfect being the enemy of good enough, I'll just let these stand for now. 

From Everyday Wonders by Michael Oleska [the bolding is mine, for emphasis]:

“In the modern Western world, our only experience of time is chronological, the kind of time we measure with clocks and calendars. Like a river, it flows forward, never back, and what is past is forever gone. The experience of time the Greeks called kairos, however, is alien to most of the modern world. It derives from a concept of time as repeatable. Important events of the past can not only be remembered, but in ritual, they can be made present. A sacred or significant event of the past can be repeated and its original meaning made accessible under special, intentional circumstances…
“Kairos requires a significant reality, revealed at some past time, which is of such sacred importance that it can be encountered again and again in the present. Not every present is adequate for this—not all eating and drinking, not all bread and wine, are the same. There must be a qualitative break with the ordinary, when we deliberately leave chronos and say it is time for kairos—time to enter meaningful, sacred time. This is what the deacon says to the celebrant at the start of the liturgy—in Greek, “Kairos estin.” It is kairos.…”
[Jen note: This is why we believe that every time we celebrate the Eucharist, we are participating in the Eucharist the first time Christ celebrated it.]
“But while the Liturgy is rooted in sacred events that took place in ancient Palestine, it is essentially a projection into the Kingdom to come. Christian kairos is not only a remembrance of the Mystical Supper in about ad 33, but also a participation in the marriage feast of the Bridegroom, an entrance into the reality of the Second Coming, “that you may eat and drink at My table in My kingdom” (Luke 22:30). One can understand the beauty, the vestments, icons, incense, and singing, only if one realizes that this kairos is different from all others: it is a remembrance of the future. The holy people depicted on the icons are not portrayed in the style of modern or renaissance Italian paintings, but in their future, resurrected bodies, suffused with light, glowing in the reflected holiness into which they have entered, in communion with God.”

From The Mystery of Art by Jonathan Jackson:

“The ancient Greeks had two words to describe time: chronos and kairos. Chronos is where the word chronology comes from. It means sequential time: the passing of time. Kairos means the appointed time or the crisis. The cosmic opportunity. The eternal moment. The supreme moment! As the Divine Liturgy is about to commence, the deacon says to the priest, “Kairos tou poiesai to Kyrio” (“It is time [kairos] for the Lord to act”). The time of the Liturgy enters into the realm of eternity.
“Throughout Scripture we find continual reference to the present moment. The first words of Christ’s earthly ministry were, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Matt. 3:2). The kingdom of heaven is near. The Hebrew word karav gives an even more immediate interpretation: The kingdom of heaven is here. It is now.
“Christ says, “The time [kairos] is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the gospel” (Mark 1:15). When He taught His disciples to pray, He said, “Give us this day our daily bread” (Matt. 6:11), enjoining us to remain in the present moment…
“The Apostle Paul expressed the kairos of Christ’s Incarnation and Crucifixion thus: “For when we were still without strength, in due time [kairos] Christ died for the ungodly” (Rom. 5:6). This expresses the historical event that took place. In between chronos, kairos intervened and took action. But how does this event change the reality of time?
“St. Paul continues his theme on kairos, but a profound transition takes place from the historical event of the Cross to its relevance in the ongoing life of man: “praying always [lit., “at all kairoi”] with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, being watchful to this end with all perseverance and supplication for all the saints” (Eph. 6:18). It is a transition into the language of the Spirit. The Cross has altered man’s relationship with God forever. Therefore, kairos, the appointed time, the time of crisis, the supreme moment, becomes available to humanity now.”

From At the Corner of East and Now by Frederica Mathewes-Green:

"The bishop also got on his knees and leaned under the altarto reach the standing cross with the hole in the top. Into the hole he put a scroll listing the names of all the members of
the parish and small foil-wrapped packets of saints’ relics, tiny chips of bone mixed with beeswax. Though I’ve never been
comfortable imagining the processing of relics, I understand the idea behind them. Relics are often taken from the bodies of saints that did not decay after death, and this incorruption
is evidence that the person was thoroughly transformed by the
Holy Spirit, body as well as soul. As a contemporary monk of
Mt. Athos, Metropolitan Hierotheos Vlachos, writes, “Holy relics
are the token that through the nous [the eye of the soul] the
grace of God transfigured the body also.” Orthodoxy does not
exalt the soul and despise the body; both are to be transformed.
“The primary work of the Church is to lead man to theosis, to
communion and union with God,” Bishop Hierotheos goes on.
“Given this, in a sense we can say that the work of the Church
is to ‘produce relics.’”
Once he’d placed these items inside the cross, the bishop poured melted beeswax into the hole and sealed it. He warned us that from then on an angel would stand beside the altar day
and night, offering praise to God and intercession for all of us.
No more joking around or chatting in the church after services;
no more sitting in the back sipping coffee on a weekday. This would be a place of worship, even when none of us was here; we would enter in order to join something already going on."
"Being “saved”isn’t a deathbed event. Eternal life begins now, if it’s eternal; death must be defeated in our lives every day. A story from the desert fathers concerns Abba Joseph of Panephysis, who was approached by Abba Lot with a question. “Father, as far as I can I say my little office, I fast a little, I pray and meditate, I live in peace, and as much as I am able I purify my thoughts. What else can I do?”Abba Joseph, the story goes, then stood and spread out his hands toward heaven, in the prayer stance called the “orans”position. Each of his fingertips was lit with flame. He said to Abba Lot, “If you will, you can become totally fire.”This is one of my favorite stories because it illustrates so well the concept of theosis, the goal of Orthodox life. All the spiritual disciplines are tools to help us get self-will out of the way, so that we can gradually become totally filled with the light of God. We are to catch fire from God’s fire and shine with it, until the Theos Himself animates us. This doesn’t mean we are going to become independent mini-gods. We remain beloved but humble creatures, simple as a lump of coal. But coal has this essential attribute: it can receive fire. One could even say that accepting fire, being consumed by it, is the telos or destiny of coal—the thing it was made for. Dusty, dark, cold and hard, coal has no beauty of its own, but when it is consummated by fire it is beautiful and becomes what it was designed to be."

Matushka Olga

My saint found me!

I can't wholesale steal information about her, so here is a link to some gems.

Three Hermits

I read a story last night around 2 am that I thought I'd share because I really liked it. It's a summary of a story by Tolstoy:

"A bishop and several pilgrims are travelling on a fishing boat from Archangel to the Solovétsk Monastery. During the voyage, the bishop overhears a discussion about a remote island, nearby their course, where three old hermits live a spartan existence focused on seeking "salvation for their souls." 

Inquiring about the hermits, the bishop finds that several of the fishermen claim to have seen the hermits once. The bishop then informs the captain that he wishes to visit the island. The captain seeks to dissuade him by saying, "the old men are not worth your pains. I have heard say that they are foolish old fellows, who understand nothing, and never speak a word." The bishop insists and the captain steers the ship toward the island. 

The bishop subsequently sets off in a rowboat to visit. He is met ashore by the three hermits. The bishop informs the hermits that he has heard of them and of their search for salvation. He inquires how they are seeking salvation and serving God, but the hermits say they do not know how, only that they pray, simply: "Three are ye, three are we, have mercy upon us." 

Subsequently, the bishop acknowledges that they have a little knowledge but are ignorant of the true meaning of the doctrine and how to pray properly. He tells them that he will teach them "not a way of my own, but the way in which God in the Holy Scriptures has commanded all men to pray to Him" and proceeds to explain the doctrines of the incarnation and the Trinity. 

He attempts to teach them the Lord's Prayer, the "Our Father", but the simple hermits blunder and cannot remember the words. This compels the bishop to repeat the lesson late into the night. After he is satisfied that they have memorized the prayer, the Bishop departs from the island leaving the hermits with a firm instruction to pray as he has taught them. The bishop then returns to the fisherman's vessel anchored offshore in the rowboat and continues his voyage. 

While on board, the bishop notices that their vessel is being followed. At first he thinks a boat is behind them but he soon realizes that the three hermits are running across the surface of the water "as though it were dry land." The hermits catch up to the vessel as the captain stops the boat, and inform the bishop, "We have forgotten your teaching, servant of God. As long as we kept repeating it we remembered, but when we stopped saying it for a time, a word dropped out, and now it has all gone to pieces. We can remember nothing of it. Teach us again." 

The bishop is humbled and replies to the hermits, "Your own prayer will reach the Lord, men of God. It is not for me to teach you. Pray for us sinners." 

After this, the hermits turn around and walk back to their island.

Prayer as love

Nov. 4, 2019

This weekend was a lot about prayer.

After our neighbors left for the hospital for the baby's MRI on Saturday, we came in and lit candles and incense in the censer and said prayers for the sick. Afterwards, I was trying to open the censer so I could add more incense (it comes in bags and it looks like little tiny rocks)
 to the hot coal, and the censer tipped over, because it's HOT and the lid is heavy, and the coal slid behind the bookcase. (By the way, when I light the charcoal for the incense and blow on it, I have to laugh that my years smoking hookah weren't a complete waste). So, we had to move the bookcase out, put the hot coal into a cup of water with a wet paper towel, and sweep up the sand and ashes that spilled.

When we got everything put back, I lit the censer again. We have beeswax candles that burn super fast, so I need to start thinking about buying more. It's nice to be able to buy them from the church-- you can buy candles of all sizes to light for people at church-- but it's also expensive, so I'll probably re-order from Amazon.

The neighbors were at the hospital for a long time. They had to anesthetize the baby to perform the

MRI, and the MRI itself took two hours. They were somber when they returned and said they wouldn't hear anything until Monday-- if then. We got a text asking us to go to Catechumen class early to help out at the church, so we left and went and helped clean some stuff from the party Thursday night. I sanitized all of the highchairs and kids' chairs while Darren moved tables around and chairs to get them ready for the Agape meal on Sunday, and also, for Catechumen class of course.

Catechumen class was very good, but Vespers was even better. It's so beautiful and peaceful with the lights dimmed and the lit candles. And Father Justin spoke a lot about prayer. He was talking about these Orthodox priests who were imprisoned in Romania just for being Orthodox priests, and they were tortured. I read online later about the torture and "re-education" program, but I had to stop reading, because it was even more terrible than what Father described to us. And these priests survived their experiences through deep inner prayer. And then they forgave their torturers. Father Justin was talking to one of the priests and happened to see the priest without his hat. His head was severely dented, and Father exclaimed over it, and the priest said, "From the rifle butts. But this was nothing. The spiritual and emotional scars are deeper." Basically, they tried to make the priests blaspheme, and they tried to get the priests to deny their faith. And they also tried to make the priests inflict torture on each other. Some of them tried to kill themselves so they wouldn't have to torture someone else.

So, how did prayer save these priests? There were priests who were put into chambers with hundreds of lightbulbs so closing their eyes did no good. And that can make people insane-- isn't that interesting, because we speak of God's light being either painful or cleansing? Light can literally make you insane if you get too much of it. This priest came out of the torture with his sanity in tact because he went deeply into himself in prayer. This requires a lot of discipline. Same with surviving solitary confinement for YEARS. One priest said he used to make friends with the cockroaches because they were other living creatures, and he would weep when they would leave.

We live pretty cushy lives. We don't really *need* to pray or to rely on God, because we live under the delusion that we are self-sufficient. Or, we turn to God in prayer when our little baby neighbor gets cancer in her eye, and we think, "Oh, whoops, I need a little more help than I thought!"

But that's the lie: That we don't need prayer or to rely on God daily. We do. How many of us can say that our lives are aligned every moment with Christ? Some of the monks say the Jesus prayer while they walk, and one monk whom Father Justin met could hear the little old man muttering to himself as he walked around. When Father Justin asked him about it, the monk said, "I'm talking to Christ. You can't sin while you are talking to Christ." And he would just sort of give Christ a running commentary of what he was doing and thinking.

Father Justin was pleading with us to take our prayer lives seriously, and to devote more time to prayer than we do to Facebook or television or other things that may not be harmful in and of themselves, but certainly don't bring us closer to  Christ.

This is what Darren and I have been searching and searching for. I've never heard someone plead with me so much to pray for my own sake, because as I said in an earlier post, our prayers don't help God. I have also never had anyone provide the tools for me to put into practice to help me draw closer to God. Fasting teaches us to die to ourselves every day. Of course we would rather eat a cheeseburger than carrots and hummus again during long fasting periods. But we can deny ourselves that cheeseburger because we are humans.

We aren't animals. We don't have to give in to every whim we have. And I can stand for longer and longer periods at church without sitting, because if I sat and prayed and it was easy, what would I truly be giving to God? Father Paul said, "If your legs and back hurt while you're praying? Glory to God!" And if go and stand in front of the icons to pray when I'm very tired and just want to climb into bed, then I am dying to myself. I am dying to my own wants, and I am focusing on Christ.

So, why is it important for me to die to myself every day? Because the more I can empty myself of my own wants and needs, the more room I have for Christ to fill me. That means, in its most simple form, the more room I have for love.

I have never been to another church that asked so much of me for my own sake before. It doesn't benefit anyone else if I fast. We aren't even supposed to talk about it with others (we share recipes, but we're not supposed to boast or complain about it, or ask anyone else if they are keeping the fast).

It can benefit others if I pray, and I'll have to sort of tease this out. Mostly, it's about love. God isn't looking for reasons not to save us. God wants us to turn to him. He will not overrule our free will, but he will save us whenever possible. And so if I pray for someone, even if they are dead, I'm showing love for them. I'm helping to redeem them through love. I don't know if that makes sense-- but maybe loving people through prayer can help lift them up.

Father Justin told the story of a woman who lived in the old country. She was baptized, but she was just mean and nasty her whole life.  So, after she died, she went to hell. And the demons and other people there rejoiced, because she was such a terrible person. But then they got the news that no:  She was, in face, going to be lifted into heaven. Because one time she had given a beggar an onion. That one instance of love was enough to save her, because God wants to save us. So, an onion (think of one of the long-stemmed onions, not a round one) was lowered to her, and she grasped it, and was lifted toward heaven. The other people started grabbing onto her, saying, "Take us with you!" She kicked them off, saying, "No, this is mine!" And the onion disappeared and she dropped back into hell. Because she didn't have love.

Yesterday after liturgy, Father Justin said prayers for the dead for two people: One is the wife of a priest who died suddenly on Thursday evening of a heart attack. She leaves four small children. She was 35.

The other person was a friend of one of our parish families. She was a ten-year-old little girl named Destiny who committed suicide.

When we say prayers for the dead, altar boys bring out a small table with a dish of Koliva. It's a wheat dish that takes a very long time to prepare, and people often prepare it for Soul Saturdays in which general commemorations are made for the dead.

"In the 5th century CE koliva in the sense of boiled wheat, constituted along with raw vegetables the diet of monks who refused to eat bread.[5] The 12th century canonist Theodore Balsamon maintained that koliva as a ritual food practice was originated by Athanasius of Alexandria during the reign of the Emperor Julian the Apostate.[6]
The association between death and life, between that which is planted in the ground and that which emerges, is deeply embedded in the making and eating of koliva. The ritual food passed from paganism to early Christianity in Byzantium and later spread to the entire Orthodox world.
Christian interpretation
Romanian colivă used in a religious ceremony in a Christian Orthodox church
Orthodox Christians consider koliva to be the symbolic of death and resurrection, according to the words of the Gospel:
Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a grain of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. (John 12:24)
Wheat which is planted in the earth and rises in new life is symbolic of those beloved departed who have died in the hope of resurrection, in accordance with the words of Saint Paul:
So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorruption. It is sown in dishonour, it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power. It is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body....(1 Corinthians 15:42-44)
This symbolism has its highest expression in the Saints, whose blessed state in heaven have been manifested to the world. For this reason, koliva is blessed not only at memorials for the departed, but also in commemoration of saints."

It tastes (to me) like rice pudding. They put a beeswax candle into the dish and light it and pray around the table, which they also cense with incense.

Father Justin said, regarding Destiny, this little ten-year-old girl, who had been bullied to the point that she took her own life: "Someone said to me-- and this person was an Orthodox Christian -- 'I hope Destiny doesn't go to hell.'" And then Father Justin raised his voice. "I said, 'Are you INSANE? What kind of a God do you worship?'" He went on to say that suicide is a terrible sin-- the height of selfishness-- and the Orthodox won't bury people who have committed suicide. But there is mercy and dispensation for the insane. And a ten-year-old child committing suicide is the height of insanity. "Do you not think she is in the bosom of her Father? Who has more love and compassion than any person? If we can have love and compassion for this child, how much greater is God's? Anything about God that isn't about love is not Orthododox. You can know that. I never want to hear an Orthodox Christian say anything like that ever again."

And I was so grateful to be part of a worship service that offered love and compassion and tenderness and mercy and grace to this child. Instead of judgement and condemnation. Of course, her death if a tragedy. But we pray for her. We lift her up to God. We pray for her salvation. She is blameless before God. She was a *child.*

Lord Jesus Christ Son of God, have mercy on your servant Destiny.

I got a text from Katie when I was at Catechumen class.  Their doctor went in on his day off to read the MRI results. He called to tell them that the cancer is isolated to that eyeball. It has not impacted the optic nerve. It has not spread. She is a perfect candidate for targeted chemotherapy. They are leaving for Phoenix today for the first round of treatment. Imogen will keep her eye. Imogen will live. Lord have mercy. God is love.

I told Katie when we got home that I truly believed that God was showing off, that God made it so the cancer was perfectly contained to the tumor so that Imogen will recover. She said that her husband had made a remark earlier about this being an answer to prayer: "Who gave Imogen the cancer to begin with?"

He walked in just as she was saying this, so I didn't have a chance to respond. This website says it perfectly.

God doesn't give babies cancer. But because of the Fall, illness, corruption, and death entered our world. And just as God will not impose on our free will to save us, God will allow suffering to help lift us up. People asked Jesus what sin a man's parents (or the man himself) had committed that the man was born blind. Christ responded that nobody had sinned. Jesus answered, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him."

And yes, ten-year-old little girls killing themselves is a tragedy. Thirty-five-year old women dying of heart attacks is tragic, maybe especially when they leave four grieving children and a grieving husband to raise them. A baby getting cancer in her eyeball is tragic.

But we are all going to die. Every single one of us. So, it's not death that is the tragedy, but the timing or the circumstances, or the people we leave behind. And if we view this life as all we have, then death does become more tragic. But if we believe that Christ is God and that He took on human form to conquer death so that we could once again be in communion with God, there is comfort. There is mercy. There is grace.

Am I a fool to believe this? Am I just trying to find meaning in a meaningless life and universe? Am I creating God in my own image? Just believing what I want to believe? I am sure there are people who think all of those things. But I have stepped into the stream of worship that is ongoing in Heaven. I have stepped into the life of Christ. I have had glimpses of grace. And I believe.

People might also say, "Why are you putting importance on a life AFTER this one that you have no way of confirming is real? It's THIS life that is important."

And I agree. THIS life is all we have. Christ tells us in the scriptures to be in the here and now. Right now is all we have. And the answer is: It goes back to love. I can choose a life of faith and try to fill myself with love and compassion for others and for myself. And that is the life I want. And if that means that I am foolish, then I'll be a fool for Christ. Because this is my best life. This is a life that I want to be free of bitterness and full of love. This is why I am an Orthodox Christian. 

Saints Cyprian & Justina

Nov. 1, 2019

Last night, we said an Akathist to Saints Cyprian & Justina.

Father Justin wrote in an email: "(They are especially invoked for those under demonic influence, very important for us to pray for the world on this night)." I am not sure whether this was a Vespers? I guess I need to find out what an Akathist is. Spelling it correctly would be a good start-- I was omitting the end "t." An Akathist is a hymn dedicated to a saint, holy event, or one of the members of the Trinity. I guess it can still be considered Vespers, though, because of the time of the day (we go to Vespers on Saturday nights because in Orthodox time, the liturgical day starts the evening before).


The prayers themselves tell the story of the saints. To paraphrase from the link above, Cyprian was a powerful Wiccan in 249AD, in Antioch. He was trained by sorcerers from a very young age, and dabbled in the Dark Arts, as we say in the 21st century. He commanded demons, and people often sought out his powers.

"Already he was entirely in the depths of hell and in the jaws of the devil; he was a son of gehenna, a partaker of the demonic inheritance and of their eternal perdition. But the Lord, who does not desire the death of a sinner, in His unutterable goodness and His mercy which is not conquered by the sins of men, deigned to seek out this lost man, to draw out of the abyss one who was mired in the filth of the depths of hell, and to save him in order to show to all men His mercy; for there is no sin which can conquer His love of mankind."

Justina was a young woman who also lived in Antioch, and she started to hear about Christ.

"Once, sitting at the window of her house, this maiden, who had then already reached womanhood, by chance heard the words of salvation out of the mouth of a deacon who was passing by, whose name was Praylius. He spoke of our Lord Jesus Christ's becoming man, that He had been born of the Most Pure Virgin and, having performed many miracles, had deigned to suffer for the sake of our salvation, had risen from the dead with glory, ascended into the heavens, and sits at the right hand of the Father and reigns eternally. This preaching of the deacon fell on good soil, into the heart of Justina, and began quickly to bring forth fruit, uprooting in her the thorns of unbelief. Justina wished to be instructed in the Faith by this deacon better and more completely, but she did not dare to seek him out, being restrained by a maiden's modesty. However, she secretly went to the church of Christ, and often hearing the word of God, with the Holy Spirit acting in her heart, she came to believe in Christ."

Her parents, who had been pagans, were also converted after a time. After her conversion, Justina had no wish to marry a mortal man. She wanted to devote her life to Christ. But a young, wealthy man named Aglaias saw Justina and wanted her. He tried to court her, but she would have none of it. 

So, Aglaias sought the help of the great Wiccan Cyprian, which is how Cyprian came to be saved. 

Aglaias asked Cyprian for a spell to make Justina fall in love with him. Aglaias sprinkled a powder over her house, and Justina was afflicted with lust for Aglaias. However, Justina recognized herself to be under evil influence, and she prayed fervently made the sign of the cross and overcame the spell. 

The demon who had been sent to tempt and overtake Justina went back and told Cyprian that Justina had used a weapon that had caused the demon to flee. 

Cyprian figured he better just use a better demon. 

He sent several more demons to try to tempt her, and one by one, she defeated all of them with her faith and the sign of the cross. 

Finally, Cyprian, unable to understand how one simple virgin could overpower all of these powerful demons, asked a demon what the weapon was that Justina had used against them. 

"In great disturbance, the proud prince of the demons returned to Cyprian, who, finding out that he had not managed to do anything, said to him: "Can it be that even you, a prince powerful and more skillful than others in such matters, could not conquer the maiden? Who then among you can do anything with this unconquerable maiden's heart? Tell me by what weapon she battles with you, and how she makes powerless your mighty power?"Being conquered by the power of God, the devil unwillingly acknowledged: "We cannot behold the sign of the Cross, but flee from it, because it scorches us like fire and banishes us far away."
Cyprian became angry at the devil because he had put him to shame, and reproaching the demon, he said: "Such is your power that even a weak virgin conquers you!"

Cyprian was furious, so he rained down hell on Justina, her family, and he entire village. However, Justina assured the villagers that God would heal them and remove their trials. She prayed, and what she said came to pass.

People began to mock Cyprian because his power was not greater than Christ's.

Cyprian repented and asked the villagers for mercy. Cyprian told the devil:

"For if you fear even the shadow of the cross and tremble at the name of Christ, then what will you do when Christ Himself comes to you? If you cannot conquer those who sign themselves with the sign of the cross, then whom will you tear away from the hands of Christ?"

The devil attacked Cyprian, who cried out for the God of Justina to save him. He made the sign of the cross, and the devil departed.

Cyprian then gathered up all of his books and took them to the local bishop and burned them. He begged the bishop to baptize him. He was made Catechumen. There is a part of the liturgy that says, "Depart, Catechumen, depart!" and in the old days, indeed, the Catechumen had to leave the church before the Eucharist was brought out. But Cyprian refused to leave until they baptized him.

Cyprian became a reader, then a deacon, and then a priest, and finally a bishop. Justina became one of his primary helpers, and he made her a deaconess and then an abbess at a convent.

The pagans, however, who had relied on Cyprian to help them, were not happy. They complained to the governor that these Christians were trying to overthrow the government.

The governor asked Cyprian why he had given up his life of wealth and power. Cyprian told the governor about what had happened, and the governor threw Cyprian and Justina into prison and tortured them. They withstood every torture, praising God the whole time.

They were eventually condemned to be beheaded. Cyprian was afraid that Justina would be frightened if she saw him beheaded first, so he asked for extra time to pray, but she joyfully stretched out her neck when it was time.



They were both martyred for their faith. Their bodies were unburied for six days, until strangers stole them away to Rome and a pious woman, Rufina, who was related to Claudius Caesar, buried them with honor. Many who have come to their graves in faith have been healed.

We said the Akathist to these saints on Halloween because praying to them helps people who are afflicted with demons-- which we all are, to some degree.

Lord Jesus Christ, Have Mercy on Me

Father Paul also talked to us about praying. He admitted that up until a couple of years ago, he hated praying. He did it, but mostly to check off boxes. In Orthodoxy (and this is true also in Catholicism and the Episcopal church, to certain degrees-- I don't know about other traditions as much, but it's been a pretty new concept to us), you follow a Prayer "Rule." Usually given to you by your priest. But it usually involves saying prayers that are ancient, and that you either memorize or read from a prayer book. We say the same prayers every morning and every evening. I should probably say the Midday prayers somehow at work or at least on the weekends, but I don't. There are also prayers for grace, and we sort of do a modification of that. But you can also say the Jesus Prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, Have Mercy on Me. Variations of that are: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, Have Mercy on Me, a Sinner. I learned, also, recently, that you you can use the Jesus Prayer to pray for other people: "Lord Jesus Christ, Have mercy on your servant _____." So, when I'm by myself in the car now, I'll pray for other people with the Jesus Prayer, using that method.

But Father Paul told us that he prepares for prayer by reading something inspirational-- usually about a saint or about prayer specifically. Then he does some cleansing breathing to relax himself so that he's relaxed to pray and not feeling tense. And he said that he used to sort of hurl prayers at Christ. Lord Jesus Christ, HAVE MERCY ON ME! And sort of expect God to just fix him. But then it occurred to him that he was shouting at God all the time, and God doesn't actually need our prayers. We don't pray to assuage God's ego. We don't pray because we're to interesting that God craves our company or companionship. We pray because that is one of the ways we can invite God to talk to *us.* So that we can *listen.* So, if we view prayer as an invitation for God to enter us, for us to interact and be in communion with God, then we can view our prayer time as a time to spend time with Christ instead of as an obligation or something we are doing because we think somehow hearing the same words over and over again makes God super happy. I usually *don't* make time to listen to God. I say the prayers though, and not because I'm supposed to. After all, I made the decision to return to the Orthodox Church and to participate in this life. I do it because I want to feel closer to God, and because I want to start and end my day by focusing on God and remembering Him and by making Him the center of my life. But I sort of have to start making time to listen also.

We had a great time tonight at the church All Saints Eve party. I spent almost the whole evening holding a sweet four-or-five-month old baby. He fell asleep in my arms again (he did Sunday as well), even though the noise was deafening.

Even though we had a great time, we got some sober news from the neighbors tonight. Their baby Imogen saw the doctor today and she has a tumor in her eye. We are absolutely gobsmacked. She has a rare form of cancer. I found out on Facebook because Katie's mom started a Go Fund Me for them. When we got home, they were literally sitting in the dark crying on their porch and smoking cigarettes. Fortunately, the dr told them that babies in America don't usually die from this type of cancer. It's very localized-- her other eye is perfect and healthy. They had to put her under anesthesia to examine her eye, and the anesthesiologist told them, "It's probably cancer," the JERK. This was before the dr had even fully examined her. They did an ultrasound that showed "seeds" also. That's a problem. One course of treatment is to send them to Phoenix for a specialized course of chemo to shrink the tumor. But that would shrink the seeds. The other alternative is to remove her eye and just get all the cancer. Another but: they are doing an MRI on Saturday and that will tell them how far it's progressed and whether it has spread. I'm going to go with them for that. It's all so surreal. Grayden is leaning toward the surgery, but Katie wants more information.This is the type of thing that changes people. The baby isn't even two. Two years ago today, they had the ultrasound that told them they were having a girl. Tomorrow is Katie's birthday.

Lord, have mercy on your servant Imogen.