THE VISITOR

A few Sunday’s ago I found myself waiting patiently for our church service and Divine Liturgy to begin.  I felt a peace and was expectant in my anticipation of entering into worship.  I glanced to my right, scanning the crowd of others waiting quietly and there she was.  Although I never met her I knew instantly who she was.

“Deborah, do you know that is?”  I whispered excitedly to my wife.  “No” she said.  “Do you?”

I suddenly found myself in a near state of panic, one moment patient and peaceful, the next, anxious and agitated.  Though she is diminutive of stature, with a tangle of graying curls haloing her kindly and gentle face, unassuming and wearing Birkenstocks, she is nonetheless a virtual rock star in Orthodox circles known by most people simply by her first name.

Frederica.

Her full name is Frederica Mathewes-Green but the Mathewes-Green is almost superfluous. She is just Frederica.

Now I have prided myself for my ability to be unimpressed by the shining luminaries I have met over the years.

They put their pants on one leg at a time, just like me.

They have faults and morning breath, just like me.

They have scarred hands and feet of clay, just like me.

Nothing truly special about them, just like me.

Yet I found myself holding my breath, hoping she would catch my eye and I could have a few words with her.  Maybe after church if I was quick enough to catch her before someone else monopolized her time.

Realizing that I had forgotten to get my candles that I light before the icons as prayers, I returned to the narthex and grabbed some from the candle box.  I abruptly turned around to return to the nave and, except for my cat-like reflexes, would have flattened Frederica to the ground.  She was standing right behind me, waiting to get some candles for herself.

For those of you who know me, you know I am rarely at a loss for words.  However standing face to face with someone I admire greatly and who has had a large impact on my life caused me momentary speechlessness. I felt like a teenage girl backstage at a Justin Bieber concert.

I was star struck!

In the few seconds that elapsed before words found their way to my tongue, something like this flashed in my cerebral cortex:

“For God’s sake man! Your 47 years old! Get a hold of your self!”

And then it started.  From out of my mouth flowed this torrent of run on sentences filled with praise and “Oh my gosh” and “you are amazing” and “I’ve read every one of your blog postings and listened to every one of your podcasts” and ……. Well, you get the picture.

Frederica just stood there with a pleasant smile and graciously listened to me babble on.  Having met many others like me in the past, she exuded the grace and aplomb only a veteran can and treated me like I was the only other person in the room, looking me in the eyes and listening patiently.  Thinking back I can imagine her only desire was to get her candles, say her prayers and enter into worship with the rest of us, not wanting to be accosted by a strange, blithering man.

Our exchange ended with thanks and a hug and I entered the church once more.  I found myself strangely distracted and unable to enter into the Liturgy.  I found myself sneaking glances her way.  Watching as she sang, how she crossed herself and when, seeing her close her eyes at times and relax in the familiarity of the hymns and prayers, grateful for the anonymity and community that worship in a crowd can provide.

Now before you think I am a creeper (as my children might say) please believe me when I say that I was not trying to be voyeuristic or intrusive but rather that I was still just a bit star struck.  It was embarrassing later when my daughters said to me, “Dad, what was your issue in church today?”

Maybe a bit of background might be helpful.

I do not even remember how or when I ran into Orthodox Christianity.  But one of the first people I ran into was Frederica.  Her pamphlet “12 Things I Wish I’d Known: First Visit to an Orthodox Church” found it’s way into my hands and before I knew it, her blog and podcast on Ancient Faith Radio became a staple in my life.  Her wisdom gathered from years on the path of Orthodoxy and her life as a mother, priest’s wife and writer opened my eyes and put hands and feet to the puzzle of Orthodox Christianity.  She was one of the first to unpack it for me and guide me on my way to Chrismation and entrance into the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic church and faith.

Orthodox Christianity and practice has been the salvation of my faith that was once dying and growing cold. Frederica has been one of the voices and pens along my path towards Salvation.  Her writings and books are insightful and full of revelation, her voice has become very familiar and filled with comforting, restorative words and stories.  She has been used by the Holy Trinity to shape my life.  And for that I am, and will always be, profoundly grateful.

After church ended, my family and I made our way into the parish hall for the post-church meal we have every week.  Ahead of us in line was Frederica.  I engaged in more small talk and then boldly asked if she was sitting with anyone in particular.  She said no and soon joined us at our table for lunch and conversation.  I was profoundly grateful that I had a second chance to redeem myself from the debacle in the narthex and started out by apologizing and introducing myself.  The first time around I didn’t even tell her my name!  I really felt like an idiot!

But for the next 30 or 40 minutes we chatted, my wife, daughters and Frederica, like we were old friends.  She was exactly like what I had pictured her to be like in my mind, kind, engaging, gracious and wise.  I felt like I was sitting around her kitchen table, just like in one of her podcasts.  She was real and I was sitting next to her.

I am always grateful for those who cross my path in this life. I can only hope that they will all make the kind of impact upon me, both spiritually and intellectually, that Frederica has made and continues to make on me.

May God Grant You Many Years, Frederica.

Traveler

NEW THOUGHTS ABOUT ENEMIES

I recently ran across this prayer book by St. Nicolai of Serbia and found this particular prayer to be impacting and thought provoking.  Maybe you will as well.

Taken from Prayers By The Lake by St. Nicolai

LXXV

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.¹

Enemies have driven me into Your embrace more than friends have. Friends have bound me to earth, enemies have loosed me from earth and have demolished all my aspirations in the world.

Enemies have made me a stranger in worldly realms and an extraneous inhabitant of the world. Just as a hunted animal finds safer shelter than an unhunted animal, so have I, persecuted by enemies, found the safest sanctuary, having ensconced myself beneath Your tabernacle, where neither friends nor enemies can slay my soul. Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.

They, rather than I, have confessed my sins before the world.

They have flagellated me, whenever I have hesitated to flagellate myself.

They have tormented me, whenever I have tried to flee torments.

They have scolded me, whenever I have flattered myself. They have spat upon me, whenever I have filled myself with arrogance.

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.

Whenever I have made myself wise, they have called me foolish.

Whenever I have made myself mighty, they have mocked me as though I were a dwarf.

Whenever I have wanted to lead people, they have shoved me into the background.

Whenever I have rushed to enrich myself, they have prevented me with an iron hand.

Whenever I thought that I would sleep peacefully, they have wakened me from sleep.

Whenever I have tried to build a home for a long and tranquil life, they have demolished it and driven me out.

Truly, enemies have cut me loose from the world and have stretched out my hands to the hem of Your garment.

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.

Bless them and multiply them; multiply them and make them even more bitterly against me –

so that my fleeing to You may have no return; so that all hope in men may be scattered like cobwebs; so that absolute serenity may begin to reign in my soul.

so that my heart may become the grave of my two evils twins: arrogance and anger;

so that I might amass all my treasure in heaven;²

ah, so that I may for once be freed from self-deception, which has entangled me in the dreadful web of illusory life.

Enemies have taught me to know — what hardly anyone knows — that a person has no enemies in the world except himself.

One hates his enemies only when he fails to realize that they are not enemies, but cruel friends.

It is truly difficult for me to say who has done me more good and who has done me more evil in the world: friends or enemies.

Therefore bless, O Lord, both my friends and my enemies.

A slave curses enemies, for he does not understand. But a son blesses them, for he understands.

For a son knows that his enemies cannot touch his life. Therefore he freely steps among them and prays to God for them.

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.

_________________________________________________________

1.            Cf. Matt. 5:43-48.

2.            Matt. 6:19-21.

Among the details of the life of Saint Nicolai was that he was imprisoned in Dachau concentration camp by the Nazis and persecuted by the Communists in post-war Serbia.

You can read more from the Prayers By The Lake at the following website:

http://manastir-lepavina.org/novosti/index.php/engtext/detaljnije/prayers_by_the_lake/

Really thinking this prayer over,

TRAVELER

TWO VIGNETTES OF THOUGHT

 

VIGNETTE NUMBER ONE

I was hard at work, lost in thought, in the hot, humid, dirty, dusty, concrete-grey warehouse with a bunch of other stinking, sweating men, programming some ATMs.  Without notice of any kind a deliveryman breezed through the warehouse holding a vase of beautiful roses and lilies, not doubt headed for one of the females in the air-conditioned office.

I found my progress arrested by the beautiful and intoxicating scent as it passed by me. I closed my eyes, transported somewhere else for a moment.  There was such a fragrance of freshness, cleansing and reinvigorating.  It was so out of the ordinary in the warehouse that I could not help noticing the difference and bracing affect it had on me.

All without the flowers saying a word.

I wonder.

Are we like that when we come into situations and places?

Are we “cleansing and reinvigorating?”

Or do we pass through unnoticed and unremarkable, touching no one and leaving no trace?

It seems so many times that the Life of Christ in me rarely makes that kind of impression on the others that swim in my life’s passage.

I only hope that one day my life will become such a sweet fragrance that it has the power to arrest people and impact their lives without saying a word.

 

 VIGNETTE NUMBER TWO

As my ears were full of the voice reading to me, “Americans In Paris: Life and Death under Nazi Occupation”, I found the following quote in the story concerning the chief surgeon, Dr Thierry DeMartel to be so impacting:

“When another physicians’ neglect of the American poet Pauline Avery Crawford forced him to amputate her infected leg, he came to her bedside in the American hospital afterwards.

“Do not cry”, he said. “I have just returned from Italy where I found that all the most beautiful statues in the museums were those that were a little broken and I thought of you, my little patient.”

What a remarkable thought.

We ourselves are all a little broken yet beautiful in the sight of God.  We all know those who through misfortunes, missteps, heartbreak, disappointments, loss and sin are broken and in great need of the Master Physician.

In a recent blog posting Adam Herod said “We all see brokenness. Some of it is abstract and some of it is disturbingly personal. So my question is this. How are you reacting to brokenness and how can I pray for you?”

I myself have been broken and repaired too many times to count. I bear the scars, physically, emotionally and spiritually.  But it is through the brokenness of heart and life that I find victory and joy in the journey.  It is what has made me who I am.

It is what makes antiques so valuable.   It is the wear and tear of life that etches character and Christ onto one’s visage and makes them beautiful in His sight and in the eyes of others.

Do not lament your broken places.  Do not weep for that which has been lost.  For you are being repaired, cleaned up and polished for use on the Master’s table. In your brokenness you, like the woman anointing the feet of Christ, can be poured out on others and bring balm and healing to those in your life’s passage.

Broken but beautiful.

TRAVELER

 

THE EXALTATION OF SHALLOW

Be forewarned: This will be, as the title of my blog suggests, a wild rant.

For whatever reason, early this morning the song “Music of the Night” was, as my friend Barbara so eloquently stated in her blog, “music that rifles through memories, unwrapping them from tissue and time, shaking them out, holding them at arms length, turning them slowly so you can see them in this time’s light.” 

Thumb blurring on the click wheel of the ever-trusty iPod I found myself listening to the entire soundtrack from Andrew Lloyd Weber’s Phantom of the Opera.  Lush melodies, brilliant composing, dramatic organ sound, amazing singing all combined to transport me, at least for a while, from the dirty, hot (95 degrees, 50% humidity) warehouse to the cool and darkened confines of the theatre. It constituted a feeding of my soul. I listened to it from beginning to end and by the time I finished, my elusive new blog posting was emerging.

For a long while I have been gestating the following thoughts about culture in general and music in particular. In the arena that once used to be deep and satisfying has become a shallow and stale cesspool of the unimaginative and the untalented.

The Exaltation of the Shallow.

A quick caress of the radio dial or the TV remote reveals a plethora of mundane and stultifying senselessness, forced upon us by the modern purveyors of culture.  Three cords and a throaty, grunty sound are all that is needed to make some cash.  What used to take years to hone your craft in the theater, on stage and in hours of practice has been reduced to a matter of minutes.  All you need is a copy of Garage Band on your computer and access to Youtube and anyone, and I mean ANYONE, can have their 15 minutes of fame.  Unfortunately too many of the untalented ones have had way more than 15 minutes!

The kids today just don’t seem to know any better.  Popular culture is understood and accepted as the norm. We don’t seem to expect any more of them.  A great painting or opera or ballet takes time to unpack and understand. Its complex and diverse, like eating a great piece of steak.  You have to chew on it a while.  It can’t be understood in 3.5 minutes.   But it doesn’t seem that they have ever been taught that these things are important if they are to better understand the world they live in and the religion they need.

It is as if the Popular Culture gods have spewed out upon us such a wealth of banality and shallowness that we have become drunk on the baseness of it.  We can probably lay much of this at the feet of American Idol.  So many people who really have no talent at all have been lied to by parents and other assorted relatives and deluded into thinking, “Hey, I can really sing!” You used to actually have to have some talent before anyone would even let you out of the house, let alone put you on stage!

But a simply perusing of a classical music concerto or big band from the 40’s or even rock and pop from the 80’s reveal an amazing canyon of disparity between the lyrics and melody, harmony and composing of yesteryear with what passes for “good music” now.

We see this shallowness reflected across the board in all areas of our culture and a general ignorance of what was once considered “high culture”: ballet, opera, the symphony and the theatre.  Just trying to get some of this generation to watch a foreign film with subtitles or to read a novel by Dostoyevsky is almost as difficult as watching the cashier at McDonalds attempting to give you correct change for a twenty without the help of the register!

I think that what seem to bother me most of all is that this shallowness of culture has found its way into the church and usually passes itself off as the correct mode of worship.  In our rush to become “relevant” we have allowed the unholy and profane to infuse itself into what passes as a great worship experience.  It has to be flashy and loud, a steady stream of videos and pictures.  I mean why bother to memorize scripture or prayers when you need is flashed up on the screen in front of you.  Our sacred places of worship have become venues of entertainment where we can choose what we like, a smorgasbord of do-it-yourself religion.

And the fruit of it is our irrelevance to the culture at large.  Christianity is the butt of more jokes that I can count and the perennial whipping boy in most movies, talk shows and music.  And unfortunately there doesn’t seem to be any end in sight to the slippery slope down into “relevance” oblivion. We no longer affect the culture like we once did.

Too little is expected today of people in church.  Too much of it is cut up and put into nice little plastic container.  Bite size pieces of theology and spirituality.  We should expect more out of the people in the pews.  It’s tough to be a Christian and walk out the faith and especially in these trying times.

Our Great Faith takes time to digest and become infused into our very souls.  It doesn’t happen overnight and it doesn’t happen outside of prayer, scripture and holy tradition.  We need the intricacy of the beautiful vestments, the icons of gold and the perfumed incense to fire our imagination and passions for the faith of the Apostles. We so desperately need beauty to become a part of our worship experience, a richer, fuller expression of Truth.

That’s what I love about liturgy.  It makes me have to chew on it a while to get the deeper meanings to my faith.  The hymns of old are so full of good theology and it takes 3 or 4 stanzas to work through it.   The ancient prayers books are full of long, wordy prayers filled with big words and bigger concepts.  They should be more familiar to me than the latest worship chorus.  God deserves much better that what we usually serve up to him and to those who call on His name.

Knowing that the toes I am stepping on are mine.

TRAVELER

THE TRUE AIM OF LIFE

 

With my ears full of personal stereo speakers and my mind ruminating on issues and theology a little to large and deep for me to grasp on the first playing, I am continually amazed at how much there is for me to absorb, process and put into practice to become a brighter light for the Kingdom of God.

As the voluminous amount of information and practical application flows over and around the lobes of my cerebellum, I do my best to imitate a sponge and soak it all up.  But history has proven that I will remember only a bit of what I have heard, even on the third pass.  I truly wish I had a greater capacity to memorize something and an even greater capacity for instant recall during a conversation.

But just the fact that I desire these things only seems to reveal the flaws in my thinking, the pridefulness in my heart and my desire for the accolades of man.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve made so much progress in this daily battle to conquer self and the passions.

Sometimes I feel like I know a lot about my faith and what the best path for me and others to take is.

Sometimes I feel very accomplished in keeping the fasts, following my rule of prayer and being attentive and engaged in the services.

Sometimes I feel very spiritual and think that I have reached a plateau, only to realize there are many more valleys and mountains to climb.

I have a long way to go. Lord Have Mercy!

In one of my favorite blog sites, Evlogia, (a marvelous blog on Orthodox spirituality and the journey, rich and textured and guaranteed to make you contemplate) I ran across this quote. I have heard it before but for some reason it brushed me with import and depth.

Prayer, fasting, vigil and all other Christian activities, however good they may be in themselves, do not constitute the aim of our Christian life, although they serve as the indispensable means of reaching this end. The true aim of the Christian life consists in the acquisition of the Holy Spirit of God. As for fasts, and vigils, and prayer, and almsgiving, and every good deed done for Christ’s sake, they are only means of acquiring the Holy Spirit of God.

-St. Seraphim of Sarov, Conversation with Nicholas Motovilov

I want so much to be a vessel, full to overflowing with the life of God!  Yet around every corner of my life there seems to be another place that yet needs the attention of the Holy Spirit.  Dusty, moldy, brittle from disuse, grimy and in desperate need of cleansing.

Am I the only one who feels this way?

Missed opportunities should provide the impetus for future redemption.  I awake, His Mercies new every morning, hoping that my first thoughts of the day will be centered on Him instead of me.  I have spent so much of my life thinking about me instead of God or others, absorbed in the “now’ and the immediate.  I need to change my thinking.

I am trying to slow down, speak less and listen more.  Something I should have done a long time ago.  I SO want to be changed!

Come, Lord Jesus! Change my heart of stone into a heart of flesh!

Restore me back into the icon of Christ that I was meant to be!

Come Holy Spirit, with the Kiss of Life!

 

Truly grateful for the Ancient prayers that guide and shape.

TRAVELER

 

Goodbye, Old Friend!

The Little Blue Truck

A few weeks ago, I did the unthinkable.  I traded my little, trusty, old (and I mean old) 1988 Ford Ranger pickup for a newer 1996 Jeep Grand Cherokee.  It was an even swap.  We both got what we needed, him a truck for his construction business and me a vehicle that would both carry the four of us and be a second car for Lauren to drive.

Yes, it was a good trade.

Yes, it was the right thing to do.

Yes, I got the better end of the deal.

But all of that doesn’t take the sting out of our parting.  I mean, I spent almost as much time in that truck (especially in Los Angeles traffic) as I did with my family.  It didn’t make me look cool or help me to pick up chicks (a: because I’m married and b: it was an unattractive truck).   But it did give me far more than I ever did in return.

Here’s the story:

When I lived in LA, some friends were moving to Australia and wanted me to buy the truck.  I refused, not even wanting to give a plugged nickel for it. It was ugly, dirty, was a stick and had no air conditioning.  But the day arrived for them to leave and they gave me the truck because it wouldn’t fit in the suitcase.  I never thought for one instant that it would become the one vehicle I would own longer that any other car.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

In the five years that my friend owned it he admitted to never once changing the oil.  Scary.  But I took possession and thought I would soon be rid of it.  Two blown engines later on my van and Volvo forced me into driving the blue thing.  During the summer in traffic, with the heat poring off the engine, I swear, I was in the pits of Hades.  It burned oil like many in California burn the “medicinal” leaf (you know, the one that helps glaucoma).  It was fine as long as you were driving fast but when you stopped, smoke rolled out from the hood and made the other cars at the light very nervous.

Unlike my friend, I did do a better job of at least changing the oil once in a while but over all I rarely had to do anything to it.  It just started up day after day, week after week.  It was probably the most reliable vehicle I ever owned. Who would have thunk it?

I got quite an education in that little blue truck.  Due to my voluminous amount of time sitting in traffic and my not wanting to go postal on anyone, I started to listen to books on CD and cassette tapes (remember those?) to help my sanity and instill some peace.  Over the years I listened to thousands, and I am not kidding, of books on tape.  Novels, fiction and non-fiction, autobiographies, short stories, classics, poetry, history, religion, preaching and teaching.  You name it, I listened to it.  I feel like I got a masters degree, sitting behind the wheel, stuck in traffic.

When I moved from California to Florida, my friend Garth helped me build a box over the bed to keep all my stuff safe and dry.  I painted it battleship grey, packed it to the hilt and drove, literally, from one end of I-10 in San Diego to the other end in Jacksonville, Florida.  The only mishap was a speeding ticket in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere in west Texas.  But I arrived safe and sound, fueled by stops for oysters on the half shell in New Orleans and Cajun Seafood from Pappadeaux in Houston.

I have hauled many an ATM in the back and anything else you could image. I have helped a lot of people move. I have seen beautiful ocean sunset and spectacular mountain vistas. I have gotten it stuck in the sand, fishing on the Atlantic Ocean. I have sat on the back tailgate and ate oysters and drank beer with my father-in-law.  I have loaded up the kids and nephews and drove through the neighborhood looking at Christmas lights and singing carols.  I have sat in the cab and cried after seeing the Passion of the Christ, deep in thought and deep into the night.

So while I may have gotten the better of the deal in the truck for jeep swap, I lost a whole lot more in tangible friendship with an inanimate object.  I never even named my truck.  It was just “the little blue truck”.  Over the last few years, I have had to start replacing parts, most of them original.  It really held up well over the many years and miles to numerous to count.  The fact that I had it almost 10 years then traded it even-up was a testament to that truck.

I saw it a few weeks ago in the area, someone else behind the wheel.  It felt weird to know it wasn’t mine anymore, kinda like seeing an ex-girlfriend with a new boyfriend. It just wasn’t right!

It was a good friend and because it can’t talk, will hold my secrets well.  I know it has a good home and I’ll see it from time to time.  So until we meet again in the junkyard in the sky, keep on Truckin’, little blue truck.

Just glad my new Jeep has A/C.

Traveler

 

BREAKING UP IS HARD TO DO

While arranging lunch plans with a good friend, he texted me to say that some other mutual friends were moving back to another state. Surprise! (The sad, frowning face at the end of the sentence. )

Earlier today, I had lunch with another good friend who is taking a different position at a college on the complete other side of the nation. (Another sad face. )

All of this repositioning has set my mind a wandering down paths that I try to keep closed to the public.

“At what point do I just shut it down and stop trying to deepen relationships because I know that they will just be yanked out of my life at some point in the not-to-distant future?”

Have you ever found yourself saying that? I have.

I mean relationship building is a difficult enough process without being prepared for the rogue wave that washes inshore and pulls everything out to sea.  I know why so many people in this day and age just focus on the immediate and forego one of the most needed components in our spiritual and physical lives today:

Relationships.

Our culture is one of great and constant mobility, all of it predicated on numerous factors that are so often out of our control.  Work, family, military service, illness, school.  All seem to conspire against ever establishing long-lasting, viable and mature relationships.  I have very few true relationships that have passed that litmus test. Yes, I do have some, but very few.  They are precious to me (cue the image of Gollum, hovering over the One Ring…. My Precious..). I do my best to guard them and nourish them from afar.

This is even more disturbing because I know and believe that my salvation is worked out in community, iron sharpening iron. The look on the face across the coffee cups, the hug or handshake at church or in the supermarket, the tears in the eyes as we discuss the difficulties in life. And it is difficult for iron to impact me when I only encounter it in a phone call once a month, that is, if all the stars align and our work, home and family schedules magically align for that 30 minutes of genuine conversation and impartation.

I need people in my life that I trust with my soul and salvation, my secrets and dreams.  Just because Me, Myself and I make an unholy trinity, it does not count towards quality relationship interaction.  I mean, it is SO hard to continually put yourself out there, once again, trying to establish a beach head in the war against being alone and being a good friend because I know that as soon as I get close and comfortable with somebody as friends they, like Dorothy, click their heels and off they go on another adventure and I find myself left standing on the dock, waving goodbye.

I am not trying to sound morose or like a bride jilted at the altar.  It is just hard to see someone you like or love move on down the road of life.  Even if it is truly a fantastic move and God-inspired, it doesn’t make it any less difficult.

I say all of this to say: Don’t Lose Hope (and yes, I am speaking to myself as well).  Yes my heart is heavy and I will feel the loss when the day of departure finally arrives.  But if there is one thing that I have learned on my wandering travels it is this:

God is faithful and He always brings someone into my life for that particular season, in that particular moment, for a particular reason. 

I must remember that I am a stranger and an alien on this planet and that the time apart from friends and loved ones is just a moment of time in the greater scheme of things.  Each relationship that I have made has added to my life in some way, whether tangible and evident or intangible and yet to be determined.  Some have come into my path and become life-long friends and confidents and some have just left a deposit of truth and faith for me to add to all the others I have crossed paths with.  Each one has made an indelible impression, both good and bad, and has in their own way shaped my path towards Salvation.

And for all of them, I am truly grateful.  So hold on loosely and be grateful for whatever is planted into your life and heart.  Let the blossoms of friendship stay sweet and fragrant.  And don’t forget; as much as you have received, give back in equal measure.

Waiting for my next friend to come along,

Traveler

REMARKABLE

Holy Saturday 2011 Photo by Jeffery Weita

Christ is Risen!

Indeed He is Risen!

Lent and Pascha (Easter) have come and gone. It seem like just yesterday that the long steep climb up Mount Lent was starting and the end to meat and dairy had come, along with hours of prayer and services and dealing with my sinfulness and my passions.   But Holy Week has just been completed and the brightness and joy-filled ness of Pascha rose in the Resurrectional Hymns of Easter and in our remembrance that “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life.”

I feel full, both physically from over-gorging on meat and dairy products and spiritually from the knowledge that Christ is Risen and that he is doing his work in me.  I can’t stop myself from singing the Paschal hymns when I wake up, as I work during the day, as I drive my kids here and there and when I lay my head down to sleep.  There is joy inexpressible rising in my heart and on my lips.

I am grateful to have the privilege of participating in so great a faith!

While I cannot exactly put my finger on what has been done in my life during the many hours of services, in personal prayer and in delicacy deprived states of hunger, I know that I have been touched in ways too mysterious and tangible to express.

Wholeness, well being, peace that passes all understanding, joy unspeakable.

I feel a bit tongue-tied in attempting to explain my inner sense of being.

Not giddy or goofy, but…….full. Yeah, full.

I’m starting to understand the cycle of fasting. It leads me to more fully appreciate the cycle of feasting.  I mean, that rib-eye steak tastes so much better now that I haven’t had any for almost 8 weeks!  But it goes so much deeper than that.  It is beginning to take root, deep in me.

I seemed to have listened a little better when I was hungrier.

I prayed a little harder to keep my focus on the Holy Trinity instead of on my growling stomach.

I paid more attention to the Scriptures as food for my soul when the food for my body was less than evident.

I am grateful to God that I have, this season, made it up the steep slopes of Mt. Lent and have stood on the mountain top that is Pascha, the pinnacle of our Liturgical cycle.

I also realization that it will be another whole year before I get to participate in the Paschal cycle of services again.

I am believing that the Joy of Pascha will carry me through this next year.  I know I will have ups and downs, seasons of plenty and of drought, times of health and dark places of sickness.  Yet I will remember the light of Christ that shines in my heart individually and in the hearts of those I stand with in worship throughout the year.  It will sustain me during the dark nights of my soul until I next stand on the Paschal mountaintop.

But for now, I will bask in the glow from completing the Lenten journey intact and on course.  I feel recalibrated with the One who holds my soul in His hands.

I have finished well. Thanks be to God!

Ready to start the process all over again.

Traveler

PERSPECTIVES

As I was flying home from Houston on Friday night I was treated to a marvelous sight.  Stretching out for miles and miles was a huge bank of clouds. It looked like a gigantic muslin tube, all billowy and full.  It was lit from the inside by many bolts of brilliant lightning.  It was a wonderful sight.  I put on my headphones and some quiet piano music and watched and marveled and thanked God for the opportunity to witness something of such power and awesomeness in the peacefulness of my airline seat.

All from 35,000 feet above the earth.

From the earth below, as I read the following morning, it was a very different story and perspective.  At least 45 people lost their lives and many thousands more lost their homes, possessions, businesses and loved ones.  Whole communities were leveled. The storm unleashed a fury of tornados and damage, raining destruction and death from Oklahoma to North Carolina. It was a storm of historic proportions.  The lives of many will never be the same.

Lord Have Mercy!

Although I didn’t know at the time, when I found out what had happened across the South, I must admit, I felt a bit guilty for having enjoyed something so beautiful that was so deadly at the same time.  The enjoyment and pleasure I felt from above was not shared by those below, huddled inside of bathtubs and in storm shelters.  My whispered prayers to God of gratefulness and peace were only echoes of the shouted, frightened cries for help and mercy to the same God by those in the midst of the twisters.

Lord Have Mercy!

I arrived home, rested and refreshed from a nap on the plane, greeted by loving embraces of welcome from my two daughters.  I was so glad to see them after 3 weeks away.  I arrived safe and sound.  Yet only miles away other families were not safe and sound, loved ones were not found and will never be seen alive on this side of heaven again.

Lord Have Mercy!

I know that it rains on the just and the unjust.  I know that our lives hang onto the very threads of this life.  I am aware of the fragility of our existence and dependence on the Almighty God for even our breath.  Knowing this doesn’t make it any easier to accept that at a moments notice, we could be ripped away into eternity.  While I cannot control my future or circumstances, I do know in whose hand my life rests.  I do not live my life in fear of what might happen but I am aware of my mortality.  I shall not be here forever and the best that I can hope for is that which we pray during every Divine Liturgy:

That we may complete the remaining time of our life in peace and repentance, let us ask of the Lord

Grant it, O Lord.

A Christian ending to our life, painless, blameless and peaceful: a good defense before the dread judgment seat of Christ, let us ask of the Lord.

Grant it, O Lord.

Let us remember during this Holy Week that in the end, as Christ, we too shall be raised to be seated with Him in heavenly places. 

May the Christ of this Paschal season be risen in your hearts and lives.  I leave you with the triumphal Paschal hymn that we Orthodox sing at Pascha (Easter):

Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life!

Traveler

ELEMENT OF UNFINISH

 

“Who is to say at what precise moment a canvas is finished?  Art always contains an element of unfinish, for the life that it reproduces is in constant transformation.” Geoffrey Gustave

As my eye moved from painting to description I stumbled upon this quote in the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston, and with not a paper or pen in sight, I felt compelled to save myself a text message with it intact.  My mind is not as it once used to be and I needed to preserve the moment before it got lost in fuzzy remembrance.

I was with a friend and we were almost at the end of the gallery.  It was a traveling exhibition from the National Art Gallery and contained 50 Impression and Post Impression paintings. All the usual suspects (and more) were there: Van Gogh, Renoir, Toulouse-Lautrec, Monet, Manet, Picasso and Seurat.

And as usual, I could feel my spirit refreshed and rejuvenated just from being in the presence and literal fingerprints of great craftsman.  Beautiful, timeless and thought provoking.  You could glimpse the fingerprint of the Divine on the canvases, whether the artist at that time recognized it or not.  The gift and the calling of God are irrevocable.

As I mulled over the quote from Gustave, I recognized truth and myself in the statement.

I often wonder, “Will I ever be finished and complete?”

“Will my life always have that ‘work-in-progress’ feel?”

Sometimes I have a sense of that completeness to come, a glimpse beyond the veil into realm of wholeness.

Yet at other times (more often than not) I recognize only the reality of how far I have yet to go to become restored into the image of the Master Artist.

“Who is to say at what precise moment a canvas is finished?”

I stood and let my eyes drink in the thick ink and brushstrokes left behind on the original Van Gogh self portrait pictured above.  Wow! To be in the same room, let alone six inches away, was reward enough.  At the bottom of the descriptive panel I read something to this effect (this I forgot to save in my text messages and I have to rely on my fuzzy remembrance):

“this portrait was done by a spiritually-minded artist who was working out his salvation in his art.”

Very interesting thought.

I, too, may be working out my salvation in my art, that being my painting of thoughts and ideas on the canvas of this blog.  I don’t as of yet have legions of people reading and each individual blog posting is not worth millions of dollars.  But nevertheless the process is the same, whether it be Van Gogh or Weita.

We are all on the road of Redemption, working out our Salvation in fear and trembling.

Still painting and being painted on.

TRAVELER

Authors Note:

(Concerning my previous post: My mother-in-law is out of the hospital and doing better but not yet whole.  Thank you for your prayers. Please keep up the good work because she still needs them. Lord Have Mercy.)