Dear God:

I know of no other way to have this conversation with You.  I have tried to have this conversation several other ways, but every time I start, I find it hard to ask You to do anything but look in my heart and forgive me.  So, even if this conversation takes several days, weeks, or months, I need to try to finish it after all of these years.

You already know an article of faith I hold dear.  It is a statement I make often to remind others of how important we all are to You, said in all love and humility.  I am certain brains more powerful and effective than mine, and men and women more worthy of You than I, have pondered the same thing, even if it is worded differently.  That article of faith is this: “I have always understood why I believe in God: I am trying to understand why God believes in me.”

Dear God, why do You believe in me?  What have I ever done to make me worthy to even ask for such simple things like health, happiness, and especially, forgiveness?  You have created me, and You gave me the Spirit of Life.  You have given me gifts that far exceed my worthiness, and what did I do with them?  I have abused them for my own pleasure; I have tossed them aside as if they are meaningless: I have neglected to say Thank You in my arrogance; and my hardened heart has failed to repent. Yet, still, You bless me.

You bless me with a gift called life every morning when I awake.  You bless me with adequate shelter from the harsh elements.  You bless me by providing me food to satisfy my hunger and drink to quench my thirst.  You bless me by surrounding me with people who give me things I certainly don’t deserve, and if I need more, I only need to ask them.  You bless me by allowing me to enter into Your holy house, unworthy though I be, allowing me to worship You.

I have taken Your gift of life and wasted days in laziness, self-indulgence, and thanklessness.  I have taken Your gift of shelter and failed to turn it into a temple that glorifies You.  I have taken Your gifts of food and drink and indulged to excess without offering to share with those who have nothing.  I have taken Your gift of loving neighbors and, by my words and deeds, built fences and walls to divide us.  I have taken Your gift of being in Your holy house, and neglected my prayers and thanksgiving by focusing on things that have nothing to do with worship.

Yet, still, You bless me.

You bless me with the wisdom of those who serve You, who teach Your commandments, who tell and retell the story of Your Son, Jesus Christ, who include me in their prayers for health, long life, and salvation.  I repay You by ignoring their efforts, by allowing myself to be distracted as they talk, and by sabotaging their prayers by my own selfishness.

Yet, still, You bless me.

You have blessed me with beautiful surroundings, and I repay You by longing to be somewhere, and sometimes anywhere, else.  You have blessed me by giving me talents to serve You, and I repay You by misusing them and damaging my ability to serve You properly.  You have blessed me with the gift of time, and I repay you by wasting it doing nothing.  You have blessed me with the Body and Blood of Your Son, Jesus Christ, a gift I am invited to partake in, and I partake unworthily without thought.

Yet, still, you bless me.

O Lord, I am not only unworthy to receive You, I am unworthy to be received by You.  Yet still, every time I call on You, there You are, holding our Your outstretched arms to receive me as You received the prodigal, the thief, the publican, the sinning woman, all more worthy of You than I ever have been or will be.  You have given me comfort from my sins only to watch me sin again and again, indulging in passions instead of indulging in prayer.  You have forgiven me only to have me commit worse offenses.  You have never forsaken me, though for so long, I have forsaken You.

Yet, still, You bless me.

Why, Dear Lord, when I treat You so miserably, do You love me so much?  Why, Dear Lord, when I neglect You so often, do You make time just for me?  Why, Dear Lord, when I have proved myself so unworthy over the course of my life, do You bless me and provide all I need and more?  Why, Dear Lord, when I fail to love others, do You love me more and more and more until Your love engulfs me as a moth engulfed by flame?  Why, Dear Lord, when I fail to heed Your call, do You keep calling me?  Why, Dear Lord, when I have showed You how untrustworthy I am, do You still trust me? Why, Dear Lord, when I fail You so often, do You keep giving me another chance, and another, and another?

Dear Lord, You treat me far better than I deserve to be treated.  Everyone I have ever met is a far better person than I can ever be, for they love, and give, and can be trusted.

Yes, STILL, You bless me, every day of my unworthy life.

Dear God, with the evidence presented, it is clear why I should believe in You.  Why, Dear God, with that same evidence, do you still believe in me?

One Sermon Inspires Another

Two months ago this very day, the Orthodox Church lost a wonderful priest, a beautiful young woman lost her dad, and many people, including me, lost a great friend in Father Ignatius Crockett of Birmingham, Alabama.  Today, I am to give a sermon in our parish, and given the subject of our day in the church today, I could not help but use one of his sermons I was blessed to attend as inspiration for the one I am to give.  If it fail to do him justice, the fault lies totally with me; if it does his sermon justice, the credit is totally his.

Here is the sermon I have been blessed to give today.  Memory Eternal, Father Ignatius! GO BARONS!

In the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit!

Glory Be to Jesus Christ!  Glory Forever!

Welcome Home!  Thank you for being here this beautiful day!

The Lenten Spring is here.  As always, spring is a time of renewal, rebirth, rejuvenation and even remembrance.  In a sense, it's a rebirth of the flowers and trees that slept through the winter.  It's a time that in our part of the world, the land feels rejuvenated from the sun's warmth as the time of daylight grows longer and we feel rejuvenated because of it.  And as it is Great Lent, we are called to remember why Christ came here for us, what He went through and is going through for us, and we're called to remember by using the same traditions and practices as those who came before us a thousand, fifteen hundred years ago did, practices set down by Christ, by Scripture, the Church, and defended by the Saints like Saint Gregory Palamas who we remember today. We are reminded of why it is so important TO remember St Gregory's struggle to show that our faith is not meant to be just understood, but, rather, it is to be experienced.

There is a uniquely American Tradition that is celebrated every spring.  Whether you are there in person or in spirit, if it's spring, and if you're a baseball fan, that means spring training is underway now in Florida and Arizona, and a new baseball season is born in just a few weeks.  Right now, the players are working themselves into game shape, they are taking extra time in the field and in batting practice to get themselves ready for the marathon that is called baseball season.

A few years ago, there was a story about a young man who played amateur baseball, a huge Atlanta Braves fan, and his hero was the big star of the Braves at the time, Dale Murphy.  Whenever this young man came to bat in his own ball games, he copied everything Dale Murphy did when he was batting; the number of practice swings, the tapping of the spikes with the bat, adjusting the batting glove just the right way; everything that Dale Murphy did at the plate, this young man did also.  He studied the swing; he held the bat exactly the same way, literally copying his favorite ballplayer to make himself a better hitter.  When he was picked on for it, he would take it in stride and do everything he could to make those who mocked him pay for it the next time he came up to bat.  Just like his baseball hero, while he didn't always succeed, as long as he was playing, he never stopped trying.

With the start of a new baseball season, with all the rituals that the young man went through to make himself a better baseball player, we should be mindful of why we, as Orthodox Christians, do exactly the same thing in going through the training, but that we do it for a more important reason.  Just like a pro baseball player taking batting practice every day, whose very livelihood depends on getting in all that practice to be successful at hitting, usually less than one third of the time they're at bat, we do the same rituals and practices of our faith to not only be successful once in a while, hopefully more often than one third of the time, but to remember that try as we might, more often than we wish, we may be less successful in our efforts than we would like, but as long as we live, as long as there is still a game to play tomorrow, we always have another shot at redemption.

It is for those very reasons we celebrate the Triumph of Orthodoxy when we do, and how we do.  We celebrate it the first week of Great Lent, and we do it not just because it's a service that we have been doing for years, but we do it to remind us of how we almost lost the icons, one of our connections to Christ, the Theotokos, the Apostles and Saints.  Today, we probably don't realize just how close we were to losing something so valuable to not only the faith, but to our ability to live it, to understand it, to grow in it, and to help it grow.  To experience it.   It is for those very reasons we celebrate Saint Gregory Palamas today, the Second Sunday of our Lenten Spring; we do it to remind us what the task at hand is, and that task is that ours is a faith to be experienced, not because of our traditions, but with them and through them.

In today's Gospel, the paralytic that Jesus heals and forgives had to be let in through a hole in the roof where Jesus was teaching.   The crowd was so big; you couldn't get to the door!   Jesus was impressed by the faith of the paralytic, and those who carried him, and Christ forgave the man's sins much to the chagrin of the Scribes there.  Who was Jesus to forgive sins when only God can?  Well, sensing the Scribes disapproval, Jesus had the paralytic rise from his bed and walk, not only to show the Scribes who He really is, but to give them an experience it is certain they never forgot, and even then, the scribes failed to understand they had witnessed the workings of God Himself!.

If we've never experienced something, that particular something is difficult to understand, and even more difficult, if not impossible, to express.   Most of us will never experience hitting a game winning home run, and we certainly can't describe that feeling!  But someone who just hit that home run might say they can't describe how they feel, words fail them; they can't express what they just experienced.  They're so happy they don't know what else they are feeling!  And that's where the truth that there are occasions where words are not only inadequate, but unnecessary, comes shining though.  Often times, in our lives as Christians, we are called to be more like the shepherds from the Nativity Gospel of Saint Luke, who were amazed at what the angel pronounced to them, but they didn't fully understand just what they were told, yet, they went, and they gazed upon the Christ Child in the manger, and in seeing, they did understand, even if they couldn't put it into words.  It's the same with our traditions.  We may not always be able to explain to the world why venerating an icon is important to our experience as Orthodox Christians, though we should strive to do so, but when the results bring one closer to God, closer to Christ, closer to the saints, no words are necessary or adequate.  We can't even always explain our experiences in our faith, but to truly know our faith means that sometimes, when the faith shines the brightest, there's no need to.

Brothers and sisters, Dale Murphy was a baseball hero to one young man, a young man who literally copied everything his hero did all in the hope, all in the faith, that at just the right time, all those practice swings he took, all that time he spent doing exactly what one of the best baseball players of the day did, that he, also, in his own way, at his own level, could experience just what a professional baseball player experienced on those occasions he did succeed.  As Orthodox Christians, if our heroes are the Apostles, the martyrs, the saints, we know that we do exactly what was won for us 1000/1500 years ago, and yes, it WAS won for us, and we do these things not because they make us better than others, but because without them, we are no different than a baseball player who skips batting practice or fielding practice, or Spring Training.  We understand that if we skip those things, if we don't practice Lenten Spring, if we don't continue the practices and lessons and we forget them, if we let them get away from us, it will be more difficult to experience everything that the God who loves us more than we love ourselves, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, wants us to, and needs us to, so that His Glory can be revealed to all.

Glory Be To Jesus Christ!  Glory Forever!!

Homily on St John Kochurov

I have been blessed to give a homily today on the life of St John Kochurov, Hieromartyr of the Bolshevik Yoke.  Here it is in written form.

O Hieromartyr John Kochurov, pray for us.

In The Name of the Father, and The Son, and Holy Spirit: Amen.

Glory be to Jesus Christ.

Brothers and sisters, 98 years ago today, Heaven crowned a new martyr, in a village just outside of St Petersburg called Tsarskoe Selo named John Kochurov.  He was a priest, just like his own father; in fact, he came from a long line of priests in Russia.  He did something that none of them did, however, something any of us may be called to do.  He left his home country as soon as he graduated from seminary, bringing his new wife with him, and he came to a foreign land, a land whose language he did not know, and he began his missionary work, which in reality was adjusting to a new foreign land, in New York City.  He then went to the Diocese of Alaska, where the Church had been for over 100 years already, and there was ordained a priest by Bishop Nicholas in August of 1895.

In the true spirit of a missionary, he happily went to Chicago, where he took up the work of establishing and stabilizing the church there.  There were two parishes there, both without a priest, and compared to Alaska or New York, there was no organization.  He took on the two parishes there, the only two Orthodox Churches in Chicago at the time.  There were no other priests in the area he could ask for advice from.  The buildings they used for worship were horrible; the people were poor immigrants looking to live an American dream.  They worked very hard, very long hours, and could barely feed their families.  This is the Chicago Father John Kochurov ministered to.

For five years, he labored to stabilize and grow the church in Chicago; within that time, many who had left the church in their journeys returned to it thanks to Father John.    Eastern Catholics and Roman Catholics came to the church.  In that time, the church grew in Chicago to over three hundred men and their families, but as it grew, so too did the needs change.

Missionary work under those conditions can be very tiring and stressful.  Let’s face it; being 6000 miles from where we grew up is going to make us homesick once in a while.  Needing that visit, Father John did something extraordinary; he combined his vacation with fundraising in his native land.  In his approximately four months back in his native Russia, he spread the word of his mission in Chicago to his fellow clergy, his family, his old friends, and he came back to Chicago successful enough in those labors so that in March of 1902, St Tikhon went to Chicago, and the foundation for what is now Holy Trinity Cathedral in the Ukrainian Area of Chicago was laid.   That, however, is not the end of his story in America; it is the beginning.

He was elevated to Archpriest in 1906; he was awarded a gold pectoral cross for ten years of priestly service; he was appointed to Dean of the New York Area of the Eastern States; he helped organize what was the first North American Orthodox Council, and was essential in setting up the administrative aspect of a growing church in a new land.  It is fair to say that he organized from almost nothing, just God’s grace, human availability and the request of St Tikhon, the administration of the church in North America.

Holy Trinity Cathedral in Chicago is still used for worship today, more than 100 years after its consecration.  The parishes we have today benefit from the administration Father John organized.  The missions we have today benefit from his love of God, his faith, his energy, in spreading God’s word in a strange land where everything is new, just as is true OF a mission parish where everything is also new.  Were it not for those efforts just over one hundred years ago, there is no telling how the church may have grown in the USA, and knowing what we know now, we were very, very blessed to have this man of God, from a long line of men of God, organize and administer the needs of new missions and parishes in a new land.

Russia had those same needs, however, and in 1907, Father John left Chicago and returned to his native land, taking his family with him.  For almost ten years, he was a teacher of God’s law in Narva, attached to the Cathedral there, and while he was successful in these efforts, they did not afford him the liturgical duties he so loved.  In November of 1916, Father John was assigned as a parish priest to the second position at St Katherine’s Cathedral in Tsarkoe Selo, thus returning to active parish life as both priest and educator.

Hopefully, we all know the history of 1917 Russia.  By the end of October, the Bolsheviks had pretty much gained total control of the land.  As they came into Tsarskoe Selo unopposed, many residents of the town, most of them parishioners, came to the cathedral seeking comfort. They came to pray for peace, stability, and brotherhood.  Father John led those services, he led those prayers, and he knew that all of them came to that church that day for God’s protection.  He knew that day, protecting them was his duty as a priest.

They served a Molebien as the Bolsheviks entered the town.  After further serving a Divine Liturgy, arriving back at the family apartment, the Bolsheviks came and arrested Father John, accusing him of praying for the Cossacks, who opposed the Bolsheviks.  They took him to the outskirts of town.  When accused of praying for a Cossack victory, Father John tried to explain the situation.  Eventually, those who had rifles raised them at Father John, aimed, and fired.  He fell to ground mortally wounded.  They dragged his body by the hair through the town, with some yelling “Finish him like a dog”.  They even stole his pectoral cross award.  98 years ago today.

Brothers and sisters, as we venerate the icon of St John Kochurov and read what is written on the opened scripture he is holding, we need to remember not only his martyrdom, but what his true crowning glory in Heaven is. Yes, he was a priest. Yes, he died rather than deny God. Yes, he died protecting his flock, praying for them even as he was bleeding.  He is an example of courage and bravery beyond that of a man who lays down his life so that others live.  He was a man who left home, the family he grew up with, left everything that was familiar to him; really, he sacrificed his life long before he was murdered.  He not only died a martyr’s death; he lived a martyr’s life, and he did all of this so that we can live in Christ's immeasurable love, His church, and the fullness of the Gospel.  His love of God, his love of the church, and all of his labor here in America are with us every day still. Whenever we need to talk to church administration, it is his labor that organized it.  Whenever we start a new mission, his zeal and energy go with those who labor.  When faced with denying God, he showed what those in Chicago already knew; he was one of the most courageous men ever to have walked this land. Let us pray that we have his love of Christ, his zeal, and his courage, not just as we commemorate him today, but in truly keeping with his example, even to our last breath just like Father John Kochurov. 

Glory Be to Jesus Christ!

Church New Years Resolutions

September 1st is the start of the new Church Year, as it is every year, and for once, I plan on making some "New Year's Resolutions"  for my soul.

1)  I need to pray more at home.

2)  I need to pray more at church.

3)  I need to pray more when walking, whether any one realizes I am praying or not.

4)  I need to pray more at physical therapy and the doctor's.

5)  I need to pray more while driving.

I guess I am telling myself I need to pray more.

Should that come as a surprise?

To the Anonymous Christian Martyrs

An open letter to the Martyrs of Christendom whose names are forgotten to history.

Dear Brothers and Sister in Christ-
It is with a heavy heart that I write this to you.  It seems that, as the years turned to decades, decades to centuries, and centuries to millennia, that many have forgotten you.  Certainly, it would be foolhardy to think that everyone who wears a martyr's crown would have their name written down anywhere on Earth, so I really shouldn't think that your individual names would be available.
 Actually, I don't think that at all.  When I say that many have forgotten you, I don't mean you as individuals.  Those who remember you as individuals have hopefully seen you adorned with your victorious crown granted to those who refuse to abandon Christ in the face of certain, painful, violent death.  When I say many have forgotten you, I don't mean all that you have left behind to those who survived you, and to those who weren't martyrs who lived to pass it on to us throughout history, bequeathing to us today the precious gift Christ left us through His Apostles.  I mean, we have forgotten you, how you had to live, what you had to go through just to worship, what technology you did not have.
In my comfort, I have forgotten how you toiled for hours throughout all seasons and weather conditions not for your living, but your survival.
In my comfort, I have forgotten how my struggles of fasting do not compare to your struggles with hunger.
In my knowledge, things I take for granted like reading and writing were unattainable goals to many of you.
When I took my freedom too far, I became a slave to my passions; when you were enslaved by evil overlords, Christ kept you free.
I write this letter to you because recent worldly events left historical records of new Martyrs, men who were murdered because they would not renounce Christ, even asking for His mercy and help when being tortuously murdered.   They did not waiver in their faith, even knowing that they would be killed just for believing that Jesus is Christ, the Son of God, and did not betray what I am certain is the terror they felt.  Then again, neither did you.
One difference is this; in at least one instance, we know the names of almost two dozen men martyred on the shores of the Mediterranean.  Their names are all over something we call the internet, which is a way to communicate globally in an instant.  If one knows how to look, and cares to, they can find those names; I did.
Two thousand years between Christ and today have changed little.  In many parts of the world, you are singled out for execution for professing Jesus. They were doing that in your time, also.  What bothers me now is how not even methods have changed.  They still crucify Christians in the lands where Christianity began.  Sometimes, like the pagans of old, they are beheaded.  Of course, the end result is the same.
We who do not suffer physical cruelty like you did and those new Martyrs today did likely do experience some mocking and marginalization.  One favorite line of some non believers is "So many Christians, not enough lions".  What's most sad to me is that if that they seem to forget that a lion will get hungry again, and if a Christian isn't around, a non believer will taste just fine.  Such is the nature of that beast.
In closing, I want to give you proper thanks both in my prayers, but more importantly, in my heart, because while some of your names have been forgotten, your sacrifice is not.  When we hear that bell on Sunday Morning calling us to the Kingdom, we need to remember just what you went through to properly worship Christ and remember His sacrifice, and how what you sacrificed to honor Christ would be unthinkable today.  That would be too uncomfortable for many of us.
Then again, who are we to know discomfort compared to you?  We are no one to know that; there are almost two dozen new martyrs who do.
Please pray for us, and know that we remember what you sacrificed for us, also.

In Peace and Prayer-
Yours in Christ-
Me.

Suffering Through Hope

Normally when I take to this blog, I keep it very spiritual.  I certainly do comment about events in my life, especially if that event helps in my spiritual growth and understanding, and other times I do my best to sound a bit theological as if I knew what I was talking about.  I would like to think, however, that I do very little talking about my life as it is (it truly is boring anyhow, more so since I started this) and more about my soul and my spirit.  I may fail this time.
I have to admit that this calender year has been the most challenging to me in many, even as world events and forces beyond my control put me in some difficult circumstances from time to time.  I think I can honestly say that the only other year that was as tough physically and spiritually for me as an adult was 2000, the year my mother died.  The next year, 2001, was one mistake right after another for me.  Sure, I had some fun and felt some relief, especially physically, but I made too many mistakes that year, and some of them still have ripple effects to this day.
It all started last year, December 16 in fact, when I severely dislocated my elbow with several other fractures to the arm.  On December 24, I had surgery on that elbow, and spent the night in the hospital.  I started physical therapy the week after I got the cast off of my arm,  I still have yet to get back 50% of what a normal person can do with an arm.  The good news is that if this were 1914 instead of 2014, I wouldn't even have THAT much use of the arm.  Glory to God for All Things!
The last few weeks have been miserable also; I can not shake a sinus infection!  For some reason, this thing is hanging on for what seems an eternity!  Two weeks of antibiotics may be helping, but I sure have lost a lot of energy in this time.  Worse, it has severely and negatively effected my daily prayers; I am worse than inattentive.  I am lax!  Everything is disrupted by this, even fasting, as I have not even attempted to fast yet.
I have not played guitar at all this year....at least not in the guitar player sense.  I can barely hold a pick, and strumming is clunky and self muting.  I really do want to play guitar again, but that is my will.  I have thought that somewhere in all this, God has opened a door for me to walk through, but all I do lately is blindly bump into walls.  Since I seem to be too busy playing spiritual human pinball instead of focusing on what I am supposed to learn here, I feel a darkness settling in that is rather unsettling.  That can not be good, at least until I find that door.
Have there been bright moments?  Sure.  This past August, my favorite band that still has all of its original members alive and playing performed their first full length concert in over twenty years!  Of course I went, and was very blessed to have met some great people, as well as the treatment by the band I was given that was quite humbling.  There was a time there when many people thought that I was instrumental in the concert happening.  I refuse that idea; the desire on the part of both the fans and the band was always there.  All I did was ask permission to open my big mouth, and got it.  From that act has flowed many, many blessings that I can never be grateful enough for.
I think I have also learned my place in the church.  It is not on the altar at all.  Yes, I was studying to be a deacon, but then the elbow interfered.  I missed many classes, and the ones I did attend I could not take notes at, as well as the fact I could not get comfortable in the classroom.  Now, I see my place in the choir, as the one thing I have done all of my life that makes me feel better than anything is singing.  I can usually do it well, and I know it is a gift from God, a gift I have abused in the past, but I hope to have a few years ahead of me to make up for.  So it might be very unlikely that I will ever help a priest on the altar again.  Those lucky priests!  Again, Glory to God for All Things!
As I reflect on the last twelve months, and as I look ahead (the doctor has said I need more surgery, and God be willing I will live to get it) I have to take time and reflect on some of our saints and what they have had to live through in their lives.  Was the life of St Seraphim of Sarov any more difficult than mine?  A man who was beaten, robbed, permanently disfigured, yet spent many nights in prayer regardless of his discomfort?  What about St Xenia of St. Petersberg, who was a young widow that gave away all she had, save for a few clothes, and willingly spent many hours wandering the streets of the city at night, in the cold, wind and snow, praying and doing things to help others while always being scorned and ridiculed?  What about St Maximos the Confessor, a man who had his tongue cut out so he could no longer preach and his hand cut off so he could no longer write?  Do my sufferings even come close to that?  Do they come close to any other saint in the Orthodox Church?
Perhaps I could write more often in this blog; writing IS why I started this.  Maybe that is something I am supposed to be doing.  My problem with that idea is the fear of leading anyone onto the wrong path.  As I have acknowledged a year of mistakes, so must I acknowledge that I can still make them, and in some small ways this year, indeed I have.  I could not bear the thought of giving someone a wrong instruction on the faith, or in anything else really, and that is why I try to keep this blog less instructional and more conversational.  It is also why I write infrequently.  In the words of Kris Kristofferson "So many wrong directions on that lonely way back home".  I have walked some, and I do not want to lead anyone to them.
Looking ahead, I see struggles.  Looking back, I see the struggles I have survived so far.  Through it all, it has been the Love of God, manifested in His only Begotten Son, that has been the most constant source of hope through my life.  All I can do is hope for the darkness I sense to be illuminated by every prayer of thanks I offer, should my offering be worthy.  Somehow, I have a sense I need to work on making such offerings worthy.
Glory To God For All Things!

Orthodoxy and the Internet

If this post stirs up controversy, good.
If it invites self-introspection, better.
If it gets me labeled names like "ecumenist" or "Ameridox", then I struck a nerve.
You see, I love the Orthodox faith, which is why I chose to join the Orthodox Church.  I left the Roman Catholic Church, but not because I was disgusted with a sex abuse cover up.  No, I left because I had serious doubts about a dogma called the Immaculate Conception.  I questioned the doctrine for years before officially deciding to leave Rome and become Orthodox.  I could not join a Western Protestant branch because of their refusal to acknowledge the importance of the Theotokos and the communion of the saints.  I might have joined the Orthodox Church earlier if I had been shown the faith, but as it was, my first experience in any Orthodox Church was in Red Square in Moscow at St Basil's.  I was so overwhelmed once inside that I knew I was home, but it still took me eight years of learning and praying to make the step to join.
Like any convert, I was full of zeal, and what better place to be zealous than the internet.  A place where I could find like minded people and show just how dedicated I was to the faith and a place to share my new found knowledge.
Oops.
What I have seen recently online makes me so happy that there was no Facebook to participate in while I was a catechumen, for if there were, I might never have converted.  There is no lack of triumphalism, nationalism, and even malice among those who are on such pages.  One page recently had a man post a picture of a goat and ask is this was what America was trying to make Orthodoxy (it was apparently a story about bestiality).  Many other pages love to mock the Roman Catholic Church with meme's of the Pope with some horrific sayings that show no love for their fellow man.  Sure, I get it.  Rome and the East have a theological chasm that is at least as wide as the Grand Canyon and twice as deep.   No reunion is ever going to happen until Rome addresses and renounces its heresies, including the Immaculate Conception, the Filoque, Papal Supremacy, and other issues like proper communion, and many others.  In this, the Orthodox Church is correct.
What about the Orthodox faithful, however?  Why is it when Rome apologizes for a sin they committed against the East, many of the faithful, rather than accept the overture, point out other hurts caused by the Schism?  Why are many Orthodox faithful gleeful about the scandals of the Roman Church when the Orthodox church has their own sins to attend to?   In my opinion, do you know what the only difference between the sins of Rome and the sins of the Orthodox church is?   Press coverage.  Media outlets pick on Rome because the are an easy target.  What might happen if the media decided to focus on the Orthodox church for its sins, however?  How would the faithful have reacted if the OCA received the media scrutiny between 2002-2008 that Rome received for the priest sex abuse issue?  I wish I could answer that question, but as it is, since the media did not cover it to the lengths that they do Rome, we will never know and I refuse to speculate.
As I answer many people who question my loyalty to the Orthodox Church, I left the Roman church, but I did not leave its adherents.  I left Roman dogmas, I did not leave those who still hold them.  I did this of my own choice, and I do not regret that choice at all.  I know so many wonderful priests, all of whom have helped me in one way or another, and all of them, even in their firm rejection of Rome, never once showed ill will to anyone who was a Roman Catholic.  With some of the posts I have read about Rome from Orthodox Christians, I question not only what they are being taught, but by whom.
This brings us to nationalism.  Lately, I have seen many nationalist Orthodox who denounce the USA as trying to modernize the faith, and change it to America's liking.  Many confuse the secular politics engulfing the USA and the fights over them with the idea that America is trying to change the faith and allow such ideas to enter the Holy Church.  The saddest part is that nothing you say to them will change their minds, and even worse, their words show the hardness of heart I am trying to escape from by being Orthodox.
Another issue is should America have its own Patriarch.  This past winter, I had a debate with several people who think that my statement that the USA is not ready for its own Patriarch was an attempt to keep jurisdictions divided and that I was un-American.  Being un-American is nothing new for me, as I have been called worse names because of my tastes for ice hockey over any other sport, and a preference for the CFL (Canadian Football League) over the NFL.  To be called that by Orthodox Christians, however, because I stated the idea that the USA is not ready for its own Patriarchate was a punch that caught me by surprise.  In their own zeal, many of these people were showing that truly, it wasn't the USA they wanted to have their own Patriarch, but rather, their Patriarch presiding over the church in the USA.  Further, those that did not show that zeal did not ask such probing questions like "Since Metropolitan Tikhon is Metropolitan of all North America and Canada, do you think Canada will be willing to be under the umbrella of the US Patriarchate?".  The most popular answer to that question was "Who cares?".  Obviously, we didn't discuss Mexico.
The more I think about it, the more I am certain to have been blessed with several of the priests I have had since my catechumate.  Every one of them, to a man, has advised me to just pray for the unity of the Holy Churches and not worry about bureaucracy and politics.  They have advised me to pray to have Jesus enter my heart and cleanse me of my sins.  They have advised me to be faithful to Christ, His church, and to those in my community who need Christ as much as I do.
One piece of advise they didn't give me, however, was to leave those Facebook Orthodoxy pages.  They didn't have to.
God Bless.

In Response to "Why I Can't Pray to the New Martyrs"

Link to article I respond to:  http://www.pravmir.com/cant-pray-new-martyrs/

I am going to start this entry with a few statements which need to be remembered as this is read.  I do not wish to attack the author of the article that prompts this response, for we all have levels of comfort for who we feel we can pray to and who we can not.  For example, I have a very difficult time praying to any of the patristic fathers, as I am so uneducated and indeed am almost anti-formal education, as I feel my desire to liaise with them would fall far short of what is expected of me in terms of knowledge of the faith and their teachings as well.  I also have a hard time praying to any saint who I deem controversial in this day, so Blessed Seraphim Rose makes me very uncomfortable to talk to.  I find it much easier to pray through saints who may not have had much knowledge, but had experienced God in ways unfathomable to both many believers and unbelievers alike.  These Saints include St Mary of Egypt, St Xenia of St Petersburg, and even with his better education, St Seraphim of Sarov.  However, none of these saints can truly be considered martyrs.
If you have read my blog in the past, or know me personally, then you are very well aware of my closeness to one of the New Martyrs; in fact, he may be called the FIRST new martyr, and indeed is described as the First Hieromartyr of the Bloshevik Yoke, St John Kochurov. I feel indeed that, without my knowledge and with skillful prayer, he guided me back to the Orthodox Church when I had never attended one until I was in my late 30's.  When you read the history of his work in Chicago, with his work in bringing Roman Catholics back to the Orthodox Church, I feel he was always at work on me to bring me where I belonged.  I certainly can not prove this empirically, but I do remember, just before I was admitted to the Orthodox Church in August 2010, praying through my patron, St Lawrence of Rome (also a martyr, by the way), to guide me to a saint with connections to North America that would protect me and whose life I could be inspired by.  There was no hesitancy in the answer I received; St John of Chicago.  Being a lifelong Chicago Cubs fan myself seemed to "seal the deal" as it were, for until this prayer was answered for me, I  never had known anything about him.
One point the author mentions in his article is quite accurate and can not be countered; that is a martyr is always alone leaving nothing behind behind for disciples (St John Kochurov, however, did oversee the construction of a cathedral in Chicago that is still used to this day, so that isn't always the case, though to find writings of his is near impossible).  What the author may fail to realize, however, is that as we walk this spectral existence, in many instances, many of us do indeed walk without the benefit of our fellow man, having only God as our strength to carry on when those who do not trust in Him may well have given up.  As a young man, I had few acquaintances, less friends, and was constantly picked on for being different than many in my school and my age. God never did this to me, though.  God was always there for me, even after many times I wasn't there for Him.  Christ's arms were always open to me.  He understood.  He understands.  He always will, for who else in history truly changed the entire world, alone, but Him?
To walk this world alone requires a courage that many will see as an eccentricity.  I didn't always like the same music as my peers, or the same sports as my fellow classmates.  In fact, I was always more interested in religion and faith than I was math and science.  Those interests are hard for an academic to deal with when their job is to guide me to academia.  It is even more difficult for a young person whose family does not share that same interest in God, the faith, and spirituality.  It is difficult for a teenager to go to church, even thirty years ago, but it is even more difficult for that teenager to attend services alone without the presence of his or her parents and siblings.  Yet, this is exactly what I did.  If it were not for the best friend I had growing up and his family, there is a good chance I would NEVER have gone to church at all.
As the culture is changing in the USA now, Christians are being marginalized at best, and softly persecuted now at worst (try being a service worker and telling a prospective employer you need Sunday mornings off for services, for unless you are applying to Hobby Lobby or Chic-Fil-A, you have almost no chance of getting hired).  Your peers will tell you not to say these things (even some who profess the faith) and get the job first, or even tell you to give up services.  If we make that choice, are we truly witnessing to the faith?  Are we truly living the faith?  Are we trusting God in the manner we should?.  Forgive me for being judgemental, but to me, the answer is a resounding NO.  I can bear witness to this trust; every time I have refused a job that will not allow me my religious freedom as guaranteed by the US Constitution, God has guided me elsewhere and I have found everything I need.  Those times in between are indeed difficult, but why does God provide for me, someone who is so wretched that I deserve nothing from Him other than a good scolding?
Some Americans believe that the persecution of Christians is coming to America in a manner similar to what happened under the Bolsheviks and is currently happening in the Middle East.  The signs are there that it is indeed possible, and the hostility towards Christians is indeed growing in the USA.  It's tough to make predictions, especially about the future, but if history is any indicator, it is indeed on its way.  What is one of the first things that you do to someone who you want to punish, or persecute, or bully?  You isolate them.  You make them feel like they are alone.  You make them feel like no one else cares about them, that they are a waste of oxygen, and that they should just disappear.  Are Christians going to be treated any different if persecution comes to pass in the USA?   No, they won't.  They won't have jobs, they won't have defenders, and they won't have protections.  They will be taken from family and friends, they will be isolated, and they will be made to despair so that they will, hopefully, eventually conform to the state.  If you don't believe me, read a book called "The Gulag Archipelago".
Again, I wish not to criticise the author of the article I respond to.  I only wish to respond why I find such comfort in the martyrs.  You see, a common misconception about martyrdom is that to be a martyr, we die for the faith.  On the contrary, martyrdom is not dying for the faith, but bearing witness to it, and if need be, bearing it alone when nobody around you cares enough about you to stand up for your God-given right to live and worship Him.  I don't want to die like a martyr; like the author of the article, I hope to die of old age surrounded by people who love me.  I have no fear, however, of living like one, for God, Christ, His Saints, and ALL the martyrs of the faith, are there praying for me and working on my behalf to insure my spectral needs are met.  I need nothing, and no one, else in this struggle.

How Dare I.

How dare I, O Lord, how dare I ask for Your forgiveness for my sinful and wretched soul.
How dare I ask for forgiveness when I have slain the souls of those who try to love me and guide me to Your loving light, instead exhalting those who share in my sinful ways.
How dare I, O Lord, how dare I ask for Your forgivenss for my countless and repeated transgressions.
How dare I ask for mercy when I know nothing of giving mercy to those who love me and whose trangression against me is a minor incovenience,, instead being merciful to those to whom mercy means nothing, and will use it for evil  purposes.
How dare I, O Lord, how dare I ask for Your forgiveness for my prideful boasting.
How dare I ask for Your love when my prideful and sinful nature neglects the Glory You shared with me for what little benefit I have given this world, and instead pretend that it is I, and not You, who accomplished what I claim to have done.
How dare I, O Lord, how dare I ask for Your forgiveness, for my neglectful and careless manner of prayer.
How dare I ask that You bestow upon me that which I wish when I have not only failed to give thanks for but have further abused and destroyed the gifts You entrusted me with.
How dare I, O Lord, how dare I ask for Your forgiveness and how dare I lift up my eyes to Heaven.
How dare I look up to Heaven as a destination to which I plan to go when I fail to keep Holy and instead defile myself with that which saddens You.
How dare I, O Lord, how dare I ask for Your forgiveness for my insolence and lack of consideration of my brothers and sisters.
How dare I think myself a humble servant when I go about insulting others, thinking myself clever, instead of edifying their hearts with the love I so undeservedly have received from You.
How dare I, O Lord, how dare I ask for Your forgiveness for my Pharisaical habits.
How dare I ask for mercy when I look down upon my brothers and sisters for their sins and affronts when mine are greater in number and scope, and when mine have inflicted greater damage to others than has been done to me.
How dare I, O Lord, how dare I ask for Your forgiveness again and again.
How dare I keep breaking my promise to You, O Lord, whose mercies and kindness are limitless, who are patient and long suffering, when in me I can find no mercy, kindness, or patience.
How dare I, O Lord, how dare I ask for Your forgiveness for what has come out of my mouth.
How dare I ask for mercy from the lips I use to hurt others, to spread that which is not of Your goodness, and which have told countless lies as if they are a child's fable.
How dare I, O Lord, how dare I ask for Your forgiveness.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Nearer my God......not.

Life certainly has a sadly funny way of trying to keep us from God.  Whether it is because we sleep late and do not say our morning prayers, thereby neglecting our souls during the day, or being so tired we neglect our prayers at night, thereby neglecting our soul's ability to rest, and everything in between, it is so easy to neglect all that God has done for us and does for us always.
If we are Americans, we see our religious freedoms being tested more and more every day, and instead of praying to God, we fight our persecutors.
In the Middle East, our Brothers and Sisters in Christ fear for their lives daily.
That is just politics..
We no longer trust a beggar who seeks assistance, though I must admit it is hard to feel bad for someone begging for money when they wear a pair of sneakers that costs more than my food bill for two weeks.  Again, life keeping me from God.
We take for granted those who love us, and seek approval from those who take us for granted.  I should learn to love those who take me for granted regardless of their love, or lack thereof, for me.  I should also never take for granted those who love me regardless of my failures.
I have been told I am now under grace, yet get chastised for not living to the letter of the law.  All I wanted to do was have an image of a saint on my computer to focus on.
I don't know what hurts me more; knowing that I have to do better, or knowing that I can and am not doing so.
Pray for me please, if you can, and if you will.

Our Pagan Fight

Here we go again.  All we are hearing now with Western Easter approaching this weekend (though Pascha is May 5) is how Easter is a "pagan" celebration "stolen" by the Christians.  We are hearing about Ishtar and Eoster and how it REALLY is a pagan festival for a fertility goddess.  All this makes me question now not what those who attack Christianity are doing, but what are we, who are called to defend it, are doing.
Now apologetics is not for everyone, and even for those who enjoy it on occasion, it can be rather tiresome.  This explains how we are losing on at least one front: attrition.  Like a pack of wolves hunting their prey, they nip at our heels, chase us for hours, and tire us out just before killing us.  I think this is why Christ called on us to endure to the end and said those that do will be saved (Matthew 24:13).  He also warned us that He was sending us out as sheep in the midst of wolves (Matthew 10:16).  We should be ready for this, but sadly, I am thinking many of us are not (myself included: I am already tired of the attacks this year).
We hear constantly about how Easter Eggs are a tribute to a pagan god.  When was the last time any of us recounted the visit of Mary Magdalene visiting the Emperor Tiberius and proclaiming "Christ is Risen!"?  Do we even know the tradition of this?  When confronted with Mary Magdalene's exclamation, Tiberius replied "A man can rise from the dead no more than the egg in your hand can turn red!"  It was then that the egg in Mary Magdalene's hand turned red.  This is why, in many icons of her, she is pictured holding a red egg in her hand.  Forgetting this tradition and the reason behind it only opens a door to those who wish to defeat Christ.
We hear about Easter Bunnies, Chocolate, and other candies given to children as further evidence of pagan ancestry and homage.  A question I can not answer is when did the church allow it IN the church?  I have seen Easter Baskets at Pascha that have much food, but have never seen the chocolate bunnies in them.  I have seen the red eggs, and Cheese Pascha, and meat, but no chocolate bunnies.
Those who scoff at us know we do not have adequate knowledge of our faith, and they have seen to it that it stays that way.  This is why we always hear about Christianity "stealing" from the pagans to get them to convert.  I say different; I say their traditions were part of the culture they grew up in, and did not bring into the church at all; they kept the church and the culture separate.  At best, the church did not object to such a practice out of mercy and economia, and at worst, perhaps they have not reminded us of what these practices can mean to someone else who has no desire to follow Christ.
I do not have the answers for all of this.  I can only argue with people about paganism and the resurrection so much before my own sins start bearing bad fruit (that notorious temper of mine!).  The only conclusion I can draw comes not from scripture or tradition, but an answer to a question "Why did this happen?".  Alexandr Solzhenitsyn gave a very simple answer to why the Soviet atrocities happened, and I can only see the truth in his words applied to the question of the Resurrection and the idea that it is pagan in origin.  He answered "Because Men have forgotten God: that is why all this happened".
Let us not forget and put more effort to remembering.

Evening Bells

There is an old song by the Irish poet/singer Thomas Moore called "Those Evening Bells" that tells of a melancholy yearning for ones youth and how the chiming of those bells brings back the memory of happier times, and how when one is in the grave, you will never hear them again.  A Russian translation (phonetically translated "Vechernii Zvon") is a well known folk song; not a Russian person I have ever met has been unable to sing it.  I have been thinking of this song and how it affects me and my path on Orthodoxy lately.
I have been out of a major city for almost two months now.  Being a country boy at heart, I find the city life rather draining and hostile to my spirit.  There, I hear many more trains, trucks, loud music and other distractions, but it wasn't until I was out of the city and in the small town I currently am in before I realized that there had been something else missing in my life; church bells.
Where I currently am, I can hear the bells of a neighborhood church ring out three times a day; at 8:00 am, at noon, and at 6:00 pm every day.  This does not include other churches, including the Orthodox Church I currently attend, ringing the bells to signal the start of the service.  While I noticed how those bells rang out almost immediately, I had never understood how they were lacking in a big city nowadays until just a few days ago; in fact, the parish I attend in the city does not even have a bell to ring right now.
When I hear these bells every day now, I find myself giving a little prayer of thanks to God every time.  Not only have I found a peace and quiet that one can rarely find in a big city, but the lack of those bells had an effect on me I never understood; I didn't even realize I missed them.  I do not know whether the daily bells are meant to be a call to prayer, but I think that the fact they they do call me to a little prayer of thanks now can only be helpful in my stumbling, as I find that every little prayer I say, even just a quip of "Thank you, Jesus" brings me closer to where I want my soul to be.
Perhaps, also, these bells remind me of my Earthly mortality.  I honestly have not thought about that aspect yet, as I have been too busy enjoying the sound of church bells again to worry about such a matter.  Even if they do on a subconscious level, I am not preoccupied with that eventual happening.  I am not even thinking of my childhood when I hear them (as a child I was so far out in the country that I never heard church bells unless I went to the village, so I made a point of being in the village at the time they rang out quite often).  What I am thinking of is the silence time away from the city brings; how silence, a devotional gift from God, allows the Holy Spirit to penetrate your thoughts if you allow it to do so.  I also think of a simpler, less hurried, more joyful existence and the way this existence allows me more ease of devotion and prayer, of spirtual reading, and even more importantly, how God works in that silence because we don't static Him out.
While I feel my soul more at ease at the moment, I know I need to guard myself from complacency, and perhaps those bells can help.  Not only can they remind me to pray, but because they emanate from God's house, they can remind me how ever present He truly is, everywhere, at all times.  I can't say they stop my sinning, but I do reflect on the damage those sins I commit have done more now than I did just a few short weeks ago.   Let those morning, noon, and evening bells ring, and let them remind me how He truly blesses me, and how much I owe Him, and how much I need Him.  As dense as I can be, I need all the reminders of God I can get.
God Bless.

St Herman of Alaska

"For our good, for our happiness, let us make a vow, at least that from this day, this hour, this very minute, we should try to love God above all else and carry out his teachings."  St Herman of Alaska.
We venerate this saint today (December 13), and I think it wise I try to live up to this challenge, a challenge I seem to fail at more often than I care to admit.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

On his Feast Day

With Video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=akc9wO_oAOQ

A Song I wrote about my secondary patron in the Orthodox Church, St John Kochurov, whose blessed memory we commemorate today, 10/31.

FATHER JOHN

A song for St John Kochurov, Heiromartyr of the Bolshevik Yoke

 

How can we help you, Father John, Father John?

Praying for us as you bleed

Shielding God’s people, Father John, Father John

As evil sweeps Russia in word and in deed

 

They’ve captured the royals, Father John, Father John

Stolen their riches and homes

They claim them for the people, Father John, Father John

And then keep those riches all for their own.

 

They show you no mercy, Father John, Father John

They say what you teach is absurd.

And they mean to tame us, Father John, Father John

By using their bullets to silence God’s word

 

They mourn in Chicago, Father John, Father John

In a church that you labored to build

They mourn out in Brooklyn Father John, Father John

Upon hearing how and why you were killed

 

We ask not for vengeance, Father John, Father John

We ask that we only be saved

From Godless oppression, Father John, Father John

A power that’s only described as depraved

 

In seventy years, Father John, Father John

A people enslaved now are free

The yoke of their burden, Father John, Father John

Are thought to be written as old history

 

Still we are praying, Father John, Father John

That you died for us not in vain

In you we find courage, Father John, Father John

As evil sweeps over this land once again

 

How can we help you, Father John, Father John?

Praying for us as you bleed

Shielding God’s people, Father John, Father John

As evil rains on us in word and in deed

Stumbling into a desert.

I have been finding it very difficult to pray as of late.  There are many things I could complain about in life right now, and while they are true, that is not the purpose of either this blog nor the life God gives us.  To say, however, that it hasn't affected me negatively in my soul, however, would be denial of a truth I must face and correct.
At this moment, my daily prayers do not fill me with joy; instead, they seem like an exercise in memorization or reading skills.  I certainly MEAN what those prayers say, but I am unable to FEEL their power.  I read Scripture, but it also feels more intellectual right now.
I have found myself just sitting in a church lately.  Not necessarily praying anything special other than a thank you, but just sitting there in silence, surrounded by the icons of our Savior, the Theotokos, and the saints.  Certainly those who who see me in the church must think I am deep in prayer, but I am actually only trying to listen.
Is my problem a lack of true repentance at this time?  Perhaps it is.  I certainly have been angry at a few things, and others have justified my anger for me with their openness to hoist blame on those who have made me angry.  Sometimes, I haven't even needed to complain myself; others have done it for me.  I keep hearing people saying that they wouldn't put up with what I have had to do lately, and that I shouldn't, either.  While I disagree with them about the not putting up with things idea (for we all deal with things we don't want to), these well meaning people seem to be coming to my defense without asking.  For this, I am forever grateful and deeply blessed.  However, there is no justification for some of my anger and the losing of the temper, regardless of any true victimizing of me, so the desire for repentance, I think, is there.  The tears, however, are not.
My faith is not shaken.  I know God is there, that Jesus is my Lord and Savior, and the saints are praying for me, as are my friends.  I also know that several of the saints and church founders also have had such periods of dryness in their lives, and many of them said that such periods represent not a loss of faith, but more a respite before a spiritual growth, and I will remain in dryness until God deems me ready to accept the next growth of my spirit.  I trust they are correct, but my strength is wearing very thin at the moment.  Patience may be a virtue, but it is a virtue I need to acquire.
I am aware that no one knows when this will end but God.  I am aware that only God knows why I am at this point in my spiritual life right now.  I can honestly say that along this path, I never realized I would actually stumble into a desert, but here I am in a desert as dry as any other.  As a joke towards some people, I tell them I can't read minds because I can't read a blank page.   This is all telling me that God is a much better reader than I am, also, for I know He is able to read my blank soul at this moment.  I only hope it isn't as damaged with evil as I fear it may be.
I ask for any prayers right now, and please know I will mention all of you in mine.  God's will be done, and I do submit to it as humbly as I know how.  God Bless all of you.

What I Do Not Deserve

When someone smiles at me, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me their smile.
When someone compliments me, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me compliments.
When someone praises me, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me praise.
When someone thanks me for serving them, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me thanks for being their servant.
When someone shares their lunch with me, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me food.
When someone prays for me, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me their prayers.
When someone shelters me from harm, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me either shelter or safety.
When someone helps me complete a task, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me their assistance.
When someone defends me from persecution, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me defense.
When someone persecutes me, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me their attention for any purpose.
When someone nurses me to health, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for I am not owed a nurse or good health.
When someone cries for me, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me their tears.
When someone loves me, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me love.
When someone gives me a gift, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for no one owes me gifts.
When I live to see another day, it is a kindness I do not deserve, for I am not owed life.
Yet God still keeps being kind to me, and I certainly do not deserve His kindness.

Shepherds

It has been almost two months since my last entry into this blog.  Many things have changed both in my church life and in my secular life.  For one, I have a new job; a job which I love doing, but I am realizing that perhaps it is not the best of environments for me to work in.  Another thing that is changing is that the goings on in my parish (of which specifics will not be discussed here to protect many people, myself included) may not be the best environment either.
Where work is concerned, there are several factors involved.  First of all, many people just look at the job as.....a job.  The job either doesn't pay enough for them to care about doing their job the best they can, or perhaps worse, it is their best, which to me is a sad commentary on society.  With one exception, the ones who do care the most seem to be of another faith.  Now, the differing faith doesn't bother me in the sense of none of them are trying to convert me to it, but to me, it does beg the question of what ethics are parents who raise their children even nominally Christian passing on to their children.  If we don't do our best at work, we never will do our best at anything, and I am sadly concluding that such attitudes spill over into our spiritual lives.  Perhaps, though, this problem is with me, as I take what my parents taught me seriously when they taught me that not having the best job in the world is no excuse to be the best at it, and anything less than your best effort is failure.  As the popular saying goes, failure is not an option.
Now, the goings on in our parish highlight some of these attitudes also.  The parish has become fractious, argumentative, and in some instances, incomprehensible.  It is not the faith itself that is in jeopardy.  Rather, I would say it is the value of the faith that we pass on to the next generation that is.
I know that there are several Christ-loving, God fearing parishioners who want nothing but to be closer to God through our faith.  I know that there are wolves in sheep's clothing stalking those sheep.  I also am very aware that we lack the physical presence of a full time shepherd to protect the lambs (by that, I mean we don't have an appointed rector).  So, some sheep get devoured; others flee; others hide in plain sight.  The problem with feeding a hungry wolf is they will need to eat again.
So, here I am, stumbling along my path, facing the biggest test I have ever faced of applying my faith into my life.  I personally am not one who would enjoy hunting wolves.  Protecting a flock from them is one thing, but the ammunition necessary is not always available.  Of course, Jesus is our best weapon against those wolves, and He is always available, and He promised He will always be with us.  I believe it to be true.  However, wolves can be scary creatures.  They run in packs, hunt in packs, and tire you out after a long attack.  Wolves can be vicious; lambs gentle.  That's why lambs need shepherds.  I am learning that I not only do not always make a good employee no matter how well I do my job and how great an effort I put into it, but I make a lousy shepherd.  I am unable to protect the sheep from the wolves.
If I come across as feeling helpless right now, it is because I need help from someone who is a worthy shepherd.  I am not hungry enough to be a wolf, nor gentle enough to be a lamb.  I am merely a broken man in need of the protection of Jesus.

Who Are We Fighting?

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.

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!

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!!!