Preparations for a Pearl

It's been a year since I last wrote. As I read the Church Fathers and the Scriptures in a clearer light I feel like I don't have anything to say, except to say: read them for yourselves and be changed. But, indulge me a few words. Since that time, the liturgical year of the Church has come full circle. It is a wonderful cycle. It is a wonderful rhythm. Great and Holy Lent is set to begin in another week. We've come through this last three weeks of preparation for it. Each year at this time I arrive with a greater sense of what it all means, and with a greater sense of anticipation as to what will be accomplished between now and that Paschal Sunday when Christ is Risen.

For some of us, an annual cycle seems like a long time to keep in perspective. In it's perfection, Holy Orthodoxy has taken care of this. There are weekly cycles, and daily cycles of life that are designed to keep us ever mindful of who we are, who we should be, and Who Is. They all work together to provide the fertile soil that allows us to grow ever more in the image and likeness of God.

Great and Holy Lent is a time of special polishing of that icon of God within us all. To the degree that we yield to the buffing of our souls we become ever more prepared to arrive to our eternal destination.

St. Isaac the Syrian describes this process another way:

"A swimmer dives naked into the sea until he finds a pearl, and a wise monk, stripped of everything, journeys though life until he finds in himself the Pearl, Jesus Christ; and when he finds Him, he does not seek to acquire anything else besides HIm.

May we all, in this special time of the year, become stripped of everything that hinders our finding of this Pearl of great price.

The Icon

I am very thankful to have a priest who is a monk and who is a master iconographer. Because of this I have been exposed to icons that are really icons, not pictures that are presented as icons. With my family, I have the opportunity to worship in a place that is filled with living icons. I've even had the opportunity to put my hand and heart to the task of icon writing. In the last couple of days I've had the opportunity to view in incredible collection in Houston at the Menil Collection. Not all of the icons in their collection are necessarily breath taking, but most all of them have something to say to anyone who would take the time to listen to them. There were some that seemed as if they were ready to raise up and speak. These icons will never leave my consciousness, and they will never cease to speak.

This kind of "talk" might be confusing or disturbing to some. But, this is part of the world of Orthodoxy. Man was made in the Icon of God. The Word became flesh. Because the Word became flesh He can be portrayed in the icon. Those who share His Essence can be portrayed in the icon. The icons, such as some of the ones that I saw today, can speak to us, and can encourage us to polish up and clean off the Image of God within us all.

Not a Spectator Sport

It is unfortunate that some people incorrectly view a church service as a spectator sport. It is even more unfortunate when this attitude is expressed or acted out in an Orthodox Divine Liturgy. But, when people come in late and leave early they are acting like the only thing important is to show up and receive the Body and Blood of Christ from the priest. Sadly, I have even heard a priest speak of the congregation as the "audience". These attitudes betray a fundamental misunderstanding of who we all are, and what we are doing. If we were just spectators in the Divine Liturgy it would mean that a priest could celebrate the Divine Liturgy by himself. Canonically, this is not allowed, and for good reason. There is a priest at the altar who is of that select number who has been graced to be an icon of Christ and to be a celebrant of the mysteries, but the church teaches that all Orthodox Christians are part of that greater priesthood of believers. When the priest opens the service with, "Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit…" the congregation responds with an "Amen". This response is an affirmation and a ratification of what the priest is saying. St. Paul speaks of this "Amen" in I Corinthians. St. Jerome writes that the voice of the people shouting "Amen" was so loud that it sounded like an earthquake.

As Fr. Emmanuel Hatzidakis has said, "Through the "Amen" we are taught that the priest is not by himself. He does not bless the Holy Trinity in his own name alone, but in the name of all the people of God gathered in worship."

What follows is the Litany of Peace. Interestingly, ten of the eleven petitions are addressed to the congregation and not to God. The priest or deacon makes the horizontal entreaty to the congregation. It is the congregation who wings these prayers vertically toward God by saying "Lord, have mercy." They aren't complete prayers without the congregation doing their part. And, throughout this service and most of the other services of the church, there is a necessity for the congregation to do their part. When the deacon or priest says, "Let us all say with all our soul and with all our mind…", or "Let us the faithful, again and again, in peace pray to the Lord" he is emphasizing the importance of full involvement with the service: full involvement of the priests and deacons, and full involvement of the congregation.

So, it is important for the congregation to physically be there for the entire service. And, once present, it is important that all in attendance (whether in the nave, narthex, or at the altar) be tuned heavenward.

Writing an Icon

This past week I wrote my first icon. It was something that I never expected to do, but thanks to my priest, master iconographer Fr. Mefodii , and the Prosopon School I was given the opportunity. I have not held a paint brush (except to paint a wall) since elementary art class, so this was a daunting task, to say the least. But, life is a daunting task, and writing an icon on a gesso surface is very much like the self icon that we all are writing each day of this life. For six days I got up with a little fear and trepidation about just what new challenges would face me. During the course of the day I took those challenges: outlining the image on the board, etching the image into the gesso surface without digging in too deeply, figuring out which brush to use, learning the techniques of floating, outlining, and highlighting. Some things I could do pretty well. Some things I couldn't seem to do right at all. Patience was a virtue, and a positive outlook did help. Prayer throughout was the key component. Writing the icon is not an art exercise, it is a spiritual discipline. It is being obedient to the teacher. It is getting out of the way and just being an instrument for the work. It is an act of worship. At the end of the day I breathed a sigh of relief that I had gotten through another day, that I had learned, that I had been humbled, and that I had been forgiven at each step of the way. Amazingly, the icon did take on a life of it's own. Fr. Mefodii says that we are co-creating with God as we write the icon. I believe him. I saw it happening. And, we don't do it alone. Our little new community of icon writers helped each other, just as we are supposed to do in life.

There is much about the theology of the icon that I didn't know. The pure white gesso surface represents the light of God. The clay that is attached and burnished into the surface (and spread around the outside of the board) below the gold leaf gilding represents our humanity which (God willing) is transformed into divinity. Attaching the gold by breathing on the clay is like God breathing life into us. An icon is all about light: the light of the Triune God, the light that is reflected out of, and upon the image (saint or angel) on the icon. All of the iconic images are depicted with two small tears on account of us. There is a horizontal element (life) as well as a vertical element (light). The way we write the icon, and the aspects of the process that we either are attracted to, or not, are reflective of our spiritual state. It is a self examining process as much as it is a process of God examining us. It is a time for reflection, repentance, and hope.

The icon that most of us wrote was that of our guardian angel, the protector and guide that each of us is given at baptism. The angel is shown holding our little soul in a protective stance. What a beautiful picture. What a beautiful thought, that God would supply us with an angel to be with us through our spiritual journey, and to be there to usher us onward once we shuffle off this mortal coil.

Our group of a dozen or so was made up of many different types of people: male and female, older and younger, Orthodox, Catholic, Methodist, monastics, liberals, conservatives, artsy, and not so artsy. The icon is what brought all of us there last week. Fr. Mefodii says that he believes the icon is what will eventually reunite the Church. I think he is right. Our little microcosm was just one little ripple in the wave in icon interest that has spilled out of Orthodoxy to attract people from all faiths. Everyone had their own reasons for being there last week. God had His own reasons that might not be quite the same as ours. As we sat around and talked during meals and breaks some of those reasons became apparent.

I made some new friends last week. I came to appreciate many more things about my priest. I learned some things about myself. And, my guardian angel was watching over me as I wrote his icon, and continued work upon my own.

The Doors!

"Guard the doors!" If you have attended an Orthodox Divine Liturgy you have heard these words. It is spoken at a time when, historically, the non-Orthodox, including catechumens, were excused from the nave of the church and the doors were shut and guarded. It kept the uninitiated from learning the mysteries of the church so that a) they would not misuse them and hinder their own spiritual growth or b) they could not be abused or defiled.

For many of us, guarding the doors, has become more of a symbolic expression, but there was a time when it was a very pragmatic one. Standing in Hagia Sophia I was reminded anew of this expression. The massive doors of that church were swung shut many times over the years, both to guard the faith and the faithful.

This protective understanding is expressed in a larger sense in the New Testament. In his Second Letter to Timothy, St. Paul wrote: "Take as a model of sound teaching what you have heard me say, in faith and love in Christ Jesus. Guard the rich deposit of faith with the help of the Holy Spirit who dwells within us". He goes on to say to Timothy, "You then, my son, be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus, and what you have heard from me before many witnesses entrust to faithful men who will be able to teach others also".

I am glad to report that this sense of guarding the faith is alive and well in Palestine. To have a church, or a monastery, or a holy site, is to have a place that must be walled, gated, or at least watched. Beyond the obvious dangers, there is the need to protect these places from the tourist. I am amazed to stand in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre during a Divine Liturgy and see tourists ambling in, dressed immodestly, snapping pictures and talking, oblivious to what is going on. (Imagine how that would go over in your place of worship!) Not all people are allowed to visit all sites. To visit a site does not mean that you will be given free access to all the spiritual treasures that are contained therein. If one is known, or if one acts appropriately and/or piously one is allowed greater access.

This concept is probably troublesome to most people in my country. We are happy to throw the doors open. Discrimination has become a bad word. Sometimes the swine do trample the pearls. We, especially in the church, would be wise to learn from the lessons of history, and to emulate the traditional stance of the Orthodox Church in matters of faith and practice. Guard the doors!

A Unique Monk in the West Bank

Fr. A. is a monk who lives in one of the Palestinian Authority areas of the Holy Land. I am very thankful that I was able to meet him last week, and to be inspired by him to try to live a less pretentious, more real, and more practical spiritual life. Here is a man who is modeling the kind of life that we should all live. I will share something of that visit, but I will neglect many details in order not to draw undue attention to a man who already attracts more attention than he needs.

Our group had only planned to stop by his compound to find out about a certain monastery. After we were given entry through his huge metal gate, and exchanged greetings, he directed us to a place where we could enjoy a Judean sunset, and where we had a nice visit with some Orthodox Palestinian women out playing with their children. We had been invited back by Fr. A. for some liquid refreshment, but when we arrived back he suggested that we have dinner with him.

Hospitality is impressed upon me any time that I am around monastics, and this time was no exception. Fr. A. supplied us with a table full of food, most of which was from his own efforts. He had inherited the task of overseeing an olive grove that had been used by monastics for hundreds of years. He had also inherited a bombed out stone house and a neighborhood intent upon undoing all the good that he was trying to do. A few years ago there had been a request for someone to take on this job, and after four days and no other volunteers from his monastery, Fr. A. had taken the assignment. I don't think he has had any regrets.

We were very impressed by what this man has been able to accomplish in just a few years: rebuilding his house, walling in his compound, maintaining his olive trees, using natural methods to produce his abundant inventory of livestock and other farm animals and a garden. We ate his olive oil and bread, and meat from his farm. He shared other things with us that I know were luxuries for him. In other words, he was generous beyond words. We sat around his table for a long time, soaking up the hospitality, and encouraging one another. Before we left the table, he asked me for the names of my family so that he could pray for us.

His walls are not ornamental walls. He has to keep out people who are intent upon destroying his work, stealing his olives, poisoning or killing his livestock, and doing bodily harm to him. He has to be defensive at all times, and sleeps with a prayer rope and one eye open. He does good for the very people who are intent on killing him, and prays for them. Yet, he maintains a sense of humor and keeps a twinkle in his eye. I was astounded by the improvements that he has made in that place, and at the amount of daily work that is required just to maintain it. I asked him how he was able to pray as he should and yet accomplish all of the work. He conceded that there were days that he had to do more work than prayer, but that he would then make up the lost prayers on other days.

At some point in the evening I asked him if I could have his address so that I might send him something. He smiled and said that he "didn't have an address". When I pushed him a little on it he anticipated my thoughts and told me that I didn't need to think about sending him support, that he had people who were helping him. With a smile on his face and that twinkle in his eye he said, "all I need is your love, and your prayers".

Fr. A., you have both.

K-PAX

I watched a great little movie last night. Kevin Spacey plays a character calling himself "prot" who claims to be from the planet K-PAX. He is committed to a psychiatric hospital in NYC and the Jeff Bridges character works to cure him. I was reminded of a few things while watching this movie:

1) we are all flawed

2) we are called to see the image of God in all people

3) we are called to keep our eyes open to the suffering and needs around us

4) we are called to see and help those on the margins of our society

4) we should do for others even when they can't do for us

5) we are integrated and a part of all of God's creation

5) never give up hope

6) never give up giving hope

Enough said…..

No Fighting Birds

Some years ago, while traveling through the piedmont of North Carolina we came upon a little shop on the side of the road that was packed with all sorts of paintings, prints, and odds and ends. It was owned by a very colorful older man who, after we had perused what was to be seen (and there was much), pulled out a couple of Chinese paintings done on silk. The paintings came home with us and they now hang on a wall in our home. Both picture themes that we were trying to embrace at that time in our lives: peace, solitude, and quiet. One showed a man in red, at a distance walking up toward

a mountain pass. The other showed a man sitting on a river bank, fishing, while a village and mountains stood in the distance.

Both pictures contained some Chinese writing, and we were curious as to what it said. Not being fluent in any dialect of Chinese, nor knowing anyone personally living nearby who could help me, I took one of the framed pictures to the local Chinese restaurant. After explaining that I needed a translation along with my dinner, the hostess went through the kitchen doors and returned with a very old, very stooped, Chinese man. He looked at the painting, looked at me, read the words, and then laughed out loud as if to himself. "Beautiful white mountains, no people, no fighting birds, a man enjoys himself. I thanked him and left.

Not knowing whether his laughter was his bemusement at the painting or thoughts of a joke played on me, I took the painting to another Chinese restaurant. The story played out again with yet another older chinese man. The results were amazingly the same: the same translation AND the same laugh.

The point of the story is this: I could have asked any of my friends what they thought the words

meant. And, I might have gotten some good answers. Perhaps some of the answers would have been close to the truth. But, there would be no authority behind their speculations.

I really appreciated the "no fighting birds". We had spent some time at a monastery in the New Mexico desert where talking was not allowed. The sounds of the magpies was glaring in the silence of that place. They really were a distraction. And, they are a metaphor for anything that distracts us from what is truly important.

In the New Testament, there is adequate testimony that both the Lord Jesus Christ, and his post-Pentecostal disciples spoke with authority. Today, that authority still rests within the confines of the Orthodox Church. We speak of the tradition of the Church. If I want to know what the Bible means I know better than to trust my own speculations. I know better than to trust the words of the slickest, or most charismatic, or most persuasive speaker. I've "been there and done that".

I can guarantee that if you have a question about the Bible, or life, it has already been answered by one or more of the Church Fathers (past and present) in the Orthodox

Church. Like the blind man, who we commemorate this coming Sunday, we can also have our eyes opened to the truths of the faith. As we sing this Sunday, "I come to Thee O Christ, blind from birth in my spiritual eyes, and call to Thee in repentance; Thou art the most radiant light to those in darkness."

Oh, I don't hear the sounds of the fighting birds nearly as much anymore.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is a movie with an impossible premise. It is impossible to be born old and die young, but along the way, Benjamin Button has life experiences that all of us can probably relate to. Heartbreak, disappointment, hope, love, and all of the possibilities of human emotion come his way. He is not a saint. He partakes of all that life brings his way. He does good things. He does immoral things. He has a "live and let live" outlook on life. In some ways, he is like many of us. Certain themes emerge before movie's end:

1. Death is as natural as life.

2. The stages of life are all natural and to be embraced.

3. All people should be accepted and loved, regardless of their place on the journey.

4. It is never to late to change your goals, and embrace your hopes and dreams.

5. We can't change the choices we have made, but we are always free to make new choices that might produce better outcomes.

In this season of Pentecost we stand between the Sunday of the Samaritan Woman and the Sunday of the Blind Man. One might argue that both St. Photina, and

St. Celidonius probably thought that their life courses had been set until the moments when they encountered Jesus. One became an evangelist of the most unlikely type, and the other, according the church tradition, became a missionary in the area that is now called France.

The Bible and Church tradition are filled with people whose life courses have been set but disrupted by an encounter with the Triune God: the Holy Apostles, Joseph of Arimethea, Nicodemus, Saul of Tarsus, Mary of Egypt, Constantine…

In this season of Pentecost and in every season may all of us be open to the workings of the Holy Spirit of God. May none of us think that we are too old, or too far gone to be used of God. Benjamin Button died in the arms of one whom he had gone to great lengths to love, one who came to love him with a pure love. May we all die loved, and be carried to the arms of our Loving Saviour along with His Father, and the Holy Spirit to Whom belong all honor, glory, and worship forever.

Holy Friday 2010

Last night I experienced the Service of the 12 Gospels, our introduction into the events of Holy Friday. It can be a grueling service. Three hours on your feet, three hours of suffering, having to hear of the betrayal of Christ, of His suffering, and of His death, as you realize that you have betrayed Him, that you have been a part of His suffering.

But, it comes with preparation: the Lenten Fast, and the preceding days and nights of Holy Week. I have come to the conclusion that it is impossible to relate to someone (whether he is non-Orthodox, or an Orthodox who does not partake of the discipline of the Church year) the riches of the Orthodox life, the riches of the sacramental, corporate worship that we enjoy. Nothing in my previous experience compares with it, nothing in my previous life prepared me for its riches.

We sing: "Today hangs from the cross He who hung the earth over the waters. He who is king of the angels is crowned with thorns. Vain purple is thrown over him who casts the sky over the clouds…."

I pray that with each Holy Week that God grant's me that I will be more conscious of what a sinner I am, of how far short I come of the Kingdom, of how much more I am in need of His grace, of how much more I need to do to live the life of Christ, of how much more I need to shed the attachments of this world.

Tonight I will attend the Burial Service of our Lord. The entombment is compared to Moses being hid in the cleft of the rock on Sinai, the resurrection is prefigured in the story of Job being raised up from his sufferings, the words of St. Paul are read: "We preach Christ Jesus crucified…. " The icon of Christ will be put in the tomb, and it will be carried in procession out of the church building. To those passing by it will be a reminder of what Jesus Christ did for them, and continues to do for them whether they accept it or not.

As a monk of the eastern church has said, "It is not enough that on this Holy Friday I should embrace the Cross and the mystery of my salvation through my faith, or in contrition. I must try to obtain from the lips of the Saviour Himself a word of forgiveness. Perhaps I shall hear a word, which is totally personal, spoken by Jesus in the secret depths of my soul. But such a word of forgiveness spoken by the Church or through Scripture has the same value as this intimate declaration, if I know how to welcome it as the word of the Saviour himself. On this Holy Friday, have I sought a word of forgiveness?"

St. John Climacus and St. Mary of Egypt

As we approach the last week of Lent I am thinking about this past Sunday, and the one upcoming. Last Sunday was the day of St. John Climacus. His treatise, "The Ladder of Divine Ascent" points us to the need for discipline, ascesis, in our lives. I remember vividly being at Voronet Monastery in Bucovina, Romania and seeing their rendition of his ladder

on the wall of the chapel. I wasn't Orthodox at the time, but I was struck by the message: we can fall at any time, no matter where we are on the spiritual path, no matter how much we know about God, no matter how well we know God, no matter what others think of us. St. John Climacus cautions us to be systematic in our spiritual walk, and not to take anything for granted.

This upcoming week, this last Sunday of Lent is that of St. Mary of Egypt . Her story

is absolutely incredible and I would commend you to look it up and read it for yourself. She was the epitome of a sinner: a prostitute who planned to seduce pilgrims traveling to the Holy Land. Her conversion and subsequent life is one of the greatest examples of crucifying the flesh, and living for God. As Fr. Lev Gillett has said,

"She is a symbol of conversion, of contrition, and of austerity. On this last Sunday of Lent , she expresses the last and most urgent call that the Church addresses to us before the sacred days of the Passion and the Resurrection."

We might think that Mary of Egypt was so bad that she was not even on the ladder to heaven. We might be quick to compare ourselves to her. But, in the comparing we have already placed ourselves well below her on the ladder. Her message to us is that no matter how sinful we are, no matter how fleshly we are, no matter what we have done, there is always hope. And, there is always the opportunity to do something ourselves about our behavior. As the Forerunner said, "repent". I have much to repent of each day. Lord willing, I will have less to repent of tomorrow than I have today. As Abba Dorotheos has said, don't let our passions become habits. Let us root out our habits before they grow too large. St. John Climacus points the way. St. Mary of Egypt points the way. In these last days of Lent, may all of us redouble our efforts that we might find more of God's grace and mercy in the days to come.

Sergeant York

"Sergeant York" is one of those old films that I enjoy revisiting from time to time. Part of the attraction has to do with the setting. It is very much like that part of western North Carolina that some of my family came from. It is a movie with values, morals, and struggles. And, it is a movie that is loosely based on the real life experiences of Alvin York, the most decorated American soldier of World War I. What has this to do with Orthodoxy? The people in the movie all attend the same little protestant church. There is one religious authority in town: the preacher who also runs the general store. In the movie, a traveling salesman stops in at the store and asks someone, "the roads are so bad, how did you all get into this valley". He was told, "we were born here". It got me thinking about all of those people who never ever have a chance to visit an Orthodox Church. I guess it's like the old "what about the heathen in Africa" question. I guess the answer is that God is merciful and He loves mankind, and it's not up to us to worry about it.

More importantly, for the non-Orthodox, what about your brushes with Orthodoxy? I can remember mine. The first was as an undergrad. I had to read a couple of books about Orthodoxy in a religious survey course. Of course, they were dry, historical, and after all, I already had the right faith. Then there was the Greek Orthodox Church that sat directly across the street from Dallas Theological Seminary as well as my apartment when I was student there in 1979. Of course, I never went in since there wasn't any point. I thought the priest looked a little strange as he came and went----not like any Protestant preachers that I knew. But, they did have that bazaar once a year and the food was good. At some point after that I remember reading the Church Fathers. I tossed them because what they said didn't correspond with what I knew to be true. The next time was in 1997 when I went to Romania to build Baptist Churches. I remember a high school age girl puzzling over why we were there. "We are already Christian, you know!" I didn't get her response at the time. I did appreciate the spirituality of the Baptist Romanians. Now, I understand that it was the spirituality that they had learned as they were raised by Orthodox families in that wonderful Orthodox country. In the next five years I made many trips to Romania, and had the opportunity to visit Orthodox Churches and monasteries. I was puzzled by all of the acts of devotion that I saw as people entered churches. I didn't understand why there were bodies under glass in plain view, and why people lit candles, and kissed the icons on the walls. I was moved to tears at the spirit of a young Romanian monk in northern Romania. He knew no English, but he spoke to me in his manner, and in his peacefulness. I was amazed as a bell rang and all of the doors around the walls of the monastery opened up and all of these men in black, some old, some young, some stooped, and some spritely came out for the evening meal. I didn't understand why they were so serious about their faith, and why they were working so hard. After all, we are saved by faith, aren't we?

Someone has said, "we are responsible for the light we are given". I have read the Church Fathers talk about the greater accountability that come with greater spiritual knowledge and experience. Our Master spoke in a parable about making the best use of what we are given. Once I was open to the facts of faith and history, I had no choice but to become Orthodox. I would like to think that I was finally responsive to the light that had been given me.

My personal conviction is that the toughness of God's means of bringing us to faith corresponds equally to the hardness of our skulls and hearts. I know what it took to bring me to faith. It took the Lord Himself appearing on the road to bring St. Paul to faith. It took three nights enveloped in gastric juices to bring the prophet Jonah to obedience. In "Sergeant York" it took a lightening bolt that knocked the shoes off the mule he was riding and melted his shotgun to sober him up. If there had been an Orthodox Church in his valley he would have ended up there.

I have a long way to go, as I am a very imperfect creature. But, I do take comfort in all of the spiritual food that the Orthodox Church provides for me. At this time of the year it comes in the form of Lenten discipline. All during the year it is being able to receive the very Body and Blood of Christ at each Divine Liturgy. The words that we sing after we receive Holy Communion are not lost on me: "We have seen the true light, we have received the heavenly Spirit, we have found the truth faith, we adore the undivided Holy Trinity, Who has saved us!"

May God be merciful to all of us. Let us not ignore the light that we are given each day.

Sunday of The Publican and the Pharisee

Tomorrow begins our preparation for Great and Holy Lent. It is the Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee. Fr. Lev Gillet, of blessed memory, in his book entitled "The Year of Grace of the Lord" says much about this parable:

-it may be the most dangerous of all the parables

-the Pharisee was doing many good things, he fasts, tithes, and avoids the grosser sins

-the Pharisee does not take credit for his own good actions

-but, the Pharisee was not aware of his own shortcomings

-and, the Pharisee dares to compare himself, through pride, with another

-the publican confesses his sin, and stands humbly before God

-the publican throws himself completely at the mercy of God

Fr. Gillet questions whether we can completely condemn the Pharisee. Do we have his good works?

Fr. Gillet questions whether we can place ourselves on the level of the justified publican. Is our attitude exactly like that of the publican? Do we have the publican's humility and repentance?

These are questions that we would all do well to ask of ourselves as we begin the preparation for this Great and Holy time of our liturgical year.

On Color

Sipping a cup of coffee, I glanced out my window and noticed a blue jay on my deck rail. I am not particularly fond of blue jays. They do not exhibit the best of attributes when around birds of other feathers. But, I was struck with how colorful he was against the backdrop of a monochromatic January morning. He was striking. All of that blue against all of that brown.

Imagine what it was (or is) to live in a culture where there are no unnatural colors: television and theatre images, artwork, polished stones, or refined precious metals. Without these things, there has to be a greater appreciation for sunsets and sunrises, flowers, beautiful birds and other colorful creatures. Man craves color because it is beautiful, and sometimes scarce. He is drawn to it. Left to his own devices he sometimes worships it, or kills for it.

When man is in harmony with his Triune Creator he can come to appreciate color for what it is: a gift to remind him of from Whom he has come, a gift to remind him of what is to come.

The Greening of Me

I was never aware of exactly why I was against what was, at one time, called the Ecology Movement, and is now called the Green Movement. But, in recent months, as I have had the opportunity to meet personally with the "Green Patriarch" and to read his writings and to incorporate his thoughts with my thoughts and my readings of patristic sources, it has become clear as to me.

My disdain for ecological movements had more to do with those people and groups who were pushing the agenda than it did with the agenda itself. In my thinking, Earth Day in the 1970's was a time for the lunatic fringe to come out and smoke some all natural dope, bake a cake for the earth (and have the wind blow it out), hang some magic crystals from the nearest tree, and then rant and rave about the Military Industrial Complex. These people did not believe in the same God that I did (if they believed in a personal God at all.) In more recent years (because of my disdain for much of the liberal Democratic agenda) I have had a very hard time hearing the ecological words of Al Gore. I have appreciated the words and involvement of Bono on the subject, but he still seems to lead the life of a rock star....

As an Orthodox Christian I need to judge the message and not the messenger. Thankfully, there is enough within the Orthodox tradition on the topic to focus on. Man is seen as the nexus between the spiritual and the material world.

St. Maximus the Confessor (6th century) wrote: "Man is not a being isolated from the rest of creation. By his very nature, he is bound up with the whole of the universe.... In his way to union with God, man in no way leaves creatures aside, but gathers together in his love the whole cosmos disordered by sin, that it may be transfigured by grace."

St. Basil the Great wrote: "I want creation to penetrate you with so much admiration that wherever you go, the least plant may bring you a clear remembrance of the Creator.... One blade of grass or one speck of dust is enough to occupy your entire mind in beholding the art with which it has been made." I would hope that we might encourage the growth of more green plants, that there would be more to contemplate. Most of us might have an easier time contemplating grass than dust.

St. Gregory the Theologian wrote, "All creation sings the glory of God in wordless strain, for it is through me that God is thanked for all his works. In this way their hymn becomes our own, since it is from them that I take my song. Now the whole of the animal kingdom is smiling and all our senses are at feast." I would hope that we would not silence that voice of creation around us: the songs of the birds, the winds in the trees, the gurgle of a mountain stream.

Our Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew has written much on the topic including, "the ecological problem of pollution is invariably connected to the social problem of poverty; indeed, all ecological activity is measured and properly judged by its impact and effect on the poor."

I am coming to realize our individual and corporate responsibility on this topic. I am looking for the outlets for involvement. I am still coming to terms with the proper way to interact and co-work with individuals and groups who may share a love for the planet, but perhaps may not love it for the same reasons that I should.

Preparing for Nativity

This season of Nativity should be a time of preparation for all of us who profess ourselves to be Christians. From before time God was preparing to come to be born within human history as a man. Mary and Joseph had to prepare, in many ways, for the birth of God's Son: through prayer and piety, through traveling to Jerusalem, through making a place in that cave for the birth.

The great second century Christian thinker, Origen, wrote of preparation in

a sermon, beginning with the words of the Forerunner John: "The voice cries, 'Prepare ye the way of the Lord'. Which way shall we prepare for the Lord? A way on the earth: Can the Word of God travel such a road" Or rather must we not prepare the way within us, setting up in our hearts a straight and true way? This is the way through which the Word of God enters, and comes to rest within the bounds of the

human body. And great indeed is the heart of man, wide and spacious as if it were a world in itself… See than that no small thing is the heart of man which can contain so much. And see also that its greatness is not in body quantity, but in the power by which it can receive such knowledge of the truth… Let us consider this. Through whatever cities we may have passed, we have still within our minds the style and the shape of their squares and house and walls and buildings, stored in our memory. We keep within us, as in a picture, the roads, we have traveled. The sea we have voyaged over we can recall in moments of quiet recollection. No small thing, as if I have said, is the heart of man. If then it can contain so much, and is not something small and narrow, then let a way for the Lord be prepared in it, and let His path be made straight, so that the word of God and His Wisdom may enter there. Prepare this way by a worthy manner of living. and with good works make straight the path so that without hindrance the Word of God may tread this way to you, and give you understanding, both of His Coming and of His Mysteries, to Whom be glory and empire forever and ever. Amen."

Let us not let the practicality of his admonition be lost on us. Our heart stores up all that it is exposed to. Like a computer, it is filled with data, some of which is useful, some of which is not, some of which is useful, some of which is junk. As Deacon Dorotheos said to me recently on a Turkish mountain top: "time is very important". We can use our time to store up eternal things in our heart, or we can store up things that one day will be burned.

Many years ago, a very pious friend of mine while speaking in a store front church in my hometown launched into a perfect rendition of Hank William's "Your Cheatin' Heart". He nailed it, perfectly. Then he said, "I learned that song many years ago. But, it is completely useless to me. How much more better off would I have been reading the scriptures rather than listening to that song?" Mason was right. He hadn't even tried to learn that song, but it forever was implanted in his heart, just like all of the things that Origen spoke about so many centuries ago. Where we allow ourselves to be, in body or in mind, has a great bearing upon what we store up. Our preparation is how we live our life, each day, minute by minute: where we travel, what we do, what we think.

As we approach the Nativity of our Lord, as this Nativity fast enters its final days, let us think more perfectly about how we can prepare our hearts for His coming to us, and our coming to Him.

Behind Barbed Wire and Barriers

The Ecumenical Patriarchate is housed in a walled, barbed wire lined compound lying within a stone's throw of the Golden Horn in the city that is now called Istanbul. Just over the wall is a minaret, from which the Moslem call to prayer is broadcast regularly and loudly.

The Ecumenical Patriarch, in other times known as the Pope or Archbishop of Constantinople (or New Rome), was second in rank (among spiritual equals) only to the Pope of Rome. With the Great Schism, this Patriarch became the ranking Patriarch in the Orthodox World. Although he is, by necessity, cloistered behind a guarded wall, he is still the leader of the Orthodox World.

As I walked past the Turkish guardhouse, and past the door

(that remains locked) where the Patriarch Gregorius was hung by the Ottomans in 1821 I was reminded of something I heard the Patriarch of Jerusalem say a couple of months ago: "we are here to be a presence". It is probably not a coincidence that many of our Orthodox Patriarchs are a "presence" in a hostile environment. Jerusalem, Antioch, Alexandria, and Istanbul (with Rome, the sites of the five ancient Patriarchates) are not exactly friendly territory. Three are contained within Islamic states and the fourth is the site of

constant turmoil between Israelis and Palestianians. All are dangerous, especially if one chooses to openly express any signs of Christian faith on the wrong street corner. Of course, this is not new. When Gregory of Nazianzus came to Constantinople in the fourth century to be the new Archbishop he was entering a hostile Arian environment from which he rescued the city with his Orthodox teaching and example.

We are told in the scriptures not to keep our light under a basket. I was recently reminded that the "light" in Jesus' day was not a fluorescent light. It was a candle or oil lamp that had to be constantly tended in order to give out light. Our "light" requires constant attention if it is going to do what it is intended to do. The tending in the Orthodox Church is accomplished through attending the services of the church, prayer, fasting, and looking out for the needs of those around us. These Patriarchs are all a great example to us of how to shine, even in a hostile environment. We would do well to emulate their behavior.

Hagia Sophia: The Great Church of Byzantia

Riding on the ferry to and from the Princes' Islands last week gave me a different perspective on Hagia Sophia in New Rome, that great church that was the largest in the world until St.

Peter's was built in Old Rome. Leaving the Istanbul terminal, the ferry skirts the coastline, with the

Bosporus to your back, the Golden Horn to your right. The ferry is moving into

the largeness of the Sea of Marmara, and you are immediately surrounded by large ocean going vessels. You see at once the importance of this piece of real estate, and how it has impacted trade and fortunes, and why much blood has been spilled in it.

And, on that high hill on your right, between the Golden Horn and the Sea, stands Hagia Sophia. In the thousand years of the great Byzantine Empire this magnificent structure would have been the one thing that would stand out. In the days of Constantinople it would have been framed by the Imperial buildings (fitting when

you consider the healthy relationship between Church and State that we don't have or understand in our country) of the Empire. Whether one was a sailor returning home, a fisherman

tending his nets, or a stranger just passing through en route to the Black Sea or the Mediterranean, one could not help but be touched by the appearance of such a grand sight. What a lighthouse is to a ship, this beacon of hope was to a soul. The view lingers for a long time regardless of which direction one is going.

When I approached on foot I did not know what to expect. It is huge. It is beautiful. After passing the minarets (that were built around it after the Empire fell into Ottoman hands), and after passing through the ticket line (for now it has been reduced to a tourist attraction) I found myself inside. The huge entry way stones are worn down from centuries of use. It epitomizes Orthodox worship. It is open, and expansive, and it does appear to reach to heaven. The dome is 101 feet in diameter, and 160 feet tall. Thankfully, many Orthodox mosaics have survived. (Apparently, it was easier to plaster over them than it was to destroy them.) The sight of this place in the midst of a Divine Liturgy, with thousands of singers, and thousands of worshippers (including the Emperor) was enough of a sight turn Russia to Orthodoxy. I believe it. A couple of days later I was in St. George's Church at the Patriarchate for a Divine Liturgy on St. Andrew's feast day. It was overwhelming. How much more would such a service have been in such a grand place. In our world we marvel over thousands in attendance at a sporting event, or the light and sound show of a rock concert. How much more is the spectacle of something that really means something.

The Day I Met Tarzan

The day Johnny Weissmuller came to my hometown is near the top of my list of childhood memories. Boys from my generation grew up watching black and white movies of Tarzan on black and white television sets. And who was the greatest Tarzan? No question, hands down, Johnny Weissmuller was it. He was the voice, he had the rugged look. And, we insiders knew that he was a REAL hero. After all, in the 1924 and 1928 Olympics, he had won five gold medals as a swimmer. We knew that he really WAS Tarzan. No child of today could possibly understand the magnitude of seeing such a hero in the flesh.

I was too young to understand why a man who was an Olympic star in the 1920's, and a Hollywood star in the 1930's, 40's and 50's, would now be hanging out at a mobile home dealer's business in a small town in Virginia in the 1960's. When I came into his presence I found an older man, dressed as his Jungle Jim character of later years: pith helmet, khakis, and sunglasses. He was larger than life to me. I tried to strike up a conversation with him about his life as Tarzan, his sidekick Cheetah, and other things that a youngster would be thinking about. I remember that as he signed multiple autographs for me he seemed detached, and more than a little sad. He answered my questions in a polite, dignified manner. He was probably happy to have the attention of a young starry eyed boy rather than the glances of adults who probably could figure out something of what must have gone wrong. Years later, one can read of the multiple bad business decisions, and multiple wives that are a part of his story. Life seems to have gone all downhill after the Olympic days. He was in two unforgettable films after I saw him, you can't even find them on Netflix. I understand that he ended up in an unmarked grave in Acapulco.

All of us have to deal with the fortunes and misfortunes of this life: those we make and those we inherit. Our faith (or lack thereof) determines what we make of it. When life doesn't go our way, it is up to us to respond in a moral and faithful manner. We have to have the proper faith. If we believe in a false Christ, if our belief system is heretical in any way, our decisions (at best) will be flawed. Bad data in, bad data out. In Orthodoxy we have the true Christ, we have the true faith. And, having this, we must behave in the proper way.

Protopresbytyr Michael Pomazanky writes: Our "moral life is directed by the exploit of Christ on the Cross. This path is our personal struggle in the name of the Cross of the Lord…. The very concept of the spiritual Cross contains in itself not only the various forms of personal struggle, but also the involuntary sorrows of life which are accepted in humility before the Providence of God."

If we struggle in the shadow of the Cross we will triumph. No matter what comes: bad health, bad economy, faithless friends or family, we will triumph. We cannot allow ourselves to succumb to the amoral/immoral "easy" choices that appear before us. Oh, that reminds me of a great old movie, "The Devil and Daniel Webster" starring Walter Huston. But, that's grist for another day at the mill.

Visit to a Desert Monastery

Wadi Qelt is a cleft in the Judaean Desert that looks the product of a gigantic hammer fallen from the heavens. I was anxious to go there. It has been home to Orthodox monks off and on since the 5th century. Besides being the scene of a massacre of monks by the persians, it is also said to be the place where Elijah hid in a cave and was fed by ravens. We drove as far as we could through the Judaen desert, and then parked the car in front of the entryway where we were met by bedouins on donkeys.

The initial descent is amazing as you snake your way down the side of

the Wadi. As we walked further we could see hundreds of holes in both sides of the sheer walls, the homes of monks over the last fifteen centuries. Incredibly, as we got closer to the bottom of the trail things began to turn green, and lush. I felt like Ronald Colman as he stumbled into Shangri-La. At the bottom of the walkway the shade shielded us from the desert heat. Crossing a bridge we began the ascent up the serpentine path to St. George's monastery.

A gatekeeper met us, and allowed entry. I was thankful that I was in the

company of two priests, because the door seemed to swing a little quicker and a little wider than it might have otherwise. The sound of the semantron signaled our arrival into the monastery. Some say that this was the instrument that Noah used to call the animals into the ark. We were greeted with cool water, lemonade, and dates as we cooled down and had our breath restored from the hike.

We were allowed to walk through the monastery, visiting the chapel, venerating the icons, the relics of slain monks, and the body of Fr. John the Romanian. A miraculous thing happened here, but that is the story of another. But, I will relate something that will always remain with me.

I was standing in the small gift shop admiring the hand made prayer ropes, and pointing at one I asked a priest monk who was standing there something about them. Thankfully, he misunderstood my question. Taking one of the ropes, he took it between his fingers, and began to pray his version of the Jesus prayer, first in Greek, and then in English. He began to tell me about the Jesus prayer in his own way. The Jesus Prayer in The Way of the Pilgrim was one of my first introductions to Orthodoxy. I have prayed the Jesus Prayer, but in my life I had neither prayed it, nor heard it prayed the way this monk prayed it. I will forever be touched by his words, and his handling of the rope. As I was about to leave I bowed and put my hands out for a blessing. He gave me a blessing, and then looking me in the eyes, he said, "What is your name?" I gave him my baptismal name, and he put his hands on my head and blessed me again, hugging me and kissing me on both cheeks. I will never forget that monk, his prayer, his blessing, and his love for me at that moment. I now know why men go to the desert. I see why they stay.