The Way of a Pilgrim..

For some time now I had been reading, in short bursts, "The Way of a Pilgrim" a tale of Russian Orthodox spirituality centered on a wanderer seeking a life of continual prayer. I actually found the book several years ago in a used book sale at a local public library and its been close by ever since.

At times when I read the book and others with collections of the desert Fathers or biographies of illuminaries like St. Macarius a part of me wishes for the same life of contemplation and ceaseless encounter with God. I suspect that I'm like many who feeled pulled in too many directions and would give much to be simply focused and directed. But even as I do I realize two important things.

First I have to recognize that some of this is just an urge for rest. It's not easy, sometimes, to live halfway between here and there, caring for a parish in one town and living in another. At times I wonder why God simply doesn't fill the people of St. Elias with such hope and inspiration that all their fears and struggles would vanish and their tenativeness would disappear. But to get to that place of peace and joy, a place where their hearts would naturally respond to the care and nurture of the parish, will take time and time means that for now I still need to travel. So the normal rest of proximity, of being in the place I serve, of returning home in minutes rather than hours following Liturgy will have to wait. And sometimes that desire for a time in the desert is just my body and my soul's way of asking for rest.

Then, too, I believe I would make a terrible monk. For a while it might be novel to live in community and pursue the life of a monastic but I know that it would wear off and then what? As much as the larger world has its shares of sadness and stuggle it is still, for lack of a better term, my home the place where I belong. I respect the conviction that causes people to flee the world but I do not share it. So what am I to do?

The truth is I'm not sure. In these issues of prayer and contemplation and the ascetic life I am an amateur acting almost entirely on a combination of scattered writings and instinct. Seeing the value of constant prayer and the call on my life in the world I have been trying, and mostly not succeeding, to fill in every open space with, if not formal prayer at least the Jesus Prayer or thoughts of godly things. I try to go to sleep at night with prayer and wake in the morning with the same. If I cannot fill all my day with prayer I feel I should at least attempt to fill all the cracks, the open spaces in a day's business, with heavenly things or at least to see the holy in all things. I presume that over time, as the Bible says, a little yeast will leaven the whole lump and what I do in bits and pieces will eventually become just the way of my life.

This all may sound pious but the truth is that I'm just at the very beginning, the point where I see the need and I'm trying to find a way. Most of the time I miss the mark, and that's not just the kind of "humble speak" we Orthodox are often so good at, it's the truth. All I know is that I need a different kind of life and by grace I want to find it, or have it find me.

Baby Boomers owe Americans an apology...

From Dennis Prager...

On Gloom and Doom...

A bit of wisdom from Michael Medved...

Winter storm warnings...

The weather reports say a major winter storm will be coming through after noon tomorrow with sleet, rain, and a possible six inches plus of snow. It was bound to come, they always do.

Getting to LaCrosse should be okay, just get on the road early enough in the morning and beat the storm as it crosses through Minnesota in to Wisconsin. The ride home, though, will be another thing, long, tedious, eyes always on the road, and everything at the mercy of the weather. The car is as prepared as it can be and everything will just have to unfold as it does.

We may think, sometimes, that we are, by virtue of our technologies and skills, the masters of the world we walk in. This may be true in a certain way. All along the river road I'll be transported by things that 200 years ago may have seemed like magic. But nature still charges her tolls and nothing, not even the best things we can design, escapes its grasp. If the weather says "Go slow" even the best car still must go slow.

So, we'll see how things happen, pray for the best, and head south along the Mississippi.

Attack of the bifocals...

Had the annual eye exam a few days ago and it appears that bifocals or perhaps even trifocals are in the future. They assure me that I can easily get used to looking through them but I intend to fight it all the way! For some reason bifocals just mark a place I'm not yet ready to enter, the door to being an "old" person or something like that. I presume I'll get them some time, but not today.

The end of stem cell wars?

An interesting article from the Weekly Standard on how science is making embryonic stem cells unnecessary.

On potlickers...

The driving along the river road has been better these past weeks.

As fall fades into winter highway 61 empties of its tourists and all that are left on the road are locals, those who use the road for commerce, and occasional travelers south. The speeds have approached the posted again and the run to LaCrosse has shortened. All in all its a very good thing, except, of course if your business was about the potlickers.

Potlicker is a family term, from my wife's side, for people who drift along the road at whatever speed they choose, usually slow, as they gawk at the scenery. Along the river road they lead caravans of cars up and down the hills, people trapped by roads too narrow and winding to pass and the person leading the way at a speed somewhat less than posted.

They're a mixed blessing at best. For those who have places to go and things to do they're a nerve wracking obstacle. For the people who live along the road and make their living from tourists they're slow rolling cash machines prone to stop at every antique store and gas station on route. Avoiding them means traveling in the small hours of the morning or late at night. I choose the day as I never tire of the scenery and so I drive south and hope I miss them.

But these last few weeks the trees have gone bare, the sky has grayed, and the temperature has dropped. The summer tourists, the ones who sought vistas and a day on the river watch football games now. And the fall tourists, those who basked in the magnificent colors have trickled away. Only those who love the stark beauty of leafless trees remain and travelers with places to go and truckers carrying their wares along the winding river road.

And I drive alone with my thoughts and whatever is on the radio. Full speed ahead.

Some wisdom from David Warren...

Some wisdom on chastity and dating from David Warren.

This week's sermon in advance...

This Sunday marks the leave taking of the Feast of the Presentation of the Theotokos in the Temple, one of the five major days of celebration related to the Virgin Mary. The others are the Nativity of the Theotokos on September 8th, the Presentation of Christ in the Temple on February 2nd, the Annunciation of the Birth of Christ on March 25th, and the Dormition of the Theotokos on August 15th.

The feast, celebrated on November 21st, commemorates an episode in the life of the Theotokos recorded not in the Scriptures but in the Protoevangelion of James. In this story the young Mary is taken to the temple and presented to God. The tradition then records her living in the temple until such time as she was engaged to Joseph who was chosen by lot to be her husband and protector of her virginity.

The story records, as well, a procession of young girls, led by the Theotokos, into the temple where they are received by the priest Zacharias, the one day father of John the Forerunner, and her being taken to the Holy of Holies, the most sacred part of the temple. While there God touches with her with supernatural grace.

The tale is touched with sadness as well. For even as they know they doing that which is right and holy the Virgin Mary’s parents, Joachim and Anna, follow behind the procession with tears in their eyes at their separation from their only child.

Like many of the pious stories of our Orthodox faith the central issue is not in the details so much as it is in the meaning. The details of this event are unique, there is no way to verify them outside of the sources themselves, and there is no need because it is the “why” that matters more than the “how”. These stories were treasured because they reflected a desire of the faithful to know more about this amazing and holy Mary , the mother of our Lord. They reflect the veneration the early Church had for her and it tells us the veneration of saints and luminaries of the Church was not some addition to the Apostolic faith but rather an expression of it.

But the veneration of the Mother of God is more than simple honor for its own sake. As is always the case the most sincere form of veneration is imitation. Our prayer states “Calling to remembrance our all holy, immaculate, most blessed and glorious lady Theotokos and ever virgin Mary, with all the saints, let us commend ourselves and each other and all our life unto Christ our God”.

The story of the Presentation of the Theotokos records the child Mary coming to the temple in joy, and in a like manner we should come to this our own small temple not begrudgingly but with the desire to be in the presence of the holy. As Mary was dedicated to God throughout her life, so we should also live as people dedicated to God. Joachim and Anna knew that the greatest gift they could give their child was the gift of being in God’s presence and our children should have this gift as well.

Suffice it to say every detail of the story of the Presentation of the Theotokos in the Temple, and indeed of all the feasts of the Church, could be unpacked with implications for own lives of faith and our call to commend ourselves and each other and our whole life unto Christ. Each one is far beyond a ritual thing rooted in centuries of habit. Each is a call to learn and grow and become what God wants us to be individually and as a parish and we do well to pay heed to them every day of our lives. When we do we begin to understand what it means to be Orthodox.

Things that make you go hmmmmm.....

My wife and I were visiting the credit union yesterday to refinance our car at a lower rate and we discovered something.

In 2005 our credit rating was over 800 and when our credit rating was examined yesterday it was in the high 700's. The culprit? We actually paid off and CLOSED several accounts and apparently paying off credit cards and closing accounts is NOT good for your credit rating! The loan officer told us it was actually better to keep a number of accounts open and simply slice up the credit cards and then proceeded to offer us a credit union card so we could BOOST our rating by having another account. Amazing.

And they wonder why there are credit problems in the US.

Did you know...

Thanksgiving isn't exclusively about the Pilgrims and Indians and such and actually came to be officially established in its basic format in 1863 during the Civil War as per a proclamation from Abraham Lincoln.

The day, the last Thursday of November, was set aside by President Lincoln as a day both of thanks to God and penitence for the sins of the nation as well as a call to care for those affected by the Civil War. Apparently the President forgot to check with the ACLU before he put pen to paper!

Construction...

Painting is on the way!

Our venerable old building, built in the early 1900's and on whose premises St. Raphael of Brooklyn walked, is getting much needed repair inside and out.

Notice that the building is very unlike the design of a traditional Orthodox Church and resembles, in fact, a Protestant country church. Even the older members of the parish do not know why the immigrants who built the parish chose this design. Speed of construction? Desire to assimilate? Cost?

All we know for certain was the land in this area was first used by lumber mills, lumber being the first large industry of LaCrosse, and then was the area of town settled by Middle Eastern immigrants who were gathered together into a parish by then Bishop, and now Saint, Raphael.

The times have ebbed and flowed and for some decades the building was used only intermittently by traveling Priests when there was a need for special services in LaCrosse. Over time a hodge podge of various projects were undertaken to clean and maintain the facilities and now, by the grace of God and the generosity of the parishoners our special "old lady" of a building is getting cleaned up, fixed up, and gussied up.

Oh if these walls could only talk!

This week's sermon in advance...

Do I love God?

It’s a question I ask myself sometimes and it causes me to think.

I believe God exists. I believe God matters. I believe that God is uniquely manifested in the world in Jesus Christ. I know I need God and want God.

But do I love God?

I’m not talking about the emotional syrupy kind of stuff where people get together and sing pop songs with the word “baby” replaced by the word “God”. Emotions are part of love but they never define it, they are never its substance.

I’m not talking about needing God or wanting God. So much of our modern definition of love is about having someone in our life who can meet our needs or hungers, but that’s not love, that’s manipulation, and it doesn’t matter whether God or somebody else is involved.

I am talking about authentic love, the kind where those who love each other enjoy each other’s presence for its own sake, where they strive to grow together, make each other the center of their existence, and are incomplete when they apart. It’s the kind of love we all hope for, even for a moment in this life, a love beyond the emotion of a moment, beyond the meeting of a temporary need, beyond even the beauty of the erotic, a union as it were, of souls.

But do I love God?

I would have to say “I’m not sure, my reasoning has been so clouded that I’m often not certain what real love is.” If the truth was known it’s more than likely my relationship with God is 99.99 percent God loving me with very little in return. But I know I want to love God. And I know that something inside me says that it’s what I was meant to do.

I know that without a love for God my life, my faith, my religion is merely ritual without substance, like a marriage where everything is gone except for the routine. I know God created me with the ability to respond with love to His love and in its absence I am empty, I am less than human and all I do is meaningless.

I know, too, that my love is tainted with selfishness, ambition, an eye to my own benefit and the feeding of my never ending hungers. I rarely love for its own sake even though it’s what I know should be. I seek others out for my own needs and give back when it is mutually agreeable and even more so with God. My list of demands for heaven is long, my list of sacrifices miniscule.

Yet I know as well that God’s love is so profound that it can even enable me to love God truly in return. I can humbly ask “God teach me not just to recognize you, or obey you, or come to terms with you, but to love you” and God, in love, will work with me, overcome my faults, enlighten my darkness and slowly but surely guide me to where I can truly love God in return for the love that has been given to me.

I suspect in these days that God has many who claim to speak for him and act in his name, many who study him, many who poke through the tea leaves of time and history to discern his presence. All that may be well and good but is it possible that God is actually looking most of all for people who will love him?

I believe this may be true, and God granting me grace I am going to try.

Thursday afternoon bass...

A worthwhile article...

From the Heritage Foundation, an article on the positive personal and social benefits of religious practice.

November 12...

As I'm writing this is in the early morning hours of November 13th I can see a picture of my father on a mantel in my living room. He would have been 74 yesterday but he barely made it to sixty.

After my brother died I told my remaining brother that in our family we have "big hearts but not good ones" and the shadow of these two early deaths, my father and brother, has become part of our life. A co-worker of mine is in her middle 50's and looks like she's in her late 30's with aunts and uncles well into their 90's but we can't seem to make it past 60, not my grandfather, not my father, and not my brother. And I suppose that even though I've inherited most of my genetics from my mother's and not my father's side, the clock is ticking for me as well.

Yesterday's reading for the morning prayers in the Orthodox Study Bible was Psalm 90 where the writer contemplates the brevity of life and asks God for the kind of wisdom that comes from understanding our days are numbered (v 12). I'm trying to learn this because that wisdom often comes at a very high price, a cost our family has incurred not once but twice.

I remember someone once joking about how religious older people were by saying "It's because they're cramming for final exams...". But the truth is that test is often a surprise test, a pop quiz that comes when we least expect it. The only way to be ready is to live as Christ would want and make every day count.

In a family full of bum tickers that's more than a platitude.

The Chilling Times...

We're getting in to the teeth of autumn up here in Minnesota, the daylight savings times when the sun is down by 6 pm and the cold starts to settle in. It's probably my least favorite time of the year.

I call it the "chilling time" because for a week or two I literally get the chills as my body adjusts to the new lower temperatures and my brain gets used to the dark. The brightness and warmth of summer is gone and the color of fall has faded and now only bare trees, cold winds, and early sunsets remain.

Christmas (Nativity) saves this time of year with its preparations, its lights, and its joy. But I can see how my pagan ancestors would make the emergence of the sun at the winter solstice a holiday. After all how depressing could this time have been in the wilds of northern Europe in the days without either lights electric or the light of Christ? It must have seemed a dark vision, like the end of the world.

An irony of it all may be that this warmer climate cycle we're in actually makes it all a bit more bearable. I can recall in years past being snowed in on Thanksgiving but today the forecast is for nearly sixty degrees with sun and so I can at least take a walk and get outside. I may even do some chores outside the house after work so we can get things buttoned down before winter sets in with a vengeance.

And set in it will...

Joys of this work...

This past Sunday I spoke with the mother of a young parishoner who just turned seven. She told me about how her daughter told her she was glad to be seven so now she could fast.

Out of the mouths of babes...

Disappointment...

My house is being painted at an achingly slow pace.

When the saleman from the paint contractor came to us he assured us that it could be done quickly and even in this cooler weather. And I wanted it done. I wanted it done so it would nice for my next door neighbor who plans to sell his house in the next few months. I wanted it done so that I wouldn't have to cram the work into my own crowded schedule. I wanted it done because in the Priest business your house should always be in good repair as you can be one phone call away from it being on the market. I wanted it done because I wanted it to look nice.

And I spent a good amount of money on it all, more than I paid for my first few cars. Now its mostly done but the upstairs windows are still covered with plastic, the window frames are unpainted, the basement windows are still undone as are some of the soffits and all of the facia. Yesterday it snowed, just a tiny bit, and that means time is running out and so is my patience.

I still struggle with the balance between speaking my needs and patience. Where is the line between not being anxious, trying to see the big picture, and trusting and making that phone call to get things that need to be done completed? The truth is it takes a while for me to trust. I've been burned too many times and that history has made my window of trust very small. People have a short amount of time to follow through before I close the door and when that door is closed it's more often than not nailed shut. I'm on the edge with these folks right now and I want to see some paint on some places without it before too long or I'll take that big step over.

And I know I need to be better than that. I need to be wiser, more discerning, less vulnerable to being jerked around by people and events. I hate the part of me that relishes the opportunity to send a nasty note and make someone's life a living hell by badgering them. I hate that when it happens to me and I hate when I feel like doing it to someone else. But I hate being played for a chump as well, of being marked as a person to whom things can be done and considerations not given because they won't do anything about it. And all of it has made this encounter with the paint contractor just a pain when I had hoped I could just send a check, wait a few days, and have everything handled.

Oh well...

I guess that's why we always pray "Lord have mercy..."

I wonder sometimes...

It was an early morning (4:30 AM) drive yesterday, south on Highway 52 to Interstate 90 through deer country. It's fall and deer are in the rut, moving across the countryside at sunrise and sunset. It's hard to drive for any distance without seeing a deer splayed on the side of the road, the victim of a car.

Something puzzles me. Whitetail deer are swift, possessing of keen eyesight, an enhanced sense of smell, and the ability to hear a twig snap at distance. Hunters seeking deer must be stealthy, cover their smell, and often spend long hours in a single place nearly motionless. So what is it about cars, loud, fast, and bright with lights that seems to defy them? What makes this normally hyper vigilant animal such easy prey for something so obvious?

I'd like to think that somehow after more than a century of cars they would have figured it all out. And I have a picture in my mind of a bambi kind of scene where the wise old deer speaks of the dangers of cars in hushed tones to a rapt audience of fawns. Alas it is not to be and as the road descended from the prairies into the river valley on the shoulder lay a buck in full horn and strength, dead. Sad.

The baby who refused to be aborted...

An amazing story about one of a set of twins selected for abortion.

Every Orthodox needs this...

Here is a link to the book that should be on every Orthodox Christian, and inquirer's, shelf!

The complete Orthodox Study Bible can be pre-ordered now with a substantial discount from Conciliar Press.

A radical idea...

Every year the exhausted gather up the remains of Christmas like morning after drunks and vow never to do it again. And like the addicts they are they will, same time, same place, next year.

But here's an idea, perhaps a radical one. What would happen if devout Christians simply opted out of our culture's notion of Christmas and practiced the Church's?

"Impossible" you say and I would respond "Why?" "Well, there's too much hype, to much commercialism, too much of that syrupy music." And I would say "Are you that weak that some advertiser somewhere can so easily pull your strings?"

Now in some parts of the Muslim world people would riot and kill off a few dozen people to respond to a challenge to their sacred days. That's off the option list for Christians even through we do have some folks trying to ride the "the culture is attacking Christmas" bandwagon to notoriety and financial success and ironically aping the commercial culture's desecration of this day by still making the season all about their needs. The truth is that if we feel strongly about this sacred season being hijacked by a morbid commercial culture we simply need to start actually approaching it as Christians and not Americans.

Start slowly by cutting down on the gifts and ramping up on giving to the poor. Decorations don't have to go up right after Thanksgiving and if you can't find your way to fasting at least say no to a cookie once in a while. It's about a change of focus towards the One whose arrival we celebrate and away from ourselves. towards the truly hungry and away from our own shallow cravings, towards the celebration of Christ and away from self indulgence.

You see the reason the holiday has been polluted is that for too long Christians have been willing dupes in its desecration. Oh we may gripe a bit when Christmas displays are up in October, or earlier, but we're there shopping with the rest of folks and buying in to it all. What difference does it make to complain about the holiday being removed from the schools or government offices when the true spirit of the holiday has long ago been removed from us? What right do we have to expect the pagans to be more faithful then we are?

The actual truth may be that we really do enjoy the chaotic consumer mess that Christmas has become in this country. We have come to accomodate ourselves, as we have in so many things, to the dictates of a broken world and that brokenness has become normal, even desireable to us in the same way that addicts enjoy their terrible pleasures. But if there is a part inside of us that still thinks something is wrong about it all, that there must be a better way, we should quiet ourselves and listen. Perhaps we may discover in that silence a still small voice challenging us to something better, something more holy, some more real about the season soon upon us.

That may make all the difference.

It's nearly four in the morning...

It's nearly 4 AM and yes, I'm awake.

From time to time this happens, especially if I go to bed early, and over the years I've learned to make the best of it. My theory is that when I was a teenager I worked the 3-11 shift at a nursing home and because of it I sort of set my rhythm in a night owl direction and have never really recovered. In my ideal world I would go to bed around 8 and then get up at 11 and work for three or four hours, go back to sleep, and then start up again about 10 in the morning. Alas, there are no jobs out there with those hours.

So when the times come when for one reason or another I can't sleep through the night I make the best of it. It's a great time to pray, these hours when everything is quiet. And it's not a bad time to get work done free from the usual interruptions. It's even possible to combine the two by, say, washing dishes and praying. Since my wife is a sprawler when she sleeps it all works out. Prayers get said, work gets done, and she gets the whole bed. Such a deal!

PS - Apparently I'm not the only one up at this hour. My stats have just recorded a visit by googlebot slinking around the web and dropping in on my place to see who's home.

A little wisdom from Willow Creek...

Willow Creek Church in Barrington, Illinois has a reputation in the evangelical Christian world as the center, perhaps even the originator of "seeker friendly" churches, the kind of parishes you see springing up all over the country with subdued architecture and casually clothed pastors leading low key, pop music powered, worship.

According to this article from TownHall.com Willow Creek has done an internal audit of its life and programs and found that while its practices have attracted large numbers they have not created disciples of Jesus Christ to the depth they had hoped. Lots of people have come but large numbers have remained spiritually immature and unable to grow in their faith to a level where they could become as the report says "self-feeders", people who could take responsibility for practicing their faith.

Lest, however, we Orthodox become too critical with our "I told you so's..." and perverse pride in being small it should be noted that while we have it right that the development of true disciples of Jesus Christ with a deep and living faith is a priority we have failed to do that ourselves AND neglected the basic kind of open door hospitality that marks the "seeker" churches. Large numbers of Orthodox Christians are basically uneducated about their faith AND our parishes often have the feeling of ethnic clubs or insular communities where people have to jump through any number of hoops before they're welcomed.

In the end it's all about balance, being in that place where we are firmly established in our faith and a place of welcome for the throngs, and yes they are there, of people seeking spiritual solace in the materialistic desert of American life.

The long way home...

The sun was bright again today and so we took the long way home on the Wisconsin side of the river, highway 35 from LaCrosse and then crossing over at Red Wing, Minnesota.

The topography is different on the Wisconsin side, less open areas and few areas for towns or substantial farms. Once you're past Trempeleau the road narrows to two lanes and snakes along the very edge of the river through tiny towns that hang on to the bluffs in any space even close to flat enough to hold a home. I've often wondered why people simply didn't build on top of the hill but apparently these towns were founded when the river was the focus of life and horses were incapable of pulling wagons up snowy roads. People must have quickly become content with the idea that their little place on the big river was never going to be much of anything people-wise and those who wanted to stayed and rest went up the Mississippi for larger venues.

The blessing of that is the scenery, which because of its inaccessibility has retained its beauty. The road hugs the bluffs and even at this late time there's still color in the trees mixed with the deep green of the coulee floor. Eagles have found shelter here in these places where even the best of plows are useless and the river provides a constant source of fish. Along the way there are markers calling to mind where a river fort once stood or a battle was fought in the days when there were no roads, no wires, and an amazing kind of quiet.

I like to take the slow road more often than not. There are enough freeways in the world where people sit behind their steering wheels grim faced and obsessed with their dashboard clock. What a precious and unusual treasure to find a road without billboards, a road that winds because nature does, a road without generic restaurants. And since I have take the trip I choose to make the best of it, to enjoy every moment and if I lose 15 minutes so be it.

After all, not everyone who wanders is lost.

The tie that binds...

By this time next Saturday I'll be at St. Mary's Orthodox Cathedral in Minneapolis getting ready for my niece's wedding. I'm not actually the celebrant so I need to get dressed up nice and smile piously and handle a few things, but that's okay.

As I get older I come to see my age not so much in terms of the face I see in the mirror but rather by the transformation of those around me. I remember when my niece was born and suddenly it seems she's done with college, on the job, and getting married. What did I do in all that time? I'm not sure I remember but I don't recall it moving as quickly as it did. Time does move on and with each ritual, each ceremony, each event of passage for those around me I see its rhythms. One generation does indeed give way to another and some day I will be that old man sitting off to the side while the young folks dance.

Who can stand in the way of the flower of youth? And yet there is a sadness in this because the blooming of it all comes at the cost of many goodbyes. I suspect that jobs and life and the flow of things will one day take us all apart and all that we've managed to maintain through these years by staying close to each other will one day rust away.

It's just the way of things, so as I go through the work of the Liturgy next Saturday I'll sear each image into my memory, all the hellos, all the good byes, every color, sight, sound, and dream. When we are someday apart it will be the unseen tie that binds.

In case you want to know what real country music sounds like...

My Brother's Birthday...

Tomorrow will be my brother Paul's birthday, his 46th had he remained with us.

Paul and I are 14 months apart and when we were kids we teased him about being an "oops".
Usually on his birthday I would give him a call and say "Hey, you're old" and he would respond "But you're older..." , remind me of those two months when I was two years ahead, and we'd have a conversation. Over the years our lives took different paths and like all brothers we had our own lives but that call was something we had in common and would often be the prelude to a longer talk that helped keep that which knitted us together even though we were different people.

I remember thinking sometimes that time was on my side and I would have the last laugh. One day I would die and then he would, perhaps, finally be older and if by grace I made heaven I would look down and mischieviously smile. Sadly, it was not to be.

However he shines in the presence of God, Paul will always be 44 and time for the rest of us will march on. In God's eyes, of course, it's meaningless, all time is present. But we choose to mark our lives by it, often distress ourselves over it, and watch it pass by too quickly when times are good and too slowly when they aren't. I will grow old as God gives years but all is not lost.

One day, too, I hope to make the short leap from here to the arms of God and live in timeless joy. We'll talk then, Paul and I, not about age or anything else but rather in worshipful tones about life in the sight of God, heavenly things, and everything good and right. And we'll have all the time in the world to do it.

My Morning...

Another Mandolin...

A few weeks ago I was on vacation in Marquette, Michigan and drove in the night through downtown and past a music store. In the window was, hanging among other instruments, a mandolin.

It has been over a year since I started playing the mandolin. Originally I thought it would be a way to challenge myself by having an instrument strung GDAE and directly reverse of a bass. Over the months, though, the mandolin came to have a life of its own. I love the high lonely sound, the two finger chords, but most of all how it has given me a different voice to express my heart.

The upstairs of my house has a room of instruments, a key board, four basses, three mandolins, a dulcimer, and a recorder stashed somewhere along with the various electric gadgets needed to make some of them work. I’ve cleared a few away over the years but there always seems to be room for one more, like the Portugese style mandolin from Marquette with it beautiful wood and soulful sound. One day I believe we may add a hammered dulcimer (this one for my wife) and I think that some day a Native American flute will follow me home and I’ll have to keep it.

I’ve never been content with one instrument. Each instrument has its own qualities, each its own sound, and each elicits something in and from me. They, or rather the music they produce is a solace for me, a world apart where that which is physical and spiritual and intellectual and spiritual are one for a moment. I would like to think that the sounds are still out there somehow, too quiet for hearing but floating through the ether in some mystical way. I’d like to believe that everything I’ve played, good or bad, is still traveling through space.

Who knows? Maybe heaven will be the place where I catch up to my music or where whatever tears have been shed, anger expressed, joy revealed, or fears made known in a hundred songs as prayers will find their perfect purpose, their intended beauty.

Regardless, I’ve got another mandolin, spruce, sycamore, rosewood, and soul and I’ve got to go play.

I'm moving...or at least I thought I was...

I had planned to move my blog to Wordpress because they have better templates, still do, but its harder to post and so I'm back. I guess its just a guy's perogative to change his mind.

Moral Revolution...

Another terrible school shooting, this time in Ohio and you can hear the clock ticking.

How long will it be before you hear the activists seize on this tragedy and demand less guns or more school counselors or cameras in schools. Amazing, though, you'd think by now with all these programs and laws and such in place that all would be well, or at least even on the way to well.

But none of it, as well intentioned (or not) as it might be will matter until there is a moral revolution, a revolution of the heart. You cannot take morality out of a society and expect that something else, something more sinister will not fill the void. It has, it will, and we continue on this path to our peril if we do not wake up and realize that all the laws in the world will not make a difference if a person is not transformed within. Take away the guns they will still murder, take away the murder from the human heart and guns will gather rust.

In that line of thought it may be good to say one more thing. Critics of Christianity speak often of the violence caused by religion. They ignore, of course, the reality that nations and people have used Christianity and distorted it to justify violence and that Christianity is not the actual source of the violence and they carefully forget one more important question. How many violent acts have NOT been committed because of Christianity? How many times in the history of the world has a violent thought or consideration come to mind that the moral framework of Christian faith has redirected towards better solutions? Unfortunately there's no real way outside of anecdote to measure this but one thing seems certain, where Christian faith is truly and rightly practiced violence decreases and that's where the revolution must begin.

Leaves and sun...

As per usual this time of year the vistas along Highway 61 are radiant with the colors of fall. (Yes, that's really a picture) From the sky I imagine it looks like blotches of paint have been dropped to Earth by angels transforming the trees and the whole world with shades of red and orange and yellow.

It's a good time to drive, listen to the radio, and let the tires roll the miles away. I suspect that if I had to drive to some other place these journeys would have long ago grown tiresome. It wouldn't be the same to live, for example, in Phoenix and drive two hours over the open desert. Along my particular road there are hills and valleys with small towns as the highway winds along the Mississippi River. At places you drive through a tunnel of trees and in others the road clings to a high point on a bluff and you can see the fire and light on the Wisconsin side.

It's Monday, the time for tired, the time for trying to catch a breather, the time when for a minute or two you realize that you've been at this for over two years, every Saturday south on Highway 61. Just this year a 30,000 mile car has become a 50,000 mile car and the people at Microtel know my voice on the phone. I know just where it's hard to get cell phone service and just how far north you can drive before WKTY and the Packer's game fades out. Lake City has a Dairy Queen that serves twist cones and the gas is always cheapest in Red Wing. And when Dresbach emerges on the way I know I'm almost there.

Some day there'll be no more need to make this run and I sometimes wonder what I'll do when I can make to church in a few minutes and sleep in my own bed on Saturday. We'll see. Until then the colors are vivid, the road is open, and there's work to do; White bear Avenue to Interstate 94, left on Highway 61 and two and a half hours south to St. Elias.

A part of it all...

I was driving home this weekend, thinking about things and it occurred to me. We Priests get credit for a lot of things where God is actually doing the heavy lifting.

It's not that we do nothing, we do a lot, but when we pray for a child and they get better we often get the credit but it was God who healed. When we preach we use our skill but true inspiration comes from heaven. Our words of counsel when they are at their best only mouth what God has revealed. It may be that our basic task as Priest's is to simply pay attention to God and then pass that gift on and maybe more often then not its just to get out of God's way.

A Worthwhile Read...

An article by Phillip Jenkins about the "next Christianity" and the future of the Faith.

One of the things we Americans do is think of Christianity on our terms and rarely see the larger global context. Jenkin's article is important to help us refocus and see the emergence of Christianity in the world outside our cultural and physical borders.

What do you think?

Solutions...

If you spend time at all on line you know there are a zillion sites all about this and that and who's doing what to whom and pro and con on just about anything. It's a world of complaints. It's depressing, a lot. Everyone has a sword, no one a plowshare.

There seems to be be several choices. Ignore it all and hope it goes away. Thrive on it and live for the daily combat and gotcha scores. Enjoy it as some kind of sign of the coming apocalypse in which you and yours will be safely snatched away so that God can burn a few billion folks to set the score right. Or do something about it.

As terrible as these times may seem, and some of the darkness of these days has little to do with a sheer amount of darkness but rather about how we get to witness it all over and over again in a 24 hour media world, it's also a good time to be a Christian. We're free from the burden of being the culture. The powers that be are not us and frankly they're making a huge mess of it all. In time the sheer volume of pain will wake up a society still drowsy from all its drugs (materialism, relativism, etc.) and our moment will arrive.

Will we be ready? Will I? When the world seeks answers will they find them among us? I hope so. Because what the world needs now is not more wallowing in its own painful filth or another hundred dead ends. What the world needs now is a way out, something better, and that's all about Jesus Christ.

A Site Worth Visiting...

Orthodoxy Today

On Men and Orthodoxy...

Frederica Matthewes Green on men and Orthodoxy.

Been There, Loved That...

Then and Now...

Standing at my first Baptist church and with

Bp. MARK this past weekend.

A Short Interview Worth Reading...

Here

This Sunday's Homily...

It was said that in his youth a man named John who lived on Cyprus had a dream in which a beautiful maiden named Compassion appeared to him and told him she was the eldest daughter of God.

As John grew, then married and had a family, the dream never left his mind. When he became a widower and then an ascetic it stayed with him. As popular acclaim required he serve as the Patriarch of Alexandria that dream followed him to his palace. And as Patriarch he made it his mission to give to many, to all, to people he did not know, and people far and wide, and by generosity express compassion and so serve God.

These acts were not always met with approval. The Church in Alexandria in the early 600’s was wealthy, prominent, and there were those who would keep the wealth intact. But Patriarch John understood something greater than the economy of those times, and ours as well, an economy based on acquiring and storing for ourselves. John understood that in God’s economy what was given away, what was shared, was what came back to you and that the glory of the Church was when she lived not for herself but for God and those outside her walls. It was that attitude that made John notable in his life, acclaimed in his service, and eventually glorified by the church where he is now known as St. John the Merciful.

And it’s this attitude that’s found in our Epistle and Gospel readings today. Our Orthodox faith teaches us that we truly own nothing in this world. All that we acquire in our time here is given to us by God, the source of all good things, and we are required to hold it in trust and use it for the glory of God and the benefit of all. At the end of time we will be asked to give an accounting of what we have been given and the basis of that accounting will not be in how much we acquired by how much we have shared.

We Orthodox often use the hammer of “tradition” against each other, arguing about what kind of music we have, what language we speak, how the Priest served, what kind of food we need to make, a million things we all think are tradition. But the truth is if you want to know the heart of Orthodoxy none of those things matter in any particular way at all. Jesus himself said it best we he urged those follow him to love God with all their heart and soul and mind and love their neighbor as themselves.

If you love God in this way, you will trust him for all your needs. If you love your neighbor this way you will understand that you find your own true life in living for others and all that you have, all that you are exists for the benefit of all. If you understand this you will have mastered the tradition of our faith in a way that people obsessed with rubrics and cultures and liturgics and who does what and who has the power will never know. Whatever they may gain they gain for only a short while but those whose lives sow bountifully into the lives of others for the sake of the love of God hold on to their treasures for all time.

It is said of St. John the Merciful that he commanded his coffin to be made but left unfinished and his grave to be partially dug. At various times during the year he instructed those in charge of making coffins and digging graves to approach him and say “Master, shall we complete the preparations for your death…?” In this way St. John reminded himself of what things truly matter in this life.

Perhaps something like that would be good for us as well. We should ponder our end not as some kind of exercise in morbid introspection but rather as a way to give our lives focus and meaning. The Psalmist asked of God, “Teach us to number our days so that we can increase in wisdom” and another has said “The shortness of life underscores the value of giving ourselves to the right things.”

If we did we would soon come to realize that we truly own nothing in this world, even the clothes they bury us in will one day turn to mulch. We would understand that everything we think we possess, including this church, is not our own and what matters is not what we hold close to ourselves but what we give away. And perhaps the most remarkable thing is that as we draw nearer to understanding this we become more free from the tyranny of life, more alive, more whole, more real, and more focused on the things that last. And we begin to know what it is to have eternal life.

He's Orthodox...

The story here...

It's Sunday Night in Minnesota...

It's Sunday night back at home in Minnesota. Vacation is done, work awaits in the morning.

Some weeks ago the plans were ambitious, a trip to Seattle to get in a baseball game or maybe a flight to New Mexico to view archaeological sites. A hard month of work and the preparation for our Bishop's visit took that all off the table. We settled for a trip to Bemidji, Minnesota and followed the fall colors to Marquette, Michigan on the Upper Peninsula.

Even on vacation I enjoy driving, miles under the wheels and simply seeing things I've never seen before. Planes are faster but cars are more real, what you see from the air as little squares of ground and distant roof tops fill with people and houses and the palette of life. From 30,000 feet you'd never know that below you was a place called Ball Club, Minnesota or see Agate Falls hidden under the Michigan trees.

Moments with nothing to do are rare for me. I usually get a few hours on Saturday morning and the quiet of the ride home but often not much else. Yet work and family found their way into this time as well. Even if you go away from it all it seems to have a way of finding you and dragging you in to its own whirlpool. I remain convinced that cell phones and the internet have played havoc with the whole idea of vacation. You can never seem to get "away" because whatever you've left behind can track you. It was good to leave work for a while but I never did get a few hours on a beach or a long walk in the woods. I miss that and as Monday morning looms I feel like I only had part of what I needed and that it will be months before I find it again.

Yet sleep is coming and I'll take as much of that now as I can and we'll see what tomorrow brings.

It's around 9:30 at night...

It's around 9:30 at night and I'll be in bed soon.

These past weeks have been busy beyond belief with arrangements for an episcopal visit, the change of staff at work, vacation plans, an illness in the family. I've pushed through more paperwork and dealt with more people asking for help then I can remember.

But one part is done, work is over for this week and the time for church things will begin tomorrow morning. I'm sitting and writing and waiting for a load of laundry to get done and then my pillow beckons.

A month ago I knew this was going to be a very busy time. Yet somehow things got done. Some people let me down but I was often amazed at who stepped in, who added a little bit of help to take some of the load. Events that seemed impossible for a moment somehow found a way to resolve themselves. When there was tired there always seemed to be a little more strength. Nothing about me, everything about grace.

It's not done by a long shot. I've got three more days of an episcopal visit. Our Bishop is a very nice man but I still have to study the services and will be flying solo in all of this for the first time. I'm nervous but not because the Bishop makes me nervous but because I want everything to be perfect and too often snare myself in that and miss all the good things along the way.

I want everything at St. Elias to go so well that I think I have to do it all. Now that's arrogance!

There's a lot of things I wish would have happened this past year, buildings painted, things started, progress made, things that would make a good impression and help the parish but I have to be careful that I lead and not drive people. There's a big difference.

More than anything else I would like our Bishop to see what we've been doing, how hard we've been working, the progress we've been making. We've got a long way to go but we've also traveled far and I hope he sees the progress. I would like the people of St. Elias, as well to know our Bishop and be hoonored by his visit and sieze this moment to get a sense of their own future.

Bu now I've got to sleep. Lots of things to do. Lots of miles to travel. And lists everywhere.

Wireless...

We had some family over this past week and their dog ate through the 50 feet or so of cable that went up from my basement to the upstairs and the DSL modem. Time to go wireless and after a few tries, okay more than a few, I'm up and running with my own wireless network in my house. And I remember when someone who had a 14.4 modem thought they had the world by the tail!

Anyway this should be just about the busiest week of my life, so much to do and His Grace Bishop MARK coming on Friday. I'll be out of circulation for most of this week and blogging on vacation for next, so say a few prayers for us all and I'll see you on the other side of this week.

A Year and a Day...

Today marks a year and a day since my brother Paul died suddenly while on a business trip in California. And as I type I think.

I'm amazed at how quickly a year goes by these days. I know time is a constant but as I get older it seems to be picking up steam and sometimes I feel like I'm riding a comet through space. The Psalmist's passages about the temporary nature of human life in the greater expanse of eternity become more real as each day passes.

I've seen again the resiliency that faith creates in a person. In the larger scope of things I suppose my brother's death was just one of who knows how many that occurred that day, just as mine will be. But to those who knew him and cared for him it was like fate sucker punched them and yet those closest to Paul still endure. Faith makes a person resilient, able to flex in the winds of time by virtue of being rooted in something larger. It handles the larger questions of life not so much with answers but rather assurance and hope.

And my faith has not died. To this day I have no answer as why this all happened. There is no logic, no sense, no heavenly vision in which all is explained. I will probably never know anything concrete about this while I still have breath. Yet I'm not angry with God, perplexed sometimes maybe, but not angry for all of this. Perhaps if it had been my wife who passed I would be, I don't know and there is a certain comfort in whatever distance we have, no matter how small, from hard events. But somewhere inside there is a still and calm place that remains secure in this storm.

My sadness now is mostly not for me but for a future that will be remarkably different and less because of Paul's passing. Every future wedding, children, events, gatherings, anniversaries, all of it will be a kind of mourning. We''ll say, "If only Paul were here..." or "If only Paul had seen this..." That will be sad but I suppose in a way those yet to be spoken words will also mean that he still matters, is still part of the equation, still loved, and still with us in some way.

A year and a day, oh my!

Miscellaneous Thoughts...

I took a look at the date of the last post and realized I haven't done any writing for nearly two weeks. What can I say? I've been busy. My boss retired in early August and left me with a job and a half and our Bishop is set to come in two weeks. I hope that the folks who regularly visit here won't have forgotten about me. Hello? Still there?

__________

Today the sky was sunny and the temperature about 69 degrees Fahrenheit. Just about a perfect day. The road back north was smooth and the journey uneventful. I think being in the hills and valleys somehow makes the drive more interesting even if you've done it literally over a hundred times. I've never had a similar experience when I've driven through the prairie country. In a few weeks the leaves will begin to change and the drive will become even more pleasant.

__________

I suspect the next few weeks will be about studying and being very busy at work. Study because every time a Bishop comes everything gets complicated and the choreography, if you will, becomes more complex. Busy because even though the hell month of covering two buildings will officially end tomorrow when the new boss arrives there are still a lot of things that need to be done until she gets up to speed.

In that same vein getting a new boss is sort of like getting your first college roommate. You hope they're nice, don't snore, and are reasonably clean. I met her for about 20 seconds when she toured our campus for her second interview and now she and I will be in the same office figuring out how to make it all work out. Hope for the best, do what you can, make it work.

__________

Oh the joy of being able to sleep with open windows! September is Minnesota's way of apologizing for the cruddy weather that's the norm around here. Every state has some part of the weather they do well. Kansas, for example is very hot and dry in the summer with temperatures that often go into the triple digits, but fall is warm and long and spring early. Minnesota only has September and for the rest of the year its too something or another.

A lot of Minnesotans take vacations and get married in September because its the basic window of opportunity climate wise and my wife and I plan to do the same just before October, not get married (although we actually DID get married in September), but take a vacation. In a few weeks I'll be writing from Michigan's Upper Peninsula where some of the best autumn colors in this neck of the woods can be found even if hardly anyone actually lives there all year round.

__________

And thank you to all the visitors who've kept coming back even when I was tied up.

A Passing Thought...

I was reading an article today from somewhere, probably a link at Relapsed Catholic (an interesting site for social commentary from Canada but like most social comment sites long on critique and short on solutions) and a question from one of the articles popped into my mind.

Why do we let everyone else tell us how to be Christian? I mean activists of all kinds who would fight tooth and nail for the right to be exactly who they claim to be and demand accommodation from the larger culture seem to have no problem demanding that Christians act in whatever way they determine is "christian" even if it has nothing to do with actual Christianity.

You've heard it before. "If you were really a Christian you wouldn't be so judgemental.." (which usually means you should shut up and not say anything about whatever it is they're doing). To which most Christians seem to say "You're right, I should be quiet because after all what I believe is private and personal and so on and so on..." Doesn't anyone ever pause a second and say "Hey, you want me to keep my faith, my ideas, my lifestyle private and personal but you have no problem at all with shouting everything you think and do from every street corner and working hard to enforce your life on me and the whole world and besides all that you have the chutzpah to tell me what it means to be a Christian?"

It just seems odd that we let folks who don't like us, don't know about us, or sometimes are very hostile to us define how it is that we should be "christian". No, we don't have to be a pain in the posterior but at the same time we've got nothing to be ashamed of either. The life that is offered in Christianity is good and right and healthy and makes things better for people and for societies that embrace its ideals. And we have every right to say "You know what, I'm not going to let you tell me how I have to be a Christian. I'm not going to give you the power to define my faith for me or tell me how I should act in the world because, quite frankly, you have no interest in my being a better Christian at all, you just want me to accommodate whatever it is you're up to and you hope you can shame or silence me."

It's called back bone folks.

A Little Packer joke...

A man went to a Green Bay Packer football game with a friend and noticed that the seat next to him was empty, a rare things since games are usually sold out years in advance. He asked the person on the other side of the empty seat why no one was there. He said the seat had been his wife's but she passed away. The man, feeling a sense of pity, asked "Isn't there any one else you know who could go to the game with you?" "No", he said, "They're all at the funeral."

That one is for my uncle who postponed his wedding date to make the Packer game...

Larry Norman Now and Then...

There are more Christian contemporary artists out there then you can shake a stick at and yet the man who pulled the load, endured the harsh critique of unthinking minds, and tried to reach people for Jesus by using music they would listen to is still at 60 (?) the best...

Thanks Larry.

Converts and such...

From time to time one hears in Orthodox circles that dreaded word "convert". Usually its used an adjective to describe a person in the Church for example "So and so is a convert Priest..."

In some ways its sad the whole idea of people coming in to Orthodoxy by conversion is still so unusual in many places that a term has come to be used to describe those who do. It's not unlike a scientist naming a new species. Yet I've never heard, for example, someone described as a "convert" to the Assembly of God, or a Baptist Church. While people in those communities and others like them are sometimes referred to as a "former" this or that I believe the lack of the word "convert" comes from the understanding that someone coming from the outside into a community of faith is normal operating procedure and so there is no need to use a special adjective to describe them.

Regardless, two things need to be said.

First, all Orthodox are converts. Having generations of family within the Church is a blessing but it means nothing for salvation if the person does not themselves embrace the faith. There are no grandparents in Orthodoxy, no special privileges based on heritage, and no guarantees that come with simply being part of a family or culture with a long history in Orthodoxy. Each person must believe. Each person must work out their salvation. No extra credit is given for simply being born into an Orthodox family whether that family has been Orthodox for centuries or months.

Second, when people come in to Orthodoxy from wherever they originate they are real Orthodox, as Orthodox as anyone who's family has been in the faith for centuries. There is no two tiered system based on longevity or ethnicity. Faithfulness matters. Longevity helps because it gives time to develop faithfulness, but it carries no value in itself and ethnicity can be valuable in the sense that a person lives with the advantages of Orthodox culture but without true faith it means nothing.

Some day, I hope, the word "convert" to describe certain people coming into Orthodoxy will simply fade away. One day we'll realize that Orthodoxy is a faith, a way of life and transcends all cultures, a universal thing possessed by all who embrace it and not limited to any group or nation, in fact it is the one lasting nation and people, the Kingdom of God. One day we'll return to our original missionary vision and see people coming into the Faith as the most normal of things, as normal as a tin of warm baklava. Some day no one will stare when new people walk in our door or find their way home in our parishes.

Until then we have this teaching moment, a window into the truth of our Faith in these matters thrown open by those who come in to our Parishes seeking that very faith and by doing so help us to grow in ours as well.

And then the rains came...

After a long period of hot, dry, weather the rains have come, several showers and then a whole weekend of near constant rain.

Driving down Highway 61 in the early hours of the morning I was just south of Rollingstone, Minnesota and headed towards Winona when firefighters and their equipment filled the southbound lanes. No one was getting through. Nearly a foot of rain coursing through the steep valleys had rendered many roads impassible and towns like Stockton and Minnesota City were flooded.

Seeking an alternate route I drove through Rollingstone to Altura and then south, essentially attempting a loop around the flooded area. Traveling on Winona County highway 33 I came up over a hill and discovered the road below flooded with a torrent of water the color of coffee with cream, depth unknown, and cascading into the valley like a small water fall. Back in Altura they told me there was no place to go, the roads were closed.

I decided to head back towards Highway 61 and hopefully go north to Wabasha and then cross over and travel down the Wisconsin side of the Mississippi River to LaCrosse. A stop again in Rollingstone confirmed, though, that a small road, Winona County 25, was still open. Steep and winding it had not yet been flooded and following it I could make it south to Interstate 90 and then east to LaCrosse. My car, which whatever flaws it may have is a champion in foul weather, climbed the winding route out of the coulee to the top of the bluff. Police in Lewiston just north of the Interstate guided us through a a road still under construction and then on to the highway.

Traveling along the Interstate through the rain and fog I could see the trees in the ditch. Trees have this amazing ability to cling to the sides of bluffs at times sticking out nearly horizontally. But the constant rain had loosened their grip on the thin soil and once loosened gravity did its worked and took them, and any stone they held in place, to the side of the road. They really mean it when they put "Beware of fallen rock" signs on this stretch of the road.

Arriving in LaCrosse behind schedule I discovered the power was out, but the people still came and we served the Liturgy "old school" just candles and no way to heat the water. The fervor of faith was in our hearts. With Liturgy completed I returned on the Wisconsin side crossing over to Wabasha in Minnesota and on to home. For my part all was well but at least four people had died, washed away in their cars.

And its still raining.

Another good reason...

Another good reason to visit Jihad Watch, perhap the best site on the net for news and analysis of the ongoing efforts of some Muslims and Muslim groups to establish, by many means, a global Islamic culture. Jihad Watch is probably the only place where you can get news from around the world on this topic, links to resources, and scholarly analysis.

There is a caveat, of course. Comments are often unmoderated (there are so many and it would be impossible to handle them all) so there are folks who really are "____ the towelhead" types and they should be ignored not only for their factual ignorance, (the majority of Muslims are not Arabs and not all Arabs are Muslims), but also for their attitude which is not Christian. We are called, as Christians, to pray even for those people who would violently challenge us and perhaps condemn us to life as second class human beings and racism or hate denigrates who we should be.

That being said the site is a real eye opener and a treasure house of much needed information that has often not been found in the mainstream media for many reasons. We need to face the threat of an armed and militant Islam with knowledge, wisdom, and a commitment to our values and this site gives us not simply news but also scholarly insight into the history and teachings of Islam that is sorely needed.

Two years on the road...

Yesterday as I concelebrated the Divine Liturgy at St. George Church I also marked the second year anniversary of my ordination as an Orthodox Priest.

In one way its not important at all. It's not that the grace of being a Priest is unimportant but rather that I was not a person who absolutely, positively, had to be a Priest and would hold my breath and turn blue if it didn't happen. The truth is that I was very happy as a Deacon and if tomorrow my Bishop chose to laicize me I would simply go back to my local Orthodox church as a layman and find a way to serve. Being a Priest is a great gift but it was never a necessary thing for me to serve or minister. If for some reason I couldn't have or chose not to be a Priest I would have just done something else so in that sense its not that important.

The truth is that being a Priest is more about having tools to serve in a way that I couldn't without those graces. That's what makes the difference. Grace has been given to me that I can, in fact that I must, share and so I can, for example, travel to Fargo, North Dakota and baptize and go to LaCrosse to celebrate the Divine Liturgy in ways that I couldn't as a layman or even a Deacon. Whatever I've been given is so it can be shared and if, for lack of a better term "more" is given then the potential for service expands. While that makes it sound like I view the whole thing in a sort of utilitarian way it would be good to read between the lines and know that to serve requires a certain sense of passion for it all and that flame still flickers inside even on the days when I am most tired and the road wears long. I believe that what I've been given matters and that often makes all the difference.

That being said the hardest thing about being a Priest is internal. The calling is so high and I am very aware of the myriad of ways that I don't measure up. People say nice things about me and kiss my hand but many times I think "If they only knew..." No I haven't killed anyone or run off with the choir director but to be in the presence of holy things is like shining a huge flashlight into every dark corner of my soul, the places where the dirt gets swept just out of sight of most people. I cannot claim blissful ignorance and I know how far I have to go. That is disconcerting.

The best things about being a Priest are the moments that touch your soul. Standing in the presence of holy things can be powerfully convicting but at the same time there are moments of great peace and heavenly calm in the beauty of the liturgy. There are, too, those unscripted moments of interaction with people in which they minister to you and express their gratitude for what you have shared with them. A few days ago I was speaking with a parishioner and they told me how they were making the letters for our outside sign. I said "If you want why not just buy the letters commercially" but they said that when they make the letters by hand (and this person is skilled in craftwork) they pray for me. I can go for days sustained only by words like those.

It's good, too, to see those moments when people "get it" and start to make sense of things or themselves or the world. I believe that Jesus is who He said He was and that he offers the only real sanity and salvation in the world. I believe that people will not just be fit for heaven by encountering Him but also live a better life in the present. When they see that, when they understand that and the "lights go on" it makes the hours and travel and such worth every bit of it. The world can be crazy and dark but the light is never overpowered by the night, never, not now or ever,

Sometimes I wish I'd get a phone call from the Bishop saying "Fr John, I've decided to return you to the Diaconate..." But that's mostly just my fatigue coming out, my body and soul saying I need a vacation (and one is coming in late September). On the whole its been a good thing and I'm glad that I circled the altar even as I am amazed at how quickly time has passed. I'm grateful for the prayers that have been offered on my behalf and the patience that people have shown me as I learn my craft and perfect my calling. I look forward to the day when my travels end even as I am convinced that they were and are what is needed for my parish to become what God would have it to be. The vestments still sometimes seem to weigh on my shoulders like a ton of bricks but my heart is often light. One step at a time I'll just keep walking...

Miscellaneous Thoughts...

I took a look at the date for the last post and realized that it's been a while.

Most of it has to do with just being busy. Things at work, things at church, life.

We filled half a ten yard dumpster last Saturday with excess stuff from St. Elias. It's amazing how much stuff accumulates even in a building that's tiny by the standards of most churches. Some of it was about being frugal. Some of it was about being afraid of offending people by throwing stuff they gave or made away even if it was broken or had long since stopped being useful. All the toys are still there even though a good deal of them are in tatters because who wants to be the one to tell our handful of children there are less toys even if they'd probably never notice? Some of it is also probably a kind of cluttered way of being that comes with being a small church in a run down section of LaCrosse.

It's interesting, though, to see how people positively react to clean up and getting our little building back into shape. For its extremely small size and complete lack of functionality for a modern, and by modern I mean anything after 1950, parish it still has a charm buried beneath a pile of stuff that once unearthed is revealed. A few flowers here and there, a coat of paint, a repair or two and the place looks at least serviceable and reminds the older members of better days. Regardless, its a step in the right direction, a mark of progress to be able to root around inside and lighten the load.

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The past few days have seen some welcome relief from the high temperatures that mark a typical July / August in these parts. It's normal around here for it to be hot for a few days and then to have a good sized thunderstorm come through and wallop the place while trailing cool air in its wake. But for most of July we had the heat without the storms and things were getting brown. A couple of thunderstorms later and even the grass is starting to recover, and so are we.

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My boss at work retired this past Friday after nearly 20 years service. That in itself is unusual in the human services field. Normally we stay in the field but just swap companies every few years when stress or corporate politics or sheer fatigue burns us out. At conventions its usually the same old faces and only the name tags are new. 20 years in one place is amazing and with her departure an era ends and the time for corporate policy changing has begun.

Sometimes it really is necessary but I think a lot of times policies are changed not so much for greater efficiency, although that's given as the reason, but rather because in this world there is a hunger to leave a legacy and absent a way to truly do that or the understanding of eternity that undergirds so much of the Christian sense of what really matters, we settle for a few lines of policy in the company manual as our mark on the world. But its still just treasure on earth where moth and rust do cause decay and where the next person in your office will undo everything you worked so hard for the second they get your office.

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I've been noticing, too, how tired I've been lately. Part of it is the heat. Much of it is the work load.
Tired is now the baseline for me and I barely remember what it was like to be refreshed and completely awake. Yet I've been sustained and that makes all the difference because the cause of St. Elias is a worthy one and with just a bit more work we can start to find our way up and out and on our way...

Hedonism and disease...

An article from England where research is showing increases in illness due to our increasingly pleasure seeking lifestyles.

Could it be that all that stuff about moderation and morality is actually true...?

Pure Minnesota...

A story about the Minnesota Gambling Board and the regulation of "Cow Pie Bingo".

Yes, its real!

A Bridge Too Far...

As you probably already know a bridge through central Minneapolis collapsed and fell into the Mississippi River. The 35 W bridge is, perhaps, the most traveled bridge in Minnesota as commuters from both the northern and southern suburbs cross it to get to downtown Minneapolis or simply to pass through town. Apparently the years of heavy duty in all kinds of weather extremes were simply too much and at 6:05 PM it gave way. As morning breaks in Minneapolis we'll get a more exact number of dead and injured and our hope is the figure is small.

At a point in the past I don't recall something changed inside of me. I don't get rattled by tragedy in the way that people sometimes do, demanding that God give account for why He didn't prevent this horrible thing or that from happening. Bad things happen and I've simply come to realize this and even as I wish it weren't so I've stopped shaking my empty fist at the sky.

The world is broken, and I don't always know why, and may never know why. Things people make, things people do, people themselves, are flawed and mortal at a primal level and yelling about it seems to be as helpful as bashing your forehead against a brick wall hundreds of times. Your efforts will yield no answers and your pain will only increase.

What matters seems to be my response. Will struggle and tragedy make me hard and brittle or will it transform me into something better, something more human, something more like God designed me to be? In the face of chaos and the struggle for meaning in it all that's one thing I can control, a little bit of sense when things seem to be off the hook.