For My Best Friend

This is your Christmas present this year.

You asked me, once, for proof of God. I had none. I have none.

There can be none. We, love, are given the gift of free will–of choice. Without choices to make, free will is meaningless. We choose to have faith, or not to have faith. There is no real-life Babelfish, no matter what Ben Franklin said about beer.

But.

Last week, I saw pictures from a friend’s trip to Bethlehem, where Christ was born. (The fact that Jesus of Nazareth began Christianity is pretty well historically proven.) One of the pictures was of a small cave filled with infants’ bones, located at the rear of the chapel of Christ’s nativity. Do you remember the Christmas story? Herod killed every child under the age of two, because the Wise Men wouldn’t tell him where in Bethlehem Christ was.

Every year the Orthodox Church celebrates Christ’s baptism in the Jordan; the holiday is called Theophany, and it’s coming up. (The New Calendarists say it’s January 6th; the Old Calendarists say January 6th falls on the date the New Calendar calls January 18th.) In any case, every year on Theophany the Jordan reverses its flow, just as it did when Christ was baptized by St. John.

Every year, when the Orthodox celebrate Pascha (Easter), the Patriarch/Archbishop goes to the Church of the Resurrection in Jerusalem holding an unlit candle. When he comes out, the candle is lit.
The Israelis, and previously the Turks, check both the cave and the Patriarch to make sure there’s nothing hidden that would allow him to cheat somehow.
Not only is the Patriarch’s candle lit, but when he comes back oil lamps and pilgrims’ candles often spontaneously light themselves.
Even though the candles are lit, the fire doesn’t burn anybody for about twenty minutes. People can pass their hands through it safely.
The Holy Fire has been consecutively documented since 1106; documentation was sporadic before then, with the first written account being in the 4th Century.

So. There you are.

I can prove nothing. I wouldn’t want to.

But this is my meager Christmas gift to you: a seed of doubt. It’ll take time to grow, but maybe–someday–it’ll crack your new-found atheism/agnosticism. I’ll be here, by your side, waiting.

I love you, sweetheart.

Pray for me

Two weeks left.

Same problem: My priorities conflict with what’s expected of me.

I don’t know how I can do this, even for two more weeks. I will do it, of course, but please pray for me.

I’d be complaining a lot less except that the unfairness of multiple essays + week-long comprehensive exam + stomach cramps just seems ridiculous right now. Make it stop? I want a week off, not the most demanding week of my academic career thus far.

ARGLEFLARGLE.

Right, the whinging stops now. Be of good cheer, be of good cheer, be of good cheer….

“Glory to God for All Things”

John 16:33: “Though tribulations will come your way, be of good cheer: I have overcome the world.”

I am not alone. I am not doing it wrong. It will be okay.

Heartache’s going around like the flu. Everyone I know is aching, for one reason or another, and if they aren’t aching visibly then they’re so tense and stressed that they look like they’re liable to shatter at the slightest provocation.

I can’t help. I don’t know how. I’m sorry. I’m trying.

I want to go to you, and hold you tight, and be there for you in every way that I can. I want to hold your hand and read the Akathist of Thanksgiving with you. But most of you wouldn’t enjoy that, and I don’t have time anyway.

This is why I’m leaving! I want to be able to read Akathists when they’re needed, to put the superficial things on hold and be a friend. And, too, to be a friend to myself! But here, now, I don’t have time. I don’t have time to be blogging this. I don’t have time to waste, like I did much of this afternoon. I need to be working. I have papers due. I have finals to finish. I have other people’s goals to meet and their priorities to accomplish.

I don’t want to. I want mine. I want to read Akathists for Maria’s nephew, for Resa, for Michaela and Nina and even myself. I want to have time to pack my things carefully so none will be damaged in the move, which is coming up in just two weeks. I want to go to the hospital and give the women there makeovers so they can see that they’re beautiful, even though they’re just as beautiful with none. I want to volunteer as a hospital clown and cheer up kids like Nina.

I want to paint and draw and write and work, and I don’t have time. I want to follow my interests, and I don’t have time.

I want my life back. So, I’m dropping out of school and moving to Washington. There’s a parish there that I love, and that supports me. I will reestablish myself there, and it will be okay. I will be okay. I will grow as a writer, an Orthodox Christian, a woman.

Life is and will be beautiful. And together, we will survive.

http://www.saintjonah.org/services/thanksgiving.htm

HOME!

I have a church home — I have a church home — happy dance, happy dance – Washington is amazing!

I love the little church. It’s so comfortable there. And the church is lovely. And on Thanksgiving we read the Akathist “Glory to God in All Things,” which you can and should look at here. It’s the most beautiful Akathist I’ve ever read.

And did I mention? I have a church home!

Love, and Proof

God is love. That is the basic premise on which I build my life. Even when I feel nothing and doubt everything, I know that I am loved.

Except, it isn’t exactly that easy, is it?

I was talking to a friend of mine, M, who’s losing her faith. Slowly, to be sure, but bit-by-bit she’s letting go. The Protestant megachurches she attends are fake, and she feels she is too. I admitted that sometimes all I have is the knowledge that God loves me.

She said, “But I don’t know that for sure. I don’t have proof.”

And all I could say was, “Really?”

Proof. Do I have proof? Well, I think so. I have had many answered prayers, both tangible and not. But I don’t keep track, I don’t write them all down on a list of evidence. (Maybe I should.) But when challenged, I’m dreadfully unprepared.

“I mean of course, there is the Bible,” she continued, “but that is only proof if you believe already. I don’t feel anything, so there goes that.”

“Never an answered prayer? Never that sense of warmth, of blessedness?” No unexpected sunshine when you’re cold, no brightly-colored flowers by the sidewalk on a dreary, depressing day? Has she never plead for help and had it arrive? Nothing?

“Answered prayers aren’t proof. That’s like looking at the sky and asking it to rain. If it does, did it rain because you wanted it to?”

You know what? Yeah. A little bit, yeah, it did! Say my mother is ambivalent on taking the scenic route versus the highway and plans to pick whichever has the least traffic, and say I ask her to take the prettier path. Say she does. Then, yes. She might have driven past the lake anyway, but it’s still a gift to me. It’s still a blessing.

“But rain isn’t enough to get me to believe in something like that.” Stinker!

I mentioned this conversation to an Orthodox friend, who basically said that M and I are speaking different languages. For one thing, every individual Protestant more or less makes up their own doctrine. So I need to understand what she believes before we can completely communicate about faith––especially since Protestants have some really strange assumptions that lead to some wacky doctrines. For another, “Western faith is based on intellect, whereas Orthodox faith is based in the heart.”

M says her faith is intellect-based because she has no feelings to substantiate it. (I rather think that if she did she’d just tell herself she was fooling herself, but I’m feeling rather dry and snarky at present.) She claims she’d accept feelings of love as proof if she had them.

So, me being the smart-aleck that I tend to be, asked her how she’d want God to show His love for her. And she, being the smart-aleck that she is, replied, “A little note on my bed-side table would be convenient.”

But I don’t actually think that sort of proof would be a good thing. I think faith has to be a personal thing, a gift we give based on our personal relationship with God and on our free will to choose how we live our life and what we believe. Now, there have been some really stellar examples of God giving someone a wake-up call. Saint Paul is one of my favorites. “Do I have your attention now?” Even so, there’s still the element of choice. Saint Paul could’ve gone, “Nope, lemme just go torture some more Christians and I’ll call you back later.” He didn’t, thank heavens, but he had that option. But if there were some sort of impersonal, objective, undeniable proof of God’s existence, then how would there be faith?

As for my Orthodox friend’s final suggestion? “Hey, maybe you could take her to a Greek fest sometime. Dancing, music, food––if that is not an expression of God’s love, what is?”

Thoughts?

Think On

St. Paul’s Letter to the Philippians 4:4-9

“BRETHREN, rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let all
men know your forbearance. The Lord is at hand. Have no anxiety about
anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving
let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which
passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ
Jesus. Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable,
whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is
gracious, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of
praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and
heard and seen in me, do; and the God of peace will be with you.”

My beloved mother sent me this in an email a few months ago. Just this. I am amazingly blessed to have her.

Left Out

I saw wedding pictures online today. They were beautiful. I rarely see pictures of Orthodox weddings, and this one was unusually lovely.

I didn’t know the bride or groom. They’re a gorgeous young couple who look like wonderful people, but I’ve never met them. Many of my Orthodox friends know them well. I know one of their bridesmaids, and I know or have met many of the attendees.

I don’t…I don’t want to whine. I am not intending to whine. So please, if it seems as if I am whining, tell me. I’ll try and rephrase to make it clear that I’m only trying to understand. Understand what? Well. That’s a tricky one.

I suppose the question is, “Why don’t I know them?” The couple, I mean. If I were a part of the Orthodox youth clan, this magical national group of people who know each other through church camps and conventions and babushka’s-neighbor’s-daughter’s-birthday party, I probably would know them. I’m not saying I’d be invited. (Guest lists have to be slim.) But I’d know them.

I did not have social skills as a child. (Some would argue I still don’t.) I didn’t have siblings, I homeschooled sometimes, I hung out with adults too much, and I moved a lot. I didn’t like to be teased, but was I ever an easy mark! I was the littlest of the big kids, and I was annoying to boot. So I didn’t fit in much.

And yet…if there’s a single community anywhere that I want to be a part of, this is it. This has always been it. I don’t mean I want to be best friends with that specific circle of people, although I’m terribly fond of the ones I know. It’s just that I can’t think of a group of people I like more than the Orthodox youth clan I know. They’re kind, and trustworthy. I feel safe around them. Even at my college–which anyone can tell you I love fiercely–I don’t necessarily feel that safe. I love the people there. They matter so much to me. Still, I don’t trust my classmates to notice if I’m hurting, to steer me away from dumb decisions, to keep me accountable when I skip church. That’s not to say they wouldn’t. But I won’t depend on them for that.

So. Whether because I moved a lot and wasn’t around, or because I was a brat, or for some other unknown reason, I was never completely a part of that “magical clan.” Now I’m less of a brat, and I live in Chicago–where there has to be hundreds of Orthodox youth–and somehow I’m still left out. I don’t make it to OCF much. I have a hard enough time making it to church even half the Sundays. I still feel awkward talking with people my age or slightly older. (Hand me a toddler or introduce me to an adult and I’m probably fine.) I’m here. I have the opportunities. I’m no longer intolerable. Nevertheless, I am still not a part of that community.

So maybe the real answer is I’m just scared.

Thankfulness, and forgiveness

Today is Great and Holy Friday, and I feel so blessed, so loved. It is a sorrowful day, but––today I am given the greatest gift ever given. I cannot help but feel overwhelmed with gratitude and joy.

I keep a small book in my bag at all times. It is about one-and-a-half inches by one-and-a-half inches, a half-inch thick, and it is covered in a beautiful Guatamalan fabric with soft handmade paper inside. I got it in Wisconsin, I believe as a gift from my godmother, and since November of 2006 I have been keeping a list inside. I forget often, and then I pick it up again and am reminded of how blessed I am. The book is a list of things I am thankful for.

The things I list most often are variations on
friendship
paper, writing, books
beauty in nature
not getting exactly what I want (and the opposite, of course)
love, smiles
challenges, good and bad
forgiveness

The things that stand out to me now are
unreasonable happiness 
orchids
sunshine
loss, letting go, moving on
hope
prayer
looking forward
forgiveness

I am so thankful for forgiveness. It relieves guilt, it soothes hurt feelings, it makes it easier to survive in this crazy world. Forgiveness is love to your enemies. It is asking God to forgive those who have wronged you, including your own self. It is hard, and it is as necessary as air. When I forget to forgive myself or others, my muscles tense up. I hurt inside and out. I am unhappy, blameful, and bitter. I end up in physical pain after a few weeks of this severity. My neck and back begin to bother me, and my heart aches. Then I go to Confession, and I forgive myself. I remember how much I love the people around me. I feel alive again.

There is a Forgiveness Sunday in the Church, and there is a prayer of forgiveness my mother and I try to say every night we are together.
“O holy brothers and sisters in Christ, please forgive me if I have offended you in thought, word, or deed and pray for me a sinner.”
The response is, “I forgive you, may God forgive you.” 
And then the whole world feels as light as air. 

Please say a prayer for me, and have a blessed Paschal weekend. And please forgive me if I have offended you in thought, word, or deed, and pray for me a sinner.
-Brigid 

Great and Holy Friday

The Epistle reading is from St. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians 5:6-8

BRETHREN, a little leaven leavens the whole lump. Cleanse out the
old leaven that you may be a new lump, as you really are unleavened.
For Christ, our paschal lamb, has been sacrificed. Let us, therefore,
celebrate the festival, not with the old leaven, the leaven of malice and
evil, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. (Galatians
3.13-14) Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law, having become a
curse for us – for it is written, “Cursed be everyone who hangs on a
tree” – that in Christ Jesus the blessing of Abraham might come upon
the Gentiles, that we might receive the promise of the Spirit through
faith.

Reading from the Synaxarion:

When Friday dawned, Christ was sent bound from Caiaphas to Pontius
Pilate, who was then Governor of Judea. Pilate interrogated Him in many
ways, and once and again acknowledged that He was innocent, but to
please the Jews, he later passed the sentence of death against Him.
After scourging the Lord of all as though He were a runaway slave, he
surrendered Him to be crucified.

Thus the Lord Jesus was handed over to the soldiers, was stripped of
His garments, was clothed in a purple robe, was crowned with a wreath
of thorns, had a reed placed in His hand as though it were a
sceptre, was bowed before in mockery, was spat upon, and was buffeted in
the face and on the head. Then they again clothed Him in His own
garments, and bearing the cross, He came to Golgotha, a place of
condemnation, and there, about the third hour, He was crucified between two
thieves. Although both blasphemed Him at the first, the thief at His right
hand repented, and said: “Remember me, O Lord, when Thou comest in Thy
Kingdom,” to which our Saviour answered, “Today shalt thou be with Me in
Paradise.” As He hung upon the Cross, He was blasphemed by those who were
passing by, was mocked by the high priests, and by the soldiers was given
vinegar to drink mixed with gall. About the ninth hour, He cried out with
a loud voice, saying, “It is finished.” And the Lamb of God “Which
taketh away the sin of the world” (John 1:29) expired on the day when
the moon was full, and at the hour when, according to the Law, was
slain the Passover lamb, which was established as a type of Him in the
time of Moses.

Even lifeless creation mourned the death of the Master, and it
trembled and was altered out of fear. Yet, even though the Maker of
creation was already dead, they pierced Him in His immaculate side, and
forthwith came there out Blood and Water. Finally, at about the setting of
the sun, Joseph of Arimathea came with Nicodemus (both of them had
been secret disciples of Jesus), and they took down the all-holy Body
of the Teacher from the Cross and anointed it with aromatic spices,
and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth. When they had buried Him in a
new tomb, they rolled a great stone over its entrance.

Such are the dread and saving sufferings of our Lord Jesus Christ
commemorated today, and in remembrance of them, we have received the Apostolic
commandment that a fast be observed every Friday.

Kontakion:

Come, let us all praise Him Who was crucified for us. Mary beheld Him
on the Tree and said, “Though You endure even the Cross, You are my
Son and my God.”

Wolves.

I’ve been reading a lot of Orthodox blogs lately, and I stumbled across this gem of a story on Ramblings of a Single Dad (donva.blogspot.com).

*

One evening an old Cherokee Indian told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.

He said, “My son, the battle is between two “wolves” inside us all.

One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: “Which wolf wins?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

*

I’m sorry for not blogging much lately. I’ve been living, which is interesting. I go to classes, I read Aristotle & Homer & Hobbes (both Thomas and Calvin’s), I work about 20 hours a week, I feed my Doctor Who and Dexter addictions with friends, and I try to get myself to church at least every two weeks. It’s…nice. I like living. I always have, but with this complicated, bountiful schedule––I don’t even know how to explain it. I just feel happy.