I haven't been making as many entries as I would like as of late. We have had many problems at our parish, and I have no doubt that they will not be resolved in short measure. We have a parish at the moment that is angry, scared, hurt, suspicious, and ready for battle. The question I have to ask myself is "Who are we fighting"?
Are we fighting an organization that is trying to take from us that which we think is ours? Are we fighting a person who makes trouble for one that effects us all? Are we fighting ourselves? Are we fighting society as whole? Are we fighting evil? Are we fighting God?
I think everyone of these are valid questions. Those closest to me know what troubles our parish is suffering through, and yes, I choose the word suffering specifically, for there is not a one of us who is free from suffering over this, so I will not reveal all of the details of our parish here. What I will do, however, is attempt to make sense of it all for myself, and if I help anyone else, then I got lucky.
What makes no sense is why this all started. I have yet to speak to anyone in my parish who thinks that the spark that ignited this fire is founded in truth. What makes sense is that if it is, to our amazement, that we have to ask for forgiveness from many who have tried to help us through this.
What makes no sense is what we are to do. What makes sense is that we have to trust this is God's will for all of us, including the most effected and the one punished most.
What makes no sense is the answers we have been given. What makes sense is that it has to be dealt with for what it is.
What makes no sense is why God wills us to go through this. What makes sense is that we will find out.
Oh, Heavenly Father, please protect our parish. Please keep us together and let your will be done through us, and show us they way forward to best serve you.
Oh Lord Jesus Christ, through the prayers of your most pure mother, ever virgin and Most Blessed Theotokos, and all the Saints, have mercy on us. You are the light of the world; please shine on us to remove us from this darkness.
Oh Heavenly Father, we submit to your will. Amen.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
An Easter Story
There was a young man in Soviet era Leningrad (St Petersburg) who attended church every Sunday. He knew that he was being watched by the KGB; the priest at the church was always under surveillance to prevent him from teaching anyone else about Christ and the Orthodox Faith. The priest was constantly harrased by the KGB, with such tactics as phone calls and confrontations, warning him that teaching and training a priest was a crime. Such was the bravery of this young man and his priest that it didn't stop them.
The young man attended all of the services faithfully; he sang in the choir every week. It seemed, however, that the only people attending the services regularly were the old women of the area, which the KGB did not deem as threatening to the state as a young man of spiritual conviction. At times, this would depress him; other times, he felt blessed because of it, knowing the persecution the faith was undergoing.
There was one service every year, however, that the otherwise empty church would be overflowing; Pascha, which is known as Easter in the West. Then, it seemed that either the KGB gave permission to attend or that people just didn't worry about it. No matter, for in a story reminiscent of the birth of our Savior, there was literally no room.
This service would attract all sorts of people from around the area; not only did the faithful old ladies attend, but so did the mobsters, the drug dealers and addicts, the prostitutes, the gamblers, the thieves, and in general, those who most people would look at in a manner that was suspicious at best, and overly judgmental by nature.
These people would come in and not necessarily disrupt the sacred service, but they certainly would be loud and perhaps irreverent. Most certainly the majority were drunk as the entered the church, and they brought the boisterousness of the party into church with them.
This made the young man a bit envious. While he regretted not his decision to be faithful, he did not understand how such people could only come to service once a year, and even then make it into something he did not think it should be: a continuation of a party on the street. He wasn't as angry at them as he was hurt. How could they disrespect that which he was working so hard to keep available to them, even at the risk of imprisonment? It seemed that they were mocking not only him, but God also.
He decided to confess. He knew his feelings were hurting only him; those who reveled in the manner they did were not suffering from his pain whatsoever. As he told his priest about his feelings for all he was doing, all they both were risking, and how he felt their bravery was being mocked every Pascha, his priest gave him a loving lesson that he carries to this day.
His priest reminded him that those who go to church every week are already seeking Christ, and Christ is always with them for it. Sure, they will sin and fail, but it is much easier for those who walk so closely in the faith to be lifted by Christ and put back into the way of good. It is those very people; the thieves, prostitutes, mobsters, drug dealers and addicts, and gamblers and others that Christ came into the world to save. It's not that those who walk in the faith don't need Christ as much; those who do not simply need Him more sometimes. Christ will always be ready for those who need Him most, including those who may walk away, and for those who live the faith, Christ will be there also, but He also knows we are there for Him. We who walk in the faith have already seen; we have already experienced His mercy, and do so every week. We commemorate the Crucifixion and Resurrection every Sunday. We remember, and need such reminders less. We remember, and are blessed for it every Liturgy. It is those very people who walk away from Him that Christ died for. It is our job to remember that always and to remind others of that when necessary. It is those very people who only experience it the one time a year who need the joy of the Resurrection more on that day than the faithful. Sometimes, that one day is all they joy they have.
This young man understood. He went to seminary and studied and prayed. He became a priest, despite the best efforts of the KGB to prevent it. He is a most beloved priest, for I personally see the love that his parish has for him every week. They defend him with a passion reserved for those they love most. They come to his aid as much as he comes to theirs.
If only we in the West knew what he went through, perhaps we wouldn't take our worship so lightly.
Christ Is Risen!
The young man attended all of the services faithfully; he sang in the choir every week. It seemed, however, that the only people attending the services regularly were the old women of the area, which the KGB did not deem as threatening to the state as a young man of spiritual conviction. At times, this would depress him; other times, he felt blessed because of it, knowing the persecution the faith was undergoing.
There was one service every year, however, that the otherwise empty church would be overflowing; Pascha, which is known as Easter in the West. Then, it seemed that either the KGB gave permission to attend or that people just didn't worry about it. No matter, for in a story reminiscent of the birth of our Savior, there was literally no room.
This service would attract all sorts of people from around the area; not only did the faithful old ladies attend, but so did the mobsters, the drug dealers and addicts, the prostitutes, the gamblers, the thieves, and in general, those who most people would look at in a manner that was suspicious at best, and overly judgmental by nature.
These people would come in and not necessarily disrupt the sacred service, but they certainly would be loud and perhaps irreverent. Most certainly the majority were drunk as the entered the church, and they brought the boisterousness of the party into church with them.
This made the young man a bit envious. While he regretted not his decision to be faithful, he did not understand how such people could only come to service once a year, and even then make it into something he did not think it should be: a continuation of a party on the street. He wasn't as angry at them as he was hurt. How could they disrespect that which he was working so hard to keep available to them, even at the risk of imprisonment? It seemed that they were mocking not only him, but God also.
He decided to confess. He knew his feelings were hurting only him; those who reveled in the manner they did were not suffering from his pain whatsoever. As he told his priest about his feelings for all he was doing, all they both were risking, and how he felt their bravery was being mocked every Pascha, his priest gave him a loving lesson that he carries to this day.
His priest reminded him that those who go to church every week are already seeking Christ, and Christ is always with them for it. Sure, they will sin and fail, but it is much easier for those who walk so closely in the faith to be lifted by Christ and put back into the way of good. It is those very people; the thieves, prostitutes, mobsters, drug dealers and addicts, and gamblers and others that Christ came into the world to save. It's not that those who walk in the faith don't need Christ as much; those who do not simply need Him more sometimes. Christ will always be ready for those who need Him most, including those who may walk away, and for those who live the faith, Christ will be there also, but He also knows we are there for Him. We who walk in the faith have already seen; we have already experienced His mercy, and do so every week. We commemorate the Crucifixion and Resurrection every Sunday. We remember, and need such reminders less. We remember, and are blessed for it every Liturgy. It is those very people who walk away from Him that Christ died for. It is our job to remember that always and to remind others of that when necessary. It is those very people who only experience it the one time a year who need the joy of the Resurrection more on that day than the faithful. Sometimes, that one day is all they joy they have.
This young man understood. He went to seminary and studied and prayed. He became a priest, despite the best efforts of the KGB to prevent it. He is a most beloved priest, for I personally see the love that his parish has for him every week. They defend him with a passion reserved for those they love most. They come to his aid as much as he comes to theirs.
If only we in the West knew what he went through, perhaps we wouldn't take our worship so lightly.
Christ Is Risen!
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Missionaries to Alaska, Tradition and Ritual, and Dale Murphy
Ok, my first guess is that the last name one would expect to see on a blog about Orthodox Christianity is Dale Murphy, a retired baseball player who is not Orthodox. In fact, the last place you would expect to hear about him is in an Orthodox Christian service. However, we must also remember that it has been said (though I admittedly am taking this WAY out of context) that "the last shall be first", so, here is the name Dale Murphy appearing on a blog about Orthodox Christianity for all to see.
A little background is quite necessary. Dale Murphy was indeed mentioned in the homily given at an Orthodox Vespers service I attended back in 2011 (January if I recall) by the priest serving that night. Father (and this particular priest is a baseball fanatic!) talked about how, when he watched his own brother coming up to the plate, it reminded him of watching Mr Murphy come to bat, and how he always did the same ritual; the tapping of his spikes with the bat, the tapping of the plate with the bat, the sleeve tugs, and more I can't remember. He talked about his brother doing what is hero did. He then tied it all in to how ritual is important in the faith as it reminds us that we are all connected by the same rituals to those Orthodox Christians who came and went before us 1000-1500-1700 years ago. To lose the ritual and tradition is to lose sight of what makes us Orthodox, not only mechanically and outwardly, but spiritually and other worldly. It means we would lose our theosis.
I was reminded of this homily this past week, Holy week, the week between the Entry into Jerusalem and Pascha, as I was reading a book called "Alaskan Missionary Spirituality". In one of the earliest chapters, a comparison is made between the missions of Father (now Saint) Herman and New Valaam spreading the Gospel to the Aleuts and the Protestant method of spreading Protestantism to the Natives in the "Lower 48". Where the Protestants spread the Gospel through fear of hell and force of cultural extermination, through the replacement of Native American Spirituality with Christianity, Father Herman and his aides accepted that the natives of Alaska already had a sense of God as creator, but were unaware how their traditions were fulfilled in Jesus. Where the natives of the lower 48 were turned upside down in their beliefs, Father Herman showed how their beliefs were not in opposition to Christianity, just incomplete without Christ. Where the natives of the lower 48 were told their beliefs were in contradiction with the Gospel and must be abandoned, Father Herman taught that their beliefs were now summed up in the history of Jesus. Father Herman showed that their ceremonial rituals were an understanding of God, and how Orthodox rituals were the understanding not only of Jesus but of the early Christians. What Father Herman did was not only miraculous, it was long lasting. Alaska is quite entrenched in the Orthodox Faith even to this day among the natives, though there has been erosion since around 1867. We see the fruit of the lower 48 with every relic of the Natives past.
Of course, I have over simplified what I read in the book, in part because I am still absorbing its lessons and in part that I would rather encourage you to read this book yourself instead of me giving you a Cliff Notes version, but also because of how both that homily and this book tie into this holiest week of our liturgical year. We are going through our Bridegroom Matins and other services not because they are meant to please God (though we pray they do) but to REMIND us of Him and to educate us; just as the Native Alaskans used their rituals to educate their children of their spirituality before Father Herman. We go through these services to remind us of Our Savior and His mission, not only when He walked this Earth, but as it is now that He has sacrificed himself and sits at the right hand of the Father. We go through these things because it reminds us of who we are in Christ's mission, and what our part in it is to be. When the Hymn is finally sung "Christ is Risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life", we are reminded that this mission continues and must continue.
Our Orthodox ancestors passed down their rituals, and the Alaskan Natives passed down theirs, and Dale Murphy inspired someone to copy his rituals to become a better hitter in baseball. Three different types of rituals from three different sources all for one same purpose: to keep us centered on the task at hand.
Christ Is Risen!!!
A little background is quite necessary. Dale Murphy was indeed mentioned in the homily given at an Orthodox Vespers service I attended back in 2011 (January if I recall) by the priest serving that night. Father (and this particular priest is a baseball fanatic!) talked about how, when he watched his own brother coming up to the plate, it reminded him of watching Mr Murphy come to bat, and how he always did the same ritual; the tapping of his spikes with the bat, the tapping of the plate with the bat, the sleeve tugs, and more I can't remember. He talked about his brother doing what is hero did. He then tied it all in to how ritual is important in the faith as it reminds us that we are all connected by the same rituals to those Orthodox Christians who came and went before us 1000-1500-1700 years ago. To lose the ritual and tradition is to lose sight of what makes us Orthodox, not only mechanically and outwardly, but spiritually and other worldly. It means we would lose our theosis.
I was reminded of this homily this past week, Holy week, the week between the Entry into Jerusalem and Pascha, as I was reading a book called "Alaskan Missionary Spirituality". In one of the earliest chapters, a comparison is made between the missions of Father (now Saint) Herman and New Valaam spreading the Gospel to the Aleuts and the Protestant method of spreading Protestantism to the Natives in the "Lower 48". Where the Protestants spread the Gospel through fear of hell and force of cultural extermination, through the replacement of Native American Spirituality with Christianity, Father Herman and his aides accepted that the natives of Alaska already had a sense of God as creator, but were unaware how their traditions were fulfilled in Jesus. Where the natives of the lower 48 were turned upside down in their beliefs, Father Herman showed how their beliefs were not in opposition to Christianity, just incomplete without Christ. Where the natives of the lower 48 were told their beliefs were in contradiction with the Gospel and must be abandoned, Father Herman taught that their beliefs were now summed up in the history of Jesus. Father Herman showed that their ceremonial rituals were an understanding of God, and how Orthodox rituals were the understanding not only of Jesus but of the early Christians. What Father Herman did was not only miraculous, it was long lasting. Alaska is quite entrenched in the Orthodox Faith even to this day among the natives, though there has been erosion since around 1867. We see the fruit of the lower 48 with every relic of the Natives past.
Of course, I have over simplified what I read in the book, in part because I am still absorbing its lessons and in part that I would rather encourage you to read this book yourself instead of me giving you a Cliff Notes version, but also because of how both that homily and this book tie into this holiest week of our liturgical year. We are going through our Bridegroom Matins and other services not because they are meant to please God (though we pray they do) but to REMIND us of Him and to educate us; just as the Native Alaskans used their rituals to educate their children of their spirituality before Father Herman. We go through these services to remind us of Our Savior and His mission, not only when He walked this Earth, but as it is now that He has sacrificed himself and sits at the right hand of the Father. We go through these things because it reminds us of who we are in Christ's mission, and what our part in it is to be. When the Hymn is finally sung "Christ is Risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life", we are reminded that this mission continues and must continue.
Our Orthodox ancestors passed down their rituals, and the Alaskan Natives passed down theirs, and Dale Murphy inspired someone to copy his rituals to become a better hitter in baseball. Three different types of rituals from three different sources all for one same purpose: to keep us centered on the task at hand.
Christ Is Risen!!!
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
What will I become?
With Pascha approaching, it has been a very busy time at our church. Of course, we have had our problems, and they continue, but I don't think they will get in the way of the joy we are supposed to feel over the news of the risen Christ. If it does, all I can think is that the demons are entering our church, and we are encouraging them, and nobody wants me to be wrong about that more than me.
Lately, though, I have found my favorite times being when I can be alone in the temple, cleaning, polishing the brass, praying, and other tasks that would be mundane to me if they were not done for the temple of Our Lord. It's nice to be trusted in many ways, sure. What's nicer is the silence I can find inside the walls of the temple as I do my things in preparation for Pascha, and the lack of self-awareness that comes with it. It's nice to pray loud in the temple with no one there, as opposed to quietly in my room or in public so as not to attract the attention of other people. For a guy who has been a performer, I find myself constantly thinking about being seen by people when I pray, lest I get a reward I don't want. It's one thing to know that part of the admonition I refer to is supposed show what our intent is; am I praying in public to be seen or praying to pray? My problem that I am seeing is that one can start to pray in public just to pray to then have it morph into praying to be seen. Oh, those crafty demons. However, this entry is not about the demons, though I must acknowledge their efforts to draw me away from God.
I think this entry is about why I enjoy being alone in the temple so much now. The only ones who can see me there when I am alone are God, Jesus, the Theotokos, and the Saints. There is no self consciousness there; there is only me pouring my heart out. Whether I only ask for mercy, or say a Canon by myself, or just sit in silence to allow God time to try to get some things through my thick skull, I have nothing to worry about in my praying there. Anyone who wanders into the church at such a time won't worry that I am praying; they'd probably even join me. I only wish I didn't have to have employment to support myself and pay bills; I could pray alone in the temple more often.
Which brings me back to Pascha: it is time for my soul to rise to God and ask not only forgiveness and mercy, but strength and enlightenment. Knowing what changes have come over me in the last few years, from being someone who was so interested in the workings of politics and absorbed in pursuits that damaged me and then becoming someone who longs to be in the church more, even without a service being conducted, I am wondering what it is I have to destroy, and even allow others to destroy, in order for my own new life and fulfillment to occur. I am still too attached to the world, and am not obedient enough, to be a good monk; I don't know many monks who feel comfortable in hockey arenas and baseball stadiums or playing guitar and singing. Actually, I don't know many monks.
What the answer is, I do not know. What I do know is that Pascha is coming soon, and as much as I look forward to the Pascha services, the Paschal exclamations, and the feast that accompanies them (thinking of all the kielbasa I will want to eat), I am looking forward to finding those answers in the coming year. I am looking forward to my own transformation from a creature of the world to a servant of God and (dare I say) a disciple of Christ. I am looking forward to this more than I ever thought I would, for I am approaching a question I have asked for almost forty years now in a whole new way. The question I seek an answer to is this: What will I become?
God Bless.
Lately, though, I have found my favorite times being when I can be alone in the temple, cleaning, polishing the brass, praying, and other tasks that would be mundane to me if they were not done for the temple of Our Lord. It's nice to be trusted in many ways, sure. What's nicer is the silence I can find inside the walls of the temple as I do my things in preparation for Pascha, and the lack of self-awareness that comes with it. It's nice to pray loud in the temple with no one there, as opposed to quietly in my room or in public so as not to attract the attention of other people. For a guy who has been a performer, I find myself constantly thinking about being seen by people when I pray, lest I get a reward I don't want. It's one thing to know that part of the admonition I refer to is supposed show what our intent is; am I praying in public to be seen or praying to pray? My problem that I am seeing is that one can start to pray in public just to pray to then have it morph into praying to be seen. Oh, those crafty demons. However, this entry is not about the demons, though I must acknowledge their efforts to draw me away from God.
I think this entry is about why I enjoy being alone in the temple so much now. The only ones who can see me there when I am alone are God, Jesus, the Theotokos, and the Saints. There is no self consciousness there; there is only me pouring my heart out. Whether I only ask for mercy, or say a Canon by myself, or just sit in silence to allow God time to try to get some things through my thick skull, I have nothing to worry about in my praying there. Anyone who wanders into the church at such a time won't worry that I am praying; they'd probably even join me. I only wish I didn't have to have employment to support myself and pay bills; I could pray alone in the temple more often.
Which brings me back to Pascha: it is time for my soul to rise to God and ask not only forgiveness and mercy, but strength and enlightenment. Knowing what changes have come over me in the last few years, from being someone who was so interested in the workings of politics and absorbed in pursuits that damaged me and then becoming someone who longs to be in the church more, even without a service being conducted, I am wondering what it is I have to destroy, and even allow others to destroy, in order for my own new life and fulfillment to occur. I am still too attached to the world, and am not obedient enough, to be a good monk; I don't know many monks who feel comfortable in hockey arenas and baseball stadiums or playing guitar and singing. Actually, I don't know many monks.
What the answer is, I do not know. What I do know is that Pascha is coming soon, and as much as I look forward to the Pascha services, the Paschal exclamations, and the feast that accompanies them (thinking of all the kielbasa I will want to eat), I am looking forward to finding those answers in the coming year. I am looking forward to my own transformation from a creature of the world to a servant of God and (dare I say) a disciple of Christ. I am looking forward to this more than I ever thought I would, for I am approaching a question I have asked for almost forty years now in a whole new way. The question I seek an answer to is this: What will I become?
God Bless.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Obedience
The subject of this entry is also my lesson for Lent. I not only must learn to be more obedient in my job (which I think I am doing well at); I not only must be more obedient at church (and I don't think that was ever really a problem, but it doesn't hurt to get better), but I must also be more obedient to God, as Jesus was obedient to His Father and even His mother, the Theotokos.
Remember the story in Luke 2 about the 12 year old Jesus teaching at the Temple? I take less of Jesus being wise at a young age from these passages (verses 43-50) and more from the aftermath (verses 51-52). In those last two verses, Luke writes:
"And he went down with them, and came to Nazareth, and was subject to them. And his mother kept all these words in her heart. And Jesus advanced in wisdom, and age, and grace with God and men."
It seems to me that for Jesus to advance in wisdom, He had to be obedient not only to His Father, but to Mary and Joseph also. It seems to me that because He made Himself obedient, He advanced in grace. Since my goal in becoming Orthodox (part of my goal, anyhow) was to obtain more grace, it has become obvious to me after reading this chapter of Luke that obedience is important.
If we are not obedient, it says more about our will than our wisdom. If we are not obedient, we put ourselves at risk of many troubles, from the spiritual to the cultural to the criminal. If we are not obedient, we run a risk of an overinflated ego dominating our sense of self, which only distorts that sense. When we decide not to be obedient, we deny that there are powers more important than us; our employer (who can find someone else to do our job), our parents (we are always to honor them, provided they lead us not into sin) our spouse (who we are supposed to submit to), the government (we can find ourselves in jail), but most importantly, God (and we know the ramifications there).
Out of all of those I mention, however, only God shows us mercy beyond compare: our parents can be merciful, but they may also never "wipe the slate clean", our employer may give us a "severance package, but we'll never be working for them again, let alone get a good reference from them, and the government? I won't mention those possible ramifications lest I ask for trouble.
I don't think I have been outwardly as rebellious as of late as I was in my younger days, and perhaps even just a few months ago. However, I shouldn't be allowed to judge how obedient I am, for it is not me who I need to become more obedient to.
My prayer shall be thus: Heavenly Father, as you are all knowing and all powerful, show me once more, your unworthy and willing servant, your mercy and compassion, and please help me to serve you better, to obey your commandments more fully, so that I may be deemed as worthy as possible of having Your grace bestowed upon me, that I may humbly speak of Your great goodness and everlasting love for man, whom You have created. May your love and mercy reward me with tears of repentence, that I may better serve You and dare call upon You to worship You, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, both now and ever unto the ages of ages. Amen.
Remember the story in Luke 2 about the 12 year old Jesus teaching at the Temple? I take less of Jesus being wise at a young age from these passages (verses 43-50) and more from the aftermath (verses 51-52). In those last two verses, Luke writes:
"And he went down with them, and came to Nazareth, and was subject to them. And his mother kept all these words in her heart. And Jesus advanced in wisdom, and age, and grace with God and men."
It seems to me that for Jesus to advance in wisdom, He had to be obedient not only to His Father, but to Mary and Joseph also. It seems to me that because He made Himself obedient, He advanced in grace. Since my goal in becoming Orthodox (part of my goal, anyhow) was to obtain more grace, it has become obvious to me after reading this chapter of Luke that obedience is important.
If we are not obedient, it says more about our will than our wisdom. If we are not obedient, we put ourselves at risk of many troubles, from the spiritual to the cultural to the criminal. If we are not obedient, we run a risk of an overinflated ego dominating our sense of self, which only distorts that sense. When we decide not to be obedient, we deny that there are powers more important than us; our employer (who can find someone else to do our job), our parents (we are always to honor them, provided they lead us not into sin) our spouse (who we are supposed to submit to), the government (we can find ourselves in jail), but most importantly, God (and we know the ramifications there).
Out of all of those I mention, however, only God shows us mercy beyond compare: our parents can be merciful, but they may also never "wipe the slate clean", our employer may give us a "severance package, but we'll never be working for them again, let alone get a good reference from them, and the government? I won't mention those possible ramifications lest I ask for trouble.
I don't think I have been outwardly as rebellious as of late as I was in my younger days, and perhaps even just a few months ago. However, I shouldn't be allowed to judge how obedient I am, for it is not me who I need to become more obedient to.
My prayer shall be thus: Heavenly Father, as you are all knowing and all powerful, show me once more, your unworthy and willing servant, your mercy and compassion, and please help me to serve you better, to obey your commandments more fully, so that I may be deemed as worthy as possible of having Your grace bestowed upon me, that I may humbly speak of Your great goodness and everlasting love for man, whom You have created. May your love and mercy reward me with tears of repentence, that I may better serve You and dare call upon You to worship You, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, both now and ever unto the ages of ages. Amen.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Psalm 50 in the 21st Century
I had a very interesting experience this week. My humility was called into question by someone who perceives themselves as a "good Christian". So it got me thinking whether I truly was humble, or whether I was acting out of false humility. It further got me wondering what exactly is a "good Christian" and what is a bad one.
I wasn't offended by the comment at all; when you have been onstage and done poorly, as well as done well, you have to develop somewhat of a thick skin in order not to be paralyzed with fear. The first thing I did was thank God for the opportunity to examine myself, and see exactly how I might come across to others when professing my faith. Only God knows whether I truly pass that test, but if I were to ask myself whether I pass or not, I would only say that one thing I never have called myself is a good Christian. I have called myself a believer; I have called myself broken, but never a good Christian.
Then I remembered Psalm 50, which we, as Orthodox Christians, are supposed to say with our morning prayers every day. "A sacrifice to God is a broken spirit: a heart that is broken and contrite God will not despise." No person on Earth knows more about how broken I am than I do. I know my sins, and always acknowledge them to myself, God, and my confessor (even if I don't admit them otherwise). It is one thing to call myself the first amongst sinners (sounds prideful, doesn't it?) but I am past that. I am broken. I don't have the wisdom to put myself together: only God can, and only Jesus will lead me to God to do so.
So why do so many people who think they are good Christians not remember Psalm 50? Is it the splintering of the churches? Is it so much focus on the New Testament that the Old Testament, especially Psalms, is ignored or forgotten? Is it pride? Is it the evil sweeping over the world manifesting itself in false worship; not of idols, mind you, but a worship that is not pleasing to God?
I do not know the answer to this, and if you do, you are a better person than I will ever be. However, for now, I will just have to be blessed with being broken, knowing God does not despise me for it. I will have to be content to be contrite of heart, even if I don't always show it to others. I will have to keep my resolve to turn over more to God and let Him handle things, because He knows what to do and I am no one to tell Him.
Most important, I think I will have to be happy that I am not a good Christian. It seems God smiles more on us broken ones.
I wasn't offended by the comment at all; when you have been onstage and done poorly, as well as done well, you have to develop somewhat of a thick skin in order not to be paralyzed with fear. The first thing I did was thank God for the opportunity to examine myself, and see exactly how I might come across to others when professing my faith. Only God knows whether I truly pass that test, but if I were to ask myself whether I pass or not, I would only say that one thing I never have called myself is a good Christian. I have called myself a believer; I have called myself broken, but never a good Christian.
Then I remembered Psalm 50, which we, as Orthodox Christians, are supposed to say with our morning prayers every day. "A sacrifice to God is a broken spirit: a heart that is broken and contrite God will not despise." No person on Earth knows more about how broken I am than I do. I know my sins, and always acknowledge them to myself, God, and my confessor (even if I don't admit them otherwise). It is one thing to call myself the first amongst sinners (sounds prideful, doesn't it?) but I am past that. I am broken. I don't have the wisdom to put myself together: only God can, and only Jesus will lead me to God to do so.
So why do so many people who think they are good Christians not remember Psalm 50? Is it the splintering of the churches? Is it so much focus on the New Testament that the Old Testament, especially Psalms, is ignored or forgotten? Is it pride? Is it the evil sweeping over the world manifesting itself in false worship; not of idols, mind you, but a worship that is not pleasing to God?
I do not know the answer to this, and if you do, you are a better person than I will ever be. However, for now, I will just have to be blessed with being broken, knowing God does not despise me for it. I will have to be content to be contrite of heart, even if I don't always show it to others. I will have to keep my resolve to turn over more to God and let Him handle things, because He knows what to do and I am no one to tell Him.
Most important, I think I will have to be happy that I am not a good Christian. It seems God smiles more on us broken ones.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Prayer Lessons.
Our parish is in the midst of some turmoil at the moment. I won't go into details as to the problems, but I will say that things are bad enough that we are saying nightly akathists for our parish. It is through this that I am learning more about the power of prayer.
We know we will only get results on God's time. In fact, we pray for Him to deliver us from our turmoil as He sees fit when He knows best. What I am learning more about, though, is how powerful prayer is in your community.
Not all of us can make it every night, and I am no exception; with a new job and a schedule that conflicts with the times, there are times when I am coming home from work when the akathist starts. That said, I go whenever I am not working, and it is amazing that even though I only see a handful of people there, it is always the same people who are there; the choir director, two regular parishioners, the church caretakers, and certain members of the choir are there every time I am. What has this taught me? It has taught me to learn to see who is more disciplined in prayer than I am (not counting a priest) and seek them out. It has taught me that these are the people who most likely remember me in prayer each day, as I do them. It is teaching me to be more comfortable in prayer, not only with these few people, but in general: it's not that prayer made me uncomfortable, but it did always make me, for lack of a better phrase, self-conscious. Am I praying correctly? Am I following "rules"? Am I offending anyone?
Yes, I am praying correctly, every time I invoke the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ. There aren't "rules" as much a disciplinary guidelines (giving a nod to "Captain Barbosa"). Finally, the only people who would be offended by my prayers are those in the dark.
So as I pray that our parish be delivered from it's current turmoil, I am grateful that I was privileged to be a part of it; by being present, by praying both alone and with members of my parish, and for the most enlightening lessons on the power of prayer I have ever received. I truly am blessed.
God bless all of you.
We know we will only get results on God's time. In fact, we pray for Him to deliver us from our turmoil as He sees fit when He knows best. What I am learning more about, though, is how powerful prayer is in your community.
Not all of us can make it every night, and I am no exception; with a new job and a schedule that conflicts with the times, there are times when I am coming home from work when the akathist starts. That said, I go whenever I am not working, and it is amazing that even though I only see a handful of people there, it is always the same people who are there; the choir director, two regular parishioners, the church caretakers, and certain members of the choir are there every time I am. What has this taught me? It has taught me to learn to see who is more disciplined in prayer than I am (not counting a priest) and seek them out. It has taught me that these are the people who most likely remember me in prayer each day, as I do them. It is teaching me to be more comfortable in prayer, not only with these few people, but in general: it's not that prayer made me uncomfortable, but it did always make me, for lack of a better phrase, self-conscious. Am I praying correctly? Am I following "rules"? Am I offending anyone?
Yes, I am praying correctly, every time I invoke the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ. There aren't "rules" as much a disciplinary guidelines (giving a nod to "Captain Barbosa"). Finally, the only people who would be offended by my prayers are those in the dark.
So as I pray that our parish be delivered from it's current turmoil, I am grateful that I was privileged to be a part of it; by being present, by praying both alone and with members of my parish, and for the most enlightening lessons on the power of prayer I have ever received. I truly am blessed.
God bless all of you.
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