Midway in Love

Years ago, when I was a new, young lover, I stumbled on a curious book of poems at a used book store. I flipped through and read the title poem along with a few others and was charmed. Feeling slightly self-conscious about the questionable literary respectability of such a collection of narrowly niched poems, I bought it anyway: When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple.

I happened to see it again this evening and opened randomly to a middle page to see what I might see. And this is the poem I saw:

Love at Fifty
by Marcia Woodruff

We come together shy as virgins
with neither beauty nor innocence
to cover our nakedness, only
these bodies which have served us well
to offer each other.

At twenty we would have dressed each other
in fantasy, draping over the damp flesh,
or turned one another into mirrors
so we could make love to ourselves.

But there is no mistaking us now.
Our eyes are sadder and wiser
as I finger the scar on your shoulder
where the pin went in,
and you touch the silver marks on my belly,
loose from childbearing.

"We are real," you say, and so we are,
standing here in our simple flesh
whereon our complicated histories are written,
our bodies turning into gifts
at the touch of our hands.

However literary or sentimental, the poem is wise. While I am not yet fifty, I'm no longer twenty either. My body also is scarred and silvered with stretch marks. The veteran lover of the poem heartens me to age graciously, to love courageously, to give my real and simple self. Her words, finding me midway, turn into gifts.

Katernican Revolution

Since my own history education was so lacking in school, I have loved (re-)learning it along with my daughter. We've enjoyed our journey so far through Susan Wise Bauer's Story of the World series.

When we got to the chapter on Copernicus and Galileo in Volume 2, I read ahead and supplemented with some research of my own to try to get a clearer picture of what happened between the church and the scientists at that time.

It struck me how similar it all seems to the contemporary tension between young- and old-earth creationists. See for example, the recent hot pot stirred up in the Seventh-Day Adventist Church. Or examine the speaker list and session descriptions for many a regional Evangelical homeschool convention.

On the one hand, there is the sincere and pious group who believes that faithfulness to the Word means sometimes denouncing data that seems to contradict our current understandings of Scripture. Some act as if even peeping at the naked data would be an infidelity. Some of Galileo's contemporaries, for example, refused to look through Galileo's improved telescope to see the newly-visible moons around Jupiter:

"My dear Kepler," Galileo wrote to a friend, "I wish that we might laugh at the remarkable stupidity of the common herd. What do you have to say about the principal philosophers of this academy who are filled with the stubbornness of an asp and do not want to look at either the planets, the moon or the telescope, even though I have freely and deliberately offered them the opportunity a thousand times? Truly, just as the asp stops its ears, so do these philosophers shut their eyes to the light of truth."

On the other hand, we have Christian scholars who fearlessly (if sometimes pompously—see Galileo's comment re: the common herd) embrace new data and wrestle to understand how the faith and the universe can be reconciled to each other with fidelity to both.

The essential tension seems to be hermeneutic: How are we to interpret and understand certain puzzling passages in Holy Writ?

During the Copernican Revolution, exegetical debate focused on the passage wherein Joshua commands the sun and moon to stand still (Joshua 10:12-14). For some authorities in the church, affirming heliocentrism amounted to "distorting the Scriptures in accordance with [one's] own conceptions," and was considered "likely not only to irritate all scholastic philosophers and theologians, but also to harm the Holy Faith by rendering Holy Scripture as false."

Copernicus, Galileo, and their like-minded contemporaries saw it differently. In a letter to Madame Christina of Lorraine, Grand Duchess of Tuscany, Galileo studiously demonstrates an exegesis of Joshua that harmonizes the truth of the faith with the newly-discovered astronomical realities. Galileo also warns of the ill that can come of authoritatively wielding Bible passages to dismiss scientific theories:

It seems to me that [. . .] such men [. . . ] who, being either unable or unwilling to comprehend the experiences and proofs used in support of the new doc­trine by its author and his followers, nevertheless expect to bring the Scriptures to bear on it. They do not consider that the more they cite these, and the more they insist that they are perfectly clear and admit of no other interpretations than those which they put on them, the more they prejudice the dignity of the Bible—or would, if their opinion counted for anything—in the event that later truth shows the contrary and thus creates confusion among those outside the holy Church. And of these she is very solicitous, like a mother desiring to recover her children into her lap. [. . .] [T]he Bible [. . .] was not written to teach us astronomy.

I laid out the key facts in simple terms for seven-year-old Katherine: Some people in the church at the time [including Martin Luther and other Protestants, btw] thought that the Bible said the earth had to be in the center of the universe. They thought believing what Copernicus said would mean saying the Bible was false—for example, in this passage in Joshua where it says the sun stopped moving across the sky and "stood still" for a while.

"What do you think?" I asked her.

"Well, maybe," she mused after a moment's reflection, "the person who wrote Joshua was just saying how it looked to him. It looked like the sun moved and stood still. He didn't know about the earth going around the sun, since Copernicus hadn't discovered it yet."

Perhaps we understand both special and general revelation less well than we might like to think. Perhaps a childlike wonder—a revolutionary humility—could lead us to perceive more purely and insightfully both Word and world.

Doubt and Glory

I was honored to be able to write the parents' "year in review" article for Wheatstone Ministry's The Examined Life, "a monthly e-magazine that encourages a Christian life characterized by creativity, maturity, and wonder."

The great thing about writing the article was the opportunity it provided me to read and reflect on the last year's worth of articles from other thoughtful and inspiring folks on The Examined Life website.

Here's my article, replete with links to lots of good reads by others:

“Mom? Sometimes I’m not sure I believe that God is real.”

“I don’t want to go to church. I hate church!”

“I don’t want to pray. I can’t see God. I can’t hear him. He doesn’t seem real.”

“How can I be saved but continue to sin? Every time I sin I feel so guilty.” 

Some mom friends and I were recently swapping stories about our children’s struggles with faith, those harrowing moments when a child expresses doubts about what matters most, about our central values and beliefs.

It is especially difficult when our child seems to be reflecting back to us doubts and thoughts that we ourselves may struggle with: I am not always sure I believe in God. I do not always want to go to church. I find it difficult to talk to someone I’ve never seen or heard. I feel guilty when I sin, and sometimes I despair.  

When a child’s doubts overlap with our own doubts, it can touch a nerve.

Recently one of my children expressed some doubts about God and caught me off guard. My first thought revealed my petty narcissism: “I have failed,” I thought. (As if it were ever about me or up to my control in the first place!) And my next thought revealed the feebleness of my own faith: “Oh, God,” I pleaded inwardly, “please be real!”

I silently offered up one of those desperate arrow prayers, the kind that Anne Lamott likes: “God, help me!”

And he did help. Because in the next moment, I realized my child’s revelation of doubt was a gift, perhaps one of those “terrible goods” that Charles Williams describes.

I often fail to embody those everyday graces that Rebecca Card-Hyatt so beautifully describes in her article “My Parents and Everyday Grace.” Yet, here was my child trusting me, leaning on me for comfort and reassurance. Here was a moment to listen, to talk, to affirm, to grieve alongside, to offer a maternal hospitality—to offer a safe place to reveal doubt and receive comfort. The moment was a great gift indeed.

It was also an occasion to remember, as Heidi Johnson reminds me, that we cannot secure our children’s salvation. All our attempts to teach, train, and mold our children will fall short. It is God who will rescue both them and us when we look to him, when we ride out into the fray in weakness, sure of our insufficiency. 

The desire to keep our children safe is, as Chris Leigh shows through the story of Abraham and Isaac, one of the greatest temptations for a parent. We can’t protect our children from pain, failure, harm, and doubt. The illusion that we can is preposterous. Instead, we are called to willingly sacrifice our children to the God who is Good. We must look to God and hope our children follow our gaze.

We parents were not made to carry the full weight of the future—of our children’s future, writes Caitlin Cogan Doemner—but rather to live efficaciously in each present moment with hope in our children’s potential and trust in the eternal God. Megan Monroe adds to this by pointing out that even our hope itself  is from God and will be fulfilled by his power, not our own.

When our hopeful expectations are fulfilled, writes Zach Weichbrodt, gratitude is what keeps us and our children right with God. In gratitude we remember the work the Lord has done for us, and the exultation of gratitude leads us, like Hannah in the Bible, to continue to trust and lean into God’s continued faithfulness and not be disappointed. 

Often, though, our expectation means waiting, notes Chad Glazener. Sometimes that waiting is just as St. Teresa of Avila describes it: sitting among our weeds waiting for the Gardener to do his work in us. Sitting and waiting and resting in Christ is a discipline,  and an indispensable one as Cate MacDonald explains: in silence and solitude we hear God.

Although we need solitude, we do not need to spend life alone. Connor Collins reminds us, in “How Wheatstone Changed My Life,” that God works in and through community to spur us on and to transform us more and more into his likeness. 

And all will be transformed. Peter David Gross’s article encourages us as he reflects on the reality that our lives—our pains and losses, joys and uncertainties—are all a part of the overarching story of creation and redemption. The particulars of our stories will not be lost or forgotten but rather transformed and glorified.

As parents, we seek to embody grace—piety, patience, empathy, relational hospitality, truth. But we don’t always succeed, and we can’t guarantee the outcome for our children. We can’t save them, but we trust in a God who can. We rest in him. We hope and wait on God and lean on one another.

As St. Patrick sings in “The Deer’s Cry,” it is all Christ from first to last: Christ in others, Christ in the waiting, Christ in the hoping, Christ in the resting, Christ in thanksgiving, Christ in our weakness, Christ in our doubt, Christ in our glory.

Saint Patrick's Breastplate

There's also the amazing "Saint Patrick's Breastplate" by the Tim Keyes Consort:.

Short version:



From the full-length (eight movements) version: (or order the Saint Patrick's Breastplate CD)












(Movements VI & VII do not appear to be on youtube. Please let me know if you find them.)



(Apparently, there is also a full-length movie?)

"The Deer's Cry"

(also posted on The Liturgical Year for Little Ones)


 Fearing attack by hostile Druids, Saint Patrick's companions journeyed uneasily with him to the hall of the Irish king, Laoghaire, to preach the Gospel of Christ's love and peace. None of the companions carried weapons.

Saint Patrick soothed their anxiety. Exhorting them to trust in the power of Christ, he led them in song.

While they approached the crossroad singing of Christ's enveloping presence, unbeknownst to them, a band of Druids lay hidden in ambush. But hours past, and the Druid's saw nothing save "a stag leading his band of deer." Lochru, the Druid leader was sure he had heard the deer singing.

To this day, the song that Patrick and his friend sang as they passed by Lochru and his band is known as "The Deer's Cry."

For Saint Patrick's feast day this year, you can read the whole exciting story to your children from James A. Janda's book : (best for elementary-school kids; might be too wordy for preschoolers)

Invigorate your own trust in Christ with Saint Patrick's story but also with this beautiful setting of "The Deer's Cry" by Orthodox composer Arvo Pärt: (Read about the Arvo Pärt Project at St. Vladimir's Orthodox Theological Seminary here.)

"The Deer's Cry"
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in me, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me,
Christ with me. 

I'm looking forward to sharing this musical-theological feast with my kids on March 17. 

As this is one of the rare years when St. Patrick's day falls before Lent proper, we'll also be enjoying an Irish fish and colcannon dinner. Just be sure to inform your children that St. Patrick most assuredly never ate potatoes himself as those were imported to Europe from the Americas in the late sixteenth century. (Fact-check it. It's true.) Liturgical traditions evolve, however. So it's spuds for us!

Rest: The Opposite of Acedia

In reading Kathleen Norris's book, Acedia and Me: A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer's Life, I was cheered to come across the following passage on the nature of unceasing prayer:

We might well ask if these crazy monks don't have it coming: if your goal is to "pray without ceasing," aren't you asking for trouble? Is this a reasonable goal, or even a good one? Henri Nouwen tells us that "the literal translation of the words 'pray always' is 'come to rest.' The Greek word for rest," he adds, "is 'hesychia,' and 'hesychasm' is a term which refers to the spirituality of the desert." The "rest" that the monk is seeking is not an easy one, and as Nouwen writes, it "has little to do with the absence of conflict or pain. It is a rest in God in the midst of a very intense daily struggle."Acedia is the monk's temptation because, in a demanding life of prayer, it offers the ease of indifference. Yet I have come to believe that acedia can strike anyone whose work requires self-motivation and solitude, anyone who remains married 'for better for worse," anyone who is determined to stay true to a commitment that is sorely tested in everyday life. (p. 6)

Acedia definitely strikes me, and, for some reason, knowing that the cure is rest in God is so very comforting and encouraging. To pray always is to enter the height of creation, the Sabbath of worship and rest. It is to remember our freedom from bondage of every kind through our Savior. It is to enter into the re-creation, the Eighth Day of the resurrection. It is to be always present in the Kingdom of Heaven, hidden with Christ in God. By God's grace, may it always be the cry of my soul to be there in that hidden place.

Sanctification as Healing Through Inward Grace

I love the Orthodox understanding of sanctification and what it means to enter the Kingdom of God. I found the following quotation from Archbishop JOSEPH in Sunday's bulletin:

"We must strengthen ourselves by truly realizing that the God of the Universe is the God who dwells within us. When we begin to enter into our interior universe, we will find how close we are to our healing. God has given us all things, we need only remove from our inner selves what is not of God."

When I poked around the internet, I found that his words were taken from an address he gave in 2005 at the Northern California Ladies Retreat. I love it so much I am copying all but the introductory remarks below.

[. . .] When we speak of illness, we often think of symptoms: a cough, a pain, a discoloration. Yet, these are only signs that an illness has already taken hold of our bodies. An illness runs deeper than the symptoms, and it is only through careful examination that a physician can discover an illness before the symptoms develop.

This is true of both the body and the soul. Our souls and minds can become infected with very real and very deadly diseases, which result in a variety of symptoms. St. Paul refers to them as works of the flesh. In Galatians, he wrote:

"Now the works of the flesh are plain: fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, anger, selfishness, dissension, party spirit, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and the like. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God." (Gal 5:19-21)

The Holy Apostle warns us that symptoms indicate that the disease of sin is so great that we cannot enter the Heavenly Kingdom. Just as an unhealthy body prevents us from going places, so an unhealthy soul prevents us from going into spiritual places, foremost of which is the Kingdom of God.

Let us also remember our Lord’s words recorded in the Gospel:

“For which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise and walk’? But that you may know that the Son of man has authority on earth to forgive sins" -- he then said to the paralytic – “Rise, take up your bed and go home.” (Mt 9:5-6)

Sin is a greater affliction to man. Though physical sickness may cause us great suffering, sin keeps us removed from God’s presence and sets in a place of eternal suffering. Physical wellness is of no value to a suffering soul, wracked with a guilty conscience and angry unforgiveness. Our Lord offers us forgiveness first, that might be healed of soul, so that we can join in the Mystical Union of Christ and the Church. 

If we are to enter into the Bridal Chamber, we must be healthy. The diseases that afflict us must be cured. From the example of the saints, we know that physical diseases afflicted people close to God. Yet, we also know that many diseases are brought about by what we now call ‘lifestyle decisions.’ The alcoholic suffers from the disease of cirrhosis brought about by his drinking, and the coal miner suffers from black lung because he worked too long in the mines.

Therefore, to live a peaceful and joyous life, we must be mindful of how we live. We must have a ‘healthy lifestyle.’ We listen to the advice of doctors in caring for our bodies, and we should listen to the teachings of the Church if we desire to have a healthy soul.

However, I know that many of you are coming here to this retreat with much suffering. You are in pain and seeking healing. I promise that what you hear this weekend can be, for all of you, a new beginning on the road to healing. What I hope all of you will find here is hope, a hope and faith in our Lord, Jesus Christ, which will give you the strength to change. For the solution to all illness is found in our willingness to take the cure. The sick person who refuses the medicine will not receive its benefits, and those who reject the teachings of the Church also reject the cure of the soul which the Church offers.

For some of you, this will be a long road. My hope is that the friendships you build here will become a means of support as you journey along the way. It may be difficult to return from here to places we know are sick. Perhaps we do not think that our homes or parishes are healthy places. Never forget that the medicine is always stronger than the disease, and that your own healing will heal all those around you. You do not need to rely on the spiritual health of others to be healthy yourselves. Our Holy Faith has survived centuries in the hearts of people surrounded by those who hated them. We must strengthen ourselves by truly realizing that the God of the Universe is the God who dwells within us. When we begin to enter into our interior universe, we will find how close we are to our healing. God has given us all things, we need only remove from our inner selves what is not of God.

I hope that all of you find in this retreat a renewed confidence in our Lord, Jesus Christ. Never forget the inseparable bond we have in the Church, and let us aid one another in this marvelous journey in the Kingdom of Heaven.

God Himself

On my kitchen counter stands a four-by-four-inch mahogany-stained wooden frame suspended in a wrought iron stand. Both the wood and glass are speckled faintly with water spots and dust. Ornamenting the frame's face, a small pressed wild flower has been lacquered on with clear nail polish. The tiny petals are almost as faint as the water marks against the backdrop of wood. Behind the glass, the frame encloses a handwritten inscription transcribed more than a dozen years ago, the immaculate lyric script undeniably my friend Amanda's.

She made the framed quotation as a present for me in college in a season when I began to feel my first real doubts about my Christian faith. In a wave—no a sea—of fear and insecurity, I realized I couldn't just believe that God, if he existed, loved me. It made no sense. My mind spun trying to fathom how a God could love everyone—so many billions upon billions of us—and even more how he could truly love any one of us, for example, myself—as incredibly unlovable as I found myself to be.

The words in the frame spoke to me in that place. They are words attributed to Madeline L'Engle, but I believe L'Engle got them from Miguel de Unamum (see Treatise on Love of God, p. 15). Here they are, arranged to match as closely as I can Amanda's poetic turning of them: 

"They who believe

            they believe in God,

but without passion in the heart

        without anguish of mind,

without uncertainty,

                      without doubt,

        and even at times

                         without despair,

believe only in the idea of God,

        and not in God himself."

God himself. He is a self, a person, not a proposition. My mind still whirls when I try to understand how he could possibly exist, possibly love, possibly act in my life. I get dizzy like Annie Dillard at the vastness of the universe and want to lie down on something low and solid, to feel some containment, something palpably sure and secure.

I don't think the fear and doubt will ever go away in this lifetime, but I have more or less learned to sit with them. I let them wash over me as they come and go like waves, knowing that I do not sit with them alone. The same one who sits with me once stood suspended faint against the wood, against the dark. On him my hands are clasped like the dead waiting for resurrection. He is my only light.

The Sabbath, Sunday, and the Eighth Day

As someone with family roots in the Seventh Day Adventist Church, I found that the following article in the Orthodox Study Bible pulled together a lot of previously half-clear ideas, in a beautiful, compelling, and highly satisfying way.

 

THE SABBATH DAY

"When the Lord commanded the Hebrews, in the fourth of the Ten Commandments, to "Remember the Sabbth day, to keep it holy," He also gave them the reason: "For in six days the Lord made the heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them, and rested on the seventh day. Therefore, the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it" (Ex 20:8, 11 cf. Gn 2:1-3). When Moses restated the Ten Commandments in Deuteronomy 5, he added another reason: "Remember you were a servant in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there by a mighty hand and by an outstretched arm; therefore, the Lord your God ordered you to guard the Sabbath day and to sanctify it" (5:15).

The Hebrews were called to "remember" (Ex 20:8), to "keep" (Lv 19:3, 30), and to "hallow" or "sanctify" (Jer 17:19-27; Ezk 20:19, 20; Neh 13:15-22) the Sabbath by resting from almost every kind of work. God provided them this sacred time each week to help them contemplate His awesome work in creation and their miraculous deliverance from Egypt. Stipulating the faithful observance of the Sabbath was one of the main ways God ordained to reinforce the people's covenant with Him (Ex 31:12-17; cf. Lv 24.8). Originally, communal worship was not linked with the Sabbath observance; but with the development of the synagogue, probably during the Hebrews' exile in Babylon (sixth century BC), the Sabbath naturally became the day for synagogue worship, as it is for the Jews today.

SUNDAY THE DAY OF WORSHIP

At first, the early Jewish Christians continued to observe Sabbath regulations and to worship on the Sabbath (Acts 13:13-15; 42-44; 18:1-4). But they also met for the celebration of the Holy Eucharist on Sunday (Acts 20:7; 1 Co 16:1-2), called the "Lord's Day" (Rev 1:10), since Jesus rose on a Sunday. St. Ignatius of Antioch, in about AD 107, confirms that Sunday was the main day of worship for the early Church: "They have given up keeping the Sabbath, and now order their lives by the Lord's Day instead—the Day when life first dawned for us, thanks to Him and His death."

ST. Constantine the Great, the first Christian Emperor, honored the Church's practice of celebrating the Lord's Resurrection every Sunday by decreeing, in AD 321, that every Sunday would be a holy day. For Orthodox Christians, Saturday is still the Sabbath, the Day on which the Church especially remembers the departed, since Christ rested in the tomb on Great and Holy Saturday.

SUNDAY, THE EIGHTH DAY

As the day after the seventh day (when God rested from His six days of creation) and as the day of Christ's Resurrection, Sunday early on came to be understood in a mystical way among Christians as the "Eighth Day." It was on the day "beyond nature and time" (St. Maximos the Confessor), "the beginning of another world" (Epistle of Barnabas). "Wether you call it day, or wether you call it eternity, you express the same idea" (St. Basil the Great). 

Fittingly, during the week after Pascha (Easter), called Bright Week, the Church celebrates Pascha for eight days, almost as though it were one continuous day. By tradition, babies are named on the eighth day after birth. And from ancient times, Christian baptistries and fonts have been built with eight sides, indicating the newly baptized are entering the realm of the Eighth Day, the day of eternal rest (Heb 4:1-11) in Christ's Heavenly Kingdom.

A long treatment is given on the same subject by St. Gregory Palamas in his "Homily 17: Explaining the Mystery of the Sabbath and of the Lord's Day and Referring to the Gospel of New Sunday." (Click the link to download a free PDF of the homily courtesy of Mount Thabor Publishing. If you're like me, you may be amused by the numerology in paragraphs 2b-6a; I mostly skipped over those sections.)

The Vigil

Fr. Thomas Hopko's 40 Maxims for Christian Living

In the spirit of new year's resolutions, the following 40 maxims were included with our church bulletin this past Sunday. I found them very inspiring and convicting; I hope you do too.

• Be always with Christ and trust God in everything.
• Go to Church, confession and communion regularly.
• Read the Scriptures regularly.
• Spend some time in silence each day.
• Pray as you can and not as you want.
• Keep a rule of prayer.
• Say the Lord’s Prayer several times a day.
• Do some prostrations when you pray.
• Have a short prayer (like the Jesus Prayer) that you constantly repeat when your mind is not occupied with other things.
• Cultivate communion with the saints.
• Have a daily schedule of activities, avoiding whim and caprice.
• Have a healthy, wholesome hobby.
• Eat good foods in moderation. Fast as the Church teaches.
• Exercise regularly.
• Read good books a little at a time.
• Face reality. Don’t get lost in imagination and fantasy.
• Be totally honest, first of all with yourself.
• Do your work.
• Do the most difficult and painful things first.
• Be faithful in little things.
• Do acts of mercy and compassion secretly.
• Be grateful in all things.
• Be cheerful.
• Be simple, hidden and quiet. Never draw attention to yourself.
• Be awake and attentive, fully present where you are.
• Be polite with everyone.
• Listen carefully when people speak to you.
• When speaking, speak simply, clearly, firmly and directly.
• Don’t complain, grumble, murmur or whine.
• Accept criticism gratefully and test it carefully.
• Don’t defend or justify yourself.
• Don’t seek or expect either pity or praise from others.
• Be strict with yourself and merciful with others.
• Don’t compare yourself with anyone else.
• Don’t judge anyone for anything.
• Give advice only when asked or obligated to do so.
• Have no expectations except to be fiercely tempted to your last breath.
• Endure the trial of yourself and your own faults and sins serenely, knowing that God’s mercy is greater than your wretchedness.
• Get help when you need it, without fear or shame.
• When you fall, get up immediately and start over.

On the Occassion of My Son's First Nameday

"Now she conceived again and bore a son, and said, 'Now I will give thanks to the Lord.' Therefore she called his name Judah." (Genesis 29:35, Orthodox Study Bible).

Dear Jude,
Today is your first nameday, the day we remember your namesake whose feast the Church in the West celebrates every year on this day.* And so, I am writing to tell you all about your name.

We named you Jude, which is another form of the name Judah derived from the Hebrew word for praise or thanksgiving. There are at least three men with a version of the Judah/Judas/Jude name mentioned in the Bible and they all have something to teach us.

The first is Judah, Jacob and Leah's fourth son named in the quotation above. Judah is the brother who convinced the others to sell Joseph the dreamer into bondage rather than kill him (Gen. 37:26-27). Later he repented of the treachery entirely and offered to give himself over to slavery in exchange for Joseph's beloved brother Benjamin. In the intervening years, Judah was not very lady-wise (Tamar!), but, as the Bard has said, all's well that ends well!

And so it was Judah, the fourth son, who received the patriarchal blessing from Jacob who bypassed the older three because of their iniquities. In this way, Judah became predominant among the twelve tribes of Israel; from his tribe came the Lion, the Root of David, who prevails and overcomes (Rev. 5:5).

"Judah, you are he whom your brothers shall praise; [. . . ] The scepter shall not depart from Judah, Nor a lawgiver from his loins, Until Shiloh comes; And to Him shall be the expectation of the nations" (Gen. 49:8a, 10)

In the New Testament, beside Judas Iscariot, the betrayer, we find Jude Thaddaeus, the faithful disciple and apostle, and we find the epistle of Jude.

The Jude who authored the New Testament book bearing his name is the brother of James the Just (v.1), who in turn authored the epistle of James and presided at the first ecumenical council in Acts 15:13. (James the Just is not to be confused with James the son of Zebedee). James and Jude are both called "brothers" of our Lord Jesus as they were his kinsmen, usually thought to be legal cousins through Joseph.

In his epistle, Saint Jude the brother of Christ, exhorts his readers "to contend earnestly for the faith which was once for all delivered to the saints" (v. 3b) and to reject the heretical teachers who had "crept in" to the Church and become hidden reefs "in your love feasts" (v.12). While his brief letter is hotly polemical, Jude's advice to the faithful is not to confront the false teachers with strong words or deeds but rather to "remember the words which were spoken before by the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ," to "build yourselves up on your most holy faith, praying in the Holy Spirit" and to "Keep yourselves in the love of God" (v. 20, 21). Love and obedience to God as truly revealed in Christ and his apostles is Saint Jude's prescription against falsehood and his road map for salvation.

While both western and eastern liturgical traditions celebrate the Apostle Jude and Jude, the author of the last general epistle, as one and the same person, biblical scholars point to textual evidence suggesting they were really two separate individuals (see Jude v. 17).

Very little is known of Saint Jude the Apostle, but we are given a small glimpse of him in the Gospel story itself. We find it in the heart of Saint John's Gospel, in the extended telling of the Last Supper communion of Jesus and his disciples in the upper room.

In this last Passover feast before his passion, Jesus, in a most corporeal and intimate way, gives himself to "His own who were in the world," whom "having loved [. . .] He loved them to the end" (John 13:1). Christ, the pre-eternal Word of God, washes his disciples' feet, gives them his own body and blood in the appearance of bread and wine, and reclines with them at the table disclosing the very heart of God to them in the inaugural mystical and eucharistic "love feast." And so it is, as during the pillow talk of this intimate exchange, that Saint Jude's voice is heard in conversation with his Lord:

          "Whoever hears my commands and obeys them, he is the one who loves me. He who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love him and show myself to him."

          Then Judas (not Judas Iscariot) said, "But, Lord, why do you intend to show yourself to us and not to the world?"

          Jesus replied, "If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching. My father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him. He who does not love me will not obey my teaching. These words you hear are not my own; they belong to the Father who sent me." (John 14:21-24)

At this pre-passion point in the story, Saint Jude, along with all the other disciples, surely expected Christ to establish an earthly messianic kingdom. Here we see Jude asking how Christ could fail to manifest himself to the world in such a case. Perhaps he also wondered why Christ would withhold his salvation and glory from some while giving it to others.

Jude, my son, these are questions with which you, too, may struggle from time to time. I know I do. It is easy to want Christ to change our outward circumstances, to meet our "felt needs," to improve our earthly situation. It is also easy to struggle with the evil and desolation we see in the world and desire everyone to see and know the intimate love of Christ which we experience in communion with Him. How could God exclude any or allow any to be lost?

When we read John's narrative, it seems on one level as if Christ ignores Jude's question. Yet, we see in the both the repetition and differentiation of His reply the simple but profound answer: Christ's kingdom is not of this world; it is established in the interior castle, that is, in every believer's heart who individually chooses to love and obey the Savior.

Without doubt God "desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth" (1 Tim 2:4). It is equally sure that He does not demand our love without first giving us His; "We love, because He first loved us" (1 John 4:19). Christ demonstrates this chronology by first washing the disciples' feet and breaking bread with them. Then He spells out the relationship of His love to ours in His "new commandment" to love "as I have loved you" (John 14:11). It is this new commandment that is foremost when Christ urges his disciples to demonstrate their love for Him through obedience.

While there is a hard lesson is Christ's response to Saint Jude, namely, that not everyone will accept Christ's love nor choose to love and obey Him in return, the real revelation here is that the Father, Himself, will "come to him" who receives Christ, and the triune Godhead will "make our home with him." Many do not comprehend or receive the Light that shines in darkness, but for those who receive the Light, they themselves become the very abode of God.

Saint Jude understood and embodied Christ's response to his Last Supper question. Pious tradition tells us that Saint Jude went, along with Saint Simon, another of the twelve, to preach the gospel in Mesopotamia, Arabia, Idumea, and Syria, and that Jude was martyred in Beirut around 80 A.D.

Saint Jude so opened himself to the indwelling love of God that, incarnating Christ's Messianic Kingdom, he poured himself out in love and obedience to his Savior proclaiming Light to those in darkness, seeking the salvation of all.

This is your namesake, my son. And this is my prayer for you today as we remember and honor your patron, Saint Jude:

I pray that you, like Saint Jude the Apostle, will so open yourself to the inebriating love of God that you, too, embodying Christ's Kingdom, will pour yourself out in love and obedience to our Lord, sacrificially serving others and tirelessly witnessing to Christ's grace and truth.

I pray that, like Saint Jude the brother of our Lord, you will "contend earnestly for the faith which was once for all delivered to the saints [. . .] praying in the Holy Spirit" and "keeping yourself in the love of God."

I pray also that, like Judah the patriarch, you shall make repentance your friend and remember your obligation to brother, to lady, and to Lord.

I pray that as your name is so you shall be: perpetually giving Eucharistic thanks and praise to the Lord; for in so doing, you shall, like all the faithful Judes of Scripture, prevail and overcome, teaching the nations obedience, bearing the very Lawgiver in your soul.


Saint Jude, pray for us that we may be made worthy to join you at Christ's mystical banquet, bearing the Son in our souls, perpetually giving thanks to the Lord our God!


*Our Eastern Rite brethren commemorate St. Jude on June 19, while we Western rite folk commemorate Saints Jude and Simon together on October 28.

Books to Help Quiet and Heal the Soul

for E. A. O.




Sleeping with Bread is a great place to begin a soul quieting; it very simply and accessibly guides individuals and groups in contemplative prayer and self-knowledge.  The authors base their simplified approach on the classic examen of Saint Ignatius of Loyola. 











In the quiet place of our soul, we can steep ourselves in the overwhelming love of God.  Anchoress Dame Julian's work is a classic which simply yet profoundly heightens awareness of God's all-permeating love.  Shakespeare, T. S. Eliot, and so many others pull the famous phrase from Julian: "All shall be well . . .  All manner of thing shall be well." 











In The Art of Prayer anthology, we learn that there is nothing more important than prayer in the life of faith.  Many short passages from various church fathers elucidate the nature, methods, ends, and benefits of prayer.











From a prayerful place we can let the healing trickle from the spirit to the psyche.  Dr. Barrs, a Nazi concentration camp survivor, combines Thomistic theology with a Christian view of psychology to teach us how to understand and integrate our feelings. 








A conversation of Saint Seraphim of Sarov with N.A. Motovilov: A wonderful revelation to the world is a another book centering the soul in the heart of God.  Saint Seraphim gives instruction on how to acquire the Holy Spirit, a daunting and mystical topic to be sure!

Orthodox Unity On the Horizon?

In response to the decision of the Fourth Pre-Conciliar Pan-Orthodox Conference, which met in Chambésy Switzerland in June of 2009, over fifty hierarchs assembled in Manhattan in May 26-28, 2010, to lay the groundwork for more complete unity of Orthodox churches in North America. 

Historian Matthew Namee tells us why, despite some glaring tensions highlighted in the opening addresses of both chairman Archbishop Demetrios and vice chairman Metropolitan Philip, the recent Episcopal Assembly may be the best chance yet at achieving what we've all been longing for:

Over the past century or so, there have been no fewer than five attempts to bring the various ethnic Orthodox jurisdictions in America into some measure of administrative unity.  [. . .]

There are two really big lessons from all these failures: you can’t have unity without getting broad-based support at home, here in North America, and you can’t have unity without the explicit support of the Mother Churches. Never, in the history of Orthodoxy in America, has an attempt at administrative unity had both of these necessities.

Until now. The Episcopal Assembly, which [held] its first meeting [May 26-28, 2010], includes every single Orthodox bishop in America—every one. No jurisdictions are left out. And the Episcopal Assembly not only has the blessing of the Mother Churches; it was actually mandated by the Mother Churches. It wasn’t “our” idea, over here, like the Federation and SCOBA were. The Episcopal Assembly was created by the Mother Churches themselves, who essentially told us, “Get your house in order.” And the end goal is clear and explicit: “The preparation of a plan to organize the Orthodox of the Region on a canonical basis.” (Article 5:1:e of the Rules of Operation) This is not just SCOBA Part II. For the first time in history, the Mother Churches are, openly and in unison, calling for us to unite administratively.     [Read Namee's full article here.]

As His Eminence Archbishop Nicolae of the Romanian Orthodox Archdiocese reminds us in his opening address as the Episcopal Assembly,  

We can never forget that the unity of the Church is not an option. We are united in faith expressed in worship, but we are also united in faith expressed by action. The unity we find when celebrating the Liturgy together must also be expressed in the way we organize ourselves internally and in our outreach to the world. Sometimes, we might be tempted to withdraw into ourselves because of the frustrations we feel with the dissensions in our parishes and the squabbling in our dioceses. However, we can never allow ourselves to accept factions and divisions within the Church as a permanent reality. It makes a lie of what we say we believe. This is true both in our search for a closer unity within the Orthodox Church especially here in North America, as well as in our search for unity with the other Christian Churches.

In saying this we always need to remember that unity is a gift from God. We may argue for the need for a more coherent ecclesiastical structure, but even when we have achieved success at creating a better organizational framework, we still experience this unity as a gift from God, not the result of our efforts. We know that any agreement or constitution is not worth the paper it is written on if the necessary good will and love are lacking. Only God can give us this.

We are called by some the “diaspora.” Others reject this designation. There is certainly a dynamic tension. Let me suggest that in the push and pull of what we were and what we are yet to become we find the “now and not yet” of the coming Kingdom. The development of our Orthodox Church in a pluralistic “new world” has forced all of Orthodoxy to grapple with the missionary imperative of the Gospel. 

Let us all pray with fevour for a fully united Orthodoxy in our lifetime and likewise for unity between East and West.

"A Sincere Gift of Self"

An old truth eloquently and simply stated strikes home, though we've heard it a thousand times before. This is why I love a good children's book. I have deep admiration for authors who can make plain to little ones what we adults so often obscure with too many words.

In this vein, I thank Pope John Paul II for making plain to me, a little one, what I so often obscure with my convoluted and disjointed thinking. It is not a new truth revealed but an old familiar truth clarified and illuminated.

It is this: that a woman's vocation and fulfillment consists in "a sincere gift of self"—to Christ her heavenly spouse, to her earthly spouse, to the children of her womb, and to all God's children—"according to richness of the femininity which she received on the day of creation and which she inherits as an expression of the 'image and likeness of God' that is specifically hers."

While more verbose than a children's book, I am finding the Apostolic Letter Mulieris Dignitatem (On the Dignity and Vocation of Women) to have the searing brilliance of God's truth made plain. I am learning in what "feminine genius" consists and what it means to pour myself out for my family and others in a uniquely feminine way. Care to read with me on "a subject of constant human and Christian reflection"?